A Response to:
 "See No Evil," by Donna Glee Williams, Friends Journal, January 2004, continued--

for jury duty on a personal-injury lawsuit, and came away was profoundly grateful that I was not the one sitting in the judge’s bench, obliged to preside over such conflicts week in and week out. But I was also clear that someone needs to sit on that judge’s bench. And sometimes I have been obliged by circumstances, in particular by the need to speak and act truthfully, to do things I did not like. This is especially the case when confronted by evil. The creation, it seems, has not been arranged according to my likes and dislikes.

From the other side, as the perpetrator of evil, the term has likewise been very useful to me, though again rarely comforting or pleasant:

It has helped me face and name my actions and attitudes that are wrong and pernicious.

It can show me what behavior or attitudes need to be stopped and changed.

It helps identify acts for which I should apologize, and if possible to atone for.

It can aid me in seeking forgiveness, above all by making clear that I need it.

Finally, it can keep me on track as I strive to right the wrongs I have done, to "make it good" if possible. Doing this last can involve paying penalties, even including potential isolation and personal hazard.

I have not carried off these responses particularly well; they have frequently been unpleasant, humiliating, painful, or worse. Nonetheless, the concept of evil has been indispensable in enabling me to speak truth to myself about myself, even when these words were not followed by right actions. Here again, I am mindful that this concept reinforces the sense that I have the reason, the freedom, and responsibility to do otherwise. This view of human nature, my human nature, may to some extent be only a metaphor; but it is a metaphor that retains my dignity and personal worth.

These personal experiences, by the way, are pale reflections of something that was at the heart of early Quaker spirituality. The Light of Christ, many of these first Friends insisted, was first that which shows a person evil, above all their own. As Margaret Fell put it in one typically fiery letter:

"Let the Eternal Light search you . . .for this will deal plainly with you; it will rip you up, and lay you open . . . .therefore give over deceiving of your Souls; for . . .all sin and Uncleanness the Light condemns." (Quoted in Hugh Barbour, The Quakers in Puritan England, p. 98.

But this relentless condemnation was not aimed at dehumanization or destruction; rather, it was but the opening chapter in the drama of salvation. It was part of a very optimistic and hopeful process.

And speaking of metaphors, it is true that terms like "sick," "broken," and so forth, including "evil," are metaphors, images that represent something else. But my experience also points to some conclusions about metaphors:

First, that they are important–they help shape our view of ourselves and the world. So they need to be chosen and used with care.

Second, that metaphors like "sick," broken," and evil" are not equivalents; while "sickness" and "brokenness" are real conditions, I have also seen behavior, in myself as well as others, which simply does not fit any other category than "evil."And

Third, that maintaining careful distinctions among these metaphors is important for my personal wholeness, and, I have come to believe, for that of society as well.

This last is most important in the case of "evil" in contrast to, say, illness. I remember well studying the experience of the prison system in California, which for many years followed a "treatment model" in sentencing, based on the view of criminality as a disease. This led to a policy of indeterminate sentencing, by which inmates could be kept in prison until they were "cured."

But careful research, as well as the cries of many anguished inmates, showed that this policy was no more humane than fixed sentences premised on the view of crime as "evil" demanding "punishment"– indeed, in many cases it was much less humane, more isolating and destructive. This showed me that replacing a term that I dislike with one I feel better about does not necessarily produce better personal action or policy. Yes, the concept of evil can be dangerous, and never more so than when it becomes a substitute for careful diagnosis of actual illness. But so can other, seemingly more innocuous concepts and metaphors.

Finally, Williams refers to M. Scott Peck’s book "People of The Lie," in which he concludes that some things some people did were "evil" rather than "sick" or "broken," and even reports on a case of confronting what he considered something close to pure evil consuming a personality. She concludes that using this label left him "pretty much off the hook," and "not obliged to grope around inside himself" for further explanations, or feel responsible for dealing with it.

Here too, my experience of the book was quite different. I did not see Peck turning away from the phenomenon he identified. In fact, it seemed to me it was clarifying and even liberating to him as a psychiatrist to add the concept to his vocabulary. Further, he struggled deeply with it, both within himself as well as in others. That struggle, which took him to many places he preferred not to go, is how he came to write a whole book about it. "People of the Lie" was often uncomfortable reading for me, but no less true and useful for all that.

I hope these reflections can help illuminate why the concept of evil is still quite useful to me, and perhaps others. using it does not either absolve me of responsibility, or restrict me to a narrow, either/or response. It may also suggest why I think that it is not only a useful, healthy thing to do to confront things we may prefer not to, and name things truly when we might rather call them something they are not because it comforts us. It is also a good thing.

Evil is truly dangerous. It is also, I have found, a part of creation.

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