The Problem of Evil

 

When I was much younger, maybe around 10 or 11 (this was around 1979), I would sneak downstairs in the middle of the night to our family “TV Room.” My bedroom and that of my parents was upstairs, and my 10 year old brain seemed to believe that the distance between floors would be enough to muffle out the sound of the TV if I closed as many doors between the upper and lower floor of the house as I could. I needed to muffle it, too. If caught, not only would I face consequences for sneaking out of bed so late to watch TV, but also for what I was watching. After a lot of conversation, and maybe no small amount of pleading, our family had just purchased access to “Showtime,” one of the only existing channels (so far as I knew at the time) where you could watch movies at home that you didn’t have on a videotape. “Showtime” gave me access to something I otherwise did not have access to: horror movies. I loved them. I loved them not for the gratuitous gore/violence and other campy tropes that so often permeated the lesser entries of the genre, but the deeper themes and larger questions raised by the very best of them. 

Now, not all of them lived up to my 10 year old horror quality standards. I wasn’t very enthralled with things that might be termed “straightforward,” or films that just went for shock value. I needed mystery. I was really not capable of being “frightened” by things I watched; “jump scares” only managed to get me to maybe raise my eyebrows and think, “Well, that was unexpected.” Then I’d yawn (that could have been because it was usually after 1:00 in the morning). What really stuck with me were films that made me think, or, if they were really near the top of my personal rating scale, disturbed me. Few films met these standards. I can think of three that did, though. I’ll touch on each one as a lead-in to the primary focus here, which is the problem of evil and how to address it in our lives.

One film that resonates with me to this day is John Carpenter’s “Halloween” from 1978. On the surface, this film seems simple and straightforward: a crazy serial killer escapes from a sanitarium and returns to the town where he had been raised as a child to terrorize some high school kids. There is a rumor, debunked in some circles, that the film’s original title was going to be “The Babysitter Murders.” I would not have watched a film with a title like that. Sounds boring. “Halloween” intrigued me; lots of unanswered questions lurking in that title. This movie blew ten year old me away. Not only was the iconic theme music perfect (Carpenter composed it himself in very little time), but the villain, Michael Myers (The Shape), was exactly what my horror-loving brain was looking for in a film’s antagonist: a mysterious enigma.

Michael Myers never speaks in the film, and he never even runs or jogs. He just…walks after you. That walk conveys a supreme confidence that all but cries out: “Why run? I’m going to get to you anyway, no matter what you do.” If he would have chased his teenage girl victims around, it would have…diminished him somehow. His motivations are impossible to discern; he just seems to choose victims at random. Most intriguing of all, he is seemingly indestructible. He is stabbed with a knitting needle in the neck, with a kitchen knife, and then shot at point blank range multiple times. All of these injuries look as if they have either killed or at least incapacitated him for a moment, and then he just sits up and keeps coming. This is never explained, save for the brief snippet of dialogue offered by Sam Loomis, Michael’s childhood psychiatrist (the one who shoots him): 

I met him, 15 years ago; I was told there was nothing left; no reason, no conscience, no understanding in even the most rudimentary sense of life or death, of good or evil, right or wrong. I met this… six-year-old child with this blank, pale, emotionless face, and… the blackest eyes – the Devil’s eyes. I spent eight years trying to reach him, and then another seven trying to keep him locked up, because I realized that what was living behind that boy’s eyes was purely and simply… evil. (imdb.com)

He had “the Devil’s eyes.” He was “purely and simply…evil.” That’s what ten year old me was first starting to grapple with: who is…or is there…a Devil? What really is evil? Can it just…take you over like that and make you do unspeakable and unexplainable things? Those questions would, and still do, fascinate me; we all need to ask these questions so that we are prepared to confront and combat evil when we see it–or recognize if we start to consider participating in it. 

Another film that met the standard and really got the questions flowing was William Friedkin’s “The Exorcist” from 1973. A demon from Mesopotamian mythology named Pazuzu possesses the body of young Regan MacNeil, an innocent American girl, portrayed to perfection by actress Linda Blair. This film really shook the audiences of the seventies up; some couldn’t even make it through the film and were physically ill in the theaters (remember, it’s just a movie everyone). The limits of what was acceptable in a film were really pushed with that one, but it remains one of the most iconic horror films of all time.

In the film, every doctor, psychiatrist, and hypnotist available is summoned to see if they can help little Regan, but none are a match for Pazuzu the demon. Most won’t let themselves believe there is a demon at play at all; that’s just superstitious nonsense, after all. Clearly her problem must be a lesion on her temporal lobe, or she has multiple personality disorder. It is father Damian Karras, a disillusioned priest questioning his own faith, who becomes convinced that there is something supernatural happening, and he enlists the help of the church, who sends Father Lankester Merrin to conduct a formal exorcism, with Father Karras assisting.

