The book of Revelation is notoriously difficult to interpret, filled with vivid imagery, mysterious symbols, and dramatic pronouncements. Yet, amidst its complexity, some passages resonate with unmistakable clarity. Revelation chapter 18, for example, paints a haunting picture of the fall of corrupt powers, where the wealthy and powerful weep—not for justice, but for their lost ability to profit. In particular, verses 11–13 depict merchants lamenting that no one buys their luxurious cargo anymore. The detailed list of goods includes precious metals, spices, animals, and—most strikingly—“slaves, that is, human souls.”
And the merchants of the earth weep and mourn for her, since no one buys their cargo anymore, cargo of gold, silver, jewels, pearls, fine linen, purple cloth, silk, scarlet cloth, all kinds of scented wood, all kinds of articles of ivory, all kinds of articles of costly wood, bronze, iron and marble, cinnamon, spice, incense, myrrh, frankincense, wine, oil, fine flour, wheat, cattle and sheep, horses and chariots, and slaves, that is, human souls. Revelation 18:11–13 (ESV)
The final item is especially chilling. It exposes the commodification of human beings, a practice that was tragically common in the Roman Empire. Slavery was not only legal but widespread, and people were routinely bought and sold like livestock. The reference in Revelation is direct and literal, yet it may also reveal a deeper, more enduring truth: the objectification of human beings as a spiritual problem that transcends historical context.
While public, legalized slavery may be largely abolished today, the underlying mindset that enabled it is still at work in more subtle ways. At the heart of the issue lies a dangerous habit: rejecting the full humanity of others. When we begin to see people not as individuals made in the image of God but as objects—commodities, resources, nuisances, or threats—we repeat the sins of past empires in new forms.
The Roman Empire believed some people were inherently inferior, less than fully human. This justified their exploitation. That same pattern has echoed throughout history. The Nazis dehumanized Jews by portraying them as vermin. Women have long been objectified, treated not as people with agency and dignity but as possessions, sexual objects, or domestic tools. In some cultures, even today, women are still considered less than fully human.
The modern world, despite its advances, is not immune to this way of thinking. Consider the corporate shift from “Personnel” departments to “Human Resources.” While perhaps intended as neutral terminology, this change subtly reframes people as mere resources—like office supplies or capital investments—rather than as individuals with lives and needs. It’s no coincidence that such framing can make mass layoffs feel more justifiable: if employees are “resources,” then they can be managed or discarded based on efficiency metrics alone.
Though this example is relatively mild, it highlights a broader risk. Objectification doesn’t always begin with overt hatred. It often starts with simplification—categorizing people into groups and speaking of them only in those terms. Group labels can be useful at times—“Americans,” “Muslims,” “Millennials” — but they can also become dangerous shortcuts that erase individuality and pave the way for prejudice.
Even something as seemingly harmless as sports rivalries can illustrate this. What begins as friendly competition can devolve into blanket hostility: “Their fans are all idiots,” we say, and just like that, an entire group of individuals becomes an undifferentiated target for scorn. This is the first step toward objectification: reducing people to members of a group, then judging the group as less worthy, less human. It takes conscious effort to resist this tendency.
If we’re not careful, we begin to treat people unjustly.
If we’re not careful, we begin to think of those who disagree with us politically not as fellow citizens with different views, but as enemies—dangerous, faceless adherents of a malevolent ideology. Our discourse becomes dehumanized, and violence no longer feels unthinkable.
If we’re not careful, the same dehumanization appears in how we think of immigrants, especially those who are undocumented. Rather than seeing desperate people seeking safety or opportunity, we begin to perceive a dangerous horde—criminals, parasites, even fodder for cruel jokes. We take away their rights and treat them with hostility, refusing to acknowledge their humanity. When people become faceless masses instead of souls with stories, compassion evaporates.
The passage in Revelation, then, offers more than an apocalyptic warning. It holds a mirror to our world. The lament of the merchants is not just about lost profits, it reveals a system that treated human beings as goods and, since it is part of the evil being destroyed, becomes a condemnation of such systems. Such systems may look different today, but the temptation to objectify others remains. It is a spiritual failing with real-world consequences.
In our time, the warning still applies. Whenever individuals are reduced to labels, whenever humanity is ignored in favor of ideology, whenever people are treated as tools to be used or problems to be solved, we edge closer to the world Revelation condemns. The challenge for us is to recognize this pattern, reject it, and remember the fundamental truth that all people—regardless of background, belief, or circumstance—are created in the image of God, worthy of dignity, compassion, and love.
(Note, I used AI to improve this essay, but the main point, key ideas, and overall organization are mine.)
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