Evil and the Mystery Within Us

Whenever we face a horrific event like the Virginia Tech shootings, I find myself devouring every bit of news I can find—all to answer the question that, I’m sure, plagues many people:

Why?

Specifically, what on earth brings people to do such things? And what does it say about us, the human race?

A segment on PBS’s NewsHour (“Experts Explore the Mind and Motivation of a Mass Killer”) shed some light on the perpetrators of mass shootings. They tend to be loners, shunned by their cohort, controlling, secretive. They follow a fairly predictable path of escalation, from angry writings to angry actions to threats. Some of them, like the Virginia Tech shooter, seem troubled almost from the very beginning.

What is that trouble, though? We often use the word sick to describe them. Where does mental illness end and evil begin?

Evil is not a word we should ever use lightly, especially with people. It instantly separates us from whomever we call evil—and makes compassion for them very difficult indeed. It is a very small step from using the word for certain groups and doing violence to them.

And yet, if you live in the world for any length of time, you see too much evidence of evil to deny its existence. It’s most obvious, I think, in its institutional form: when governments massacre their own people (as in Darfur), or when rebel groups force children to join their cause.

Even with institutions, though, it’s not always easy to draw the line between truly evil, unjust, and simply stupid. (For stupid, thinks Starbucks’ attempt to charge for water near Ground Zero in the aftermath of 9/11.) In individuals, the line between illness and evil is similarly hard to draw.

And that brings me back to the utter mystery within us. Even with the mind-boggling strides in psychology, neuroscience, and other fields—and they are wonderful indeed—there is still so much about the human race, about even our very selves, that is beyond our understanding.

So how do we respond? Maybe like this: With humility, because we don’t know all the answers. With compassion, because I cannot imagine the pain that the shooters have suffered, let alone that of the victims’ loved ones. And, maybe, with awe at the One who knows our very depths—and still has compassion on us.

The Worst Verse in the Bible

Several posts ago, I ruminated about the Bible’s offensive passages, and what (if anything) we can draw from them. The question came to mind again while I was driving today, and I started reflecting on the scriptures’ most horrifying verse:

Happy shall he be who takes your little ones and dashes them against the rock! (Psalm 137:9)

What on earth do we do with this—especially in a culture where we go to great lengths to protect children?

First, a little context. This verse comes at the end of a psalm that, in heartrending fashion, expresses the utter desolation of ancient Israel in exile—far from the land that, for them, was so closely tied to the presence of God. The verse simply lashes out in the most hurtful way possible, the way we can easily do when in despair.

Though extreme for the psalms, it is hardly unique. Look at the book as a whole, and you see a drop-dead honest expression of the vast range of human emotion. The psalms are raw, they’re unvarnished, they pull no punches.

As such, they present a challenge to us. Can we allow ourselves to feel so honestly? Do we actually believe that God will embrace us if we admit to such horrifying feelings?

Maybe the psalms—and especially this verse—testify that God does, in fact, embrace us, with all our baggage. Which makes God a safe place in which to feel even the ugliest emotions and face even the most unlovable parts of ourselves. If we have such a place, we are freed to reflect on all of it—and do the work of healing.

If we can draw insights like this from one extreme verse, what else can the Bible’s offensive passages teach us?