They manage to drive Pazuzu out of Regan, but at great cost, with both priests giving their lives in the effort. When it’s over, Regan herself doesn’t even remember any of it. Again, my ten year old brain went into interrogative mode: Are there actually such entities out there, who can just possess you at will and make you barf pea soup at people (people who have seen the film will catch the reference)? Do they actually DO exorcisms? Why would there be a formal ritual for that if they weren’t needed? If the church has the power to drive out demons, could they ask God why he allows demons to exist in the first place? Didn’t he create them, if he created everything else? 

The film that has resonated with me the most powerfully was one I did not see until I was in college: John Carpenter’s 1987 masterpiece “Prince of Darkness.” This one doesn’t have as big of a cultural footprint, but I personally feel it is a master class in horror movie making, for more reasons than I can get into here. This one disturbed me. You have a group of philosophers and scientists, unable to think outside the box of classical reality, confronted with the very real threat of Satan himself, and his father, the Anti-God, coming to take over the world.

These two forces, representing the very cause and essence of everything we know to be evil in human history can only be stopped by a small band of graduate students in theoretical physics and biochemistry. What chance do these clueless, skeptical academics have against such malevolent power? Their scholarly prowess isn’t much help to them, and not believing in what they are facing really lulls them into a false sense of security–for almost too long. “But it just isn’t possible,” you can hear them saying. Isn’t it? The film really makes you question what you think you know, and makes me think of one of my all-time favorite quotes from Andre Gide: “Trust those who seek the truth, but doubt those who have found it.” In the end, it is love and sacrifice that save the human race. Maybe. Again, the film leaves room for doubt and uncertainty, and keeps the discussion going. 

This brings us to the questions of focus: is there a Devil, and what is the nature of evil? It would seem that if I was fascinated by films and stories about supernatural evil, at a very impressionable age, I would immediately answer yes to question one, and blame that Devil for perpetuating evil in the world. Well, being 45 years older than the naughty kid who snuck downstairs to partake in forbidden, late-night cinema, I have reached quite the opposite conclusion: evil is not supernatural, and the Devil is a construct of the human imagination, who exists in literature and culture as an anthropomorphized symbol serving to provide some meaning, some explanation, as to why evil is loose in the world. Well, evil certainly does exist, but there are better explanations for it than an anthropomorphized devil, and ways that we can defend against it too. 

The problem of evil can best be articulated through the Epicurean paradox: “Either god wants to abolish evil, and cannot; or he can, but he does not want to. If he wants to, but cannot, he is impotent. If he can, but does not want to, he is wicked.” I wonder if Epicurus realized the intellectual wrestling match that one would unleash down through the succeeding centuries. How can you have an all-powerful and yet benevolent God under this? It seems you have to either admit that God wants evil to exist for some reason and try to make arguments for that, or you have to somehow explain how God and evil are separate. 

Zoroaster, or Zarathustra, considered by some to be the first true theologian, believed there were two distinct spiritual principles. One was “Ahura Mazda,” the one God, or the lord of goodness and light. His opposite twin was Angra Mainyu, the first devil, an alien force that was only to be destroyed.  Zoroaster asked that instead of us recognizing that we have evil inside of us and then trying to repress it, we should just deny that it exists within us at all and claim that it is outside us (Sullivan 11). We should then aspire to a spiritual perfection that will come only when we have separated ourselves from evil altogether and for all time.

Yahweh of the pre-exilic Hebrews could be both merciful and cruel. He had what Carl Jung might refer to as a “shadow side.” When the Hebrew prophets shifted moral instruction to being a central part of their faith, discomfort grew around the concept that their God would permit people to suffer or commit sin. To alleviate this discomfort, the more destructive aspect of God was separated and anthropomorphized into what would one day become the “devil.” He is depicted as an angelic being who was created as good, but he fell from grace due to his own free will (Sullivan 19). He wasn’t evil in origin, he just became that way. 

When John Milton’s Paradise Lost took hold of this idea, he created a representation of Satan that has yet to be supplanted; the angel that was cast out of heaven. This character would even be adopted in decades to come as a symbol of resistance to authority. The assertion is made that his “Devil” is out there, and he is working to claim your soul by tempting you to sin and draw you away from God. He is external to God, and to you, and is the source of evil. Interpretations and details will differ from tradition to tradition, but even the least religious individual will be able to conjure images of the devil in his or her imagination thanks to literary and popular culture depictions. Now, rather than accepting at face value that the Devil is an actual living entity, but still accepting that there is of course evil in the world, let’s examine some other explanations

Michael Shermer, author, founding publisher of Skeptic magazine, and Presidential Fellow at Chapman University, posits that our moral sentiments of what is good and evil come from evolution in his book The Science of Good and Evil.  When tribes of humans first started living in small groups, being moral was simply the best way to make the most of the benefits of such an arrangement. Humans also tend to be victims of the passions of their bodies and minds, and evolution worked to create our moral principles to curb these tendencies. Organized religion would later codify those principles, but the principles did not originate from religion. 

As a result, our moral principles are a result of the laws of nature, of the different forces that culture exert upon us, and of the forces of history. Shermer believes we are moral creatures by nature, and we have a built in tendency that leans toward moral behavior. We aren’t the only creatures that demonstrate this. Great apes, dolphins, whales and other mammals with large brains can be seen demonstrating cooperation, helping one another, bonding, and showing a concern for their community. It makes sense that early tribes who held adherence to moral principles would displace tribes who demonstrated more “evil” tendencies. 

Yet evil still exists, so it isn’t a matter of there once being good and evil tribes, and the good ones supplanted the evil ones, eradicating evil down through the centuries. It’s still here. So is it external to us, or within us? If within us, is it within all of us? Are some of us, who may never have committed what could be considered an “evil” act, immune to it? Is it like a disease that some can catch but others not? 

Take a moment and consider the human brain. What an astonishing biocomputer it is, being able to do all that it does. It is extraordinarily complex. At the same time, the more complex something becomes, the more that can go wrong with it. It is amazing that as many human beings are as functional as they are given the potential for things to go wrong with the mind, either due to physical trauma such as chronic traumatic encephalopathy or strokes to diseases such as Alzheimer’s and Parkinson’s.

Every human being is different, with a different mind. Across those billions of brains, is it not amazing that there are as many functional ones as there are? One would think that nihilism, sociopathy, and a host of other attitudes and conditions would be way more common than they are. Just one of these aberrations or a combination of a couple of them could lead an individual to committing what others would deem as an evil act. Individuals can stand back and say “I would never do an evil thing, because I am a very moral person.” That’s fantastic, and I am grateful for how many such people there still are in the world who can confidently say that and walk their talk. Yet I can’t help wondering if someone who professes the capacity to remain moral might be driven to do something considered evil if the necessary conditions were present. History is replete with examples of otherwise decent people driven by any number of privations to do whatever it takes to escape or stay alive. Which is stronger, our sense of morality or of self-preservation? Could we not all be driven to evil, as all of those considered evil down through the centuries were just as human as we were, with the same complex and fragile brains as we have, subject to the effects of any number of this world’s potential physical, mental, or spiritual tortures?

It is not a pleasant prospect to consider that no matter how moral or virtuous we consider ourselves to be, we may still hold within us the seed of evil just waiting for the circumstances to cause that seed to germinate. We can’t dig this seed out, but there is something we can do to ensure that it stays buried too deep to ever reach the actionable surface of our lives: learn about, nurture, and practice the four cardinal virtues. 

“Cardinal” comes from the Latin “cardo,” meaning “hinge.” The paths of our lives literally hinge upon the decisions we make and the ideals we practice and honor. The four cardinal virtues include courage, justice, wisdom, and temperance. According to the ancient Stoics, only the virtues were good. Vice, the opposite of virtue, was the only evil; anything that led us astray from practicing the virtues would fall into the evil category. Everything else was “indifferent.” For example, money could be classified as a “preferred indifferent.” Money in and of itself was not virtuous, but having it was preferable to not having it. Pursuing it at the expense of all else would be due to greed, which is a vice, running contrary to the virtue of temperance. How the virtues can defend us from evil is illustrated by Plato using the example of the Ring of Gyges. 

In Book Two of Plato’s Republic, the magic ring of Gyges is mentioned. This ring, a hypothetical construct, has the power to render its wearer invisible. Glaucon, a student of Socrates, asks his mentor if there was any man so virtuous that, if he wore such a ring and could therefore escape any accountability for his wrongdoings, he could at the same time resist the temptation to succumb to his passions. Would killing, robbing, and generally engaging in unjust actions be too great a temptation for anyone if the possibility of facing consequences was removed? Ask yourself if you would abide by all of society’s norms and laws if you were guaranteed a free pass to do as you pleased, free from all risk of consequence. Socrates responded by saying that anyone who would abuse such a ring’s power would have enslaved himself to his appetites; his vices would have overcome his virtues. The man who instead is able to choose not to use the ring remains rationally in control; his virtues, by contrast, overcome his vices. The latter man is the one who is genuinely happy. 

Our vices, those temptations that can ultimately lead to evil if left unchecked, have to be brought under control through the constant, daily practice of the cardinal virtues. There will come a point where the feeling engendered by resisting indulgence of a vice will prove more pleasurable than giving into the vice’s temptations. That feeling is deeper and more long-lasting than any fleeting, sensory gratification any vice could offer. Pursuit of vice will never lead to true happiness, only temporary satisfaction through sensory pleasure.

Now, this is easy to say when we are not facing extreme conditions. The strength of character necessary to maintain your devotion to virtue can be severely tested when faced with extreme deprivation, torture, or other conditions. If we only give the virtues lip service, then vice, a very patient but unrelenting opponent, will gradually work to erode our defenses until we succumb more and more to the temptations that constantly assail us. Start with the small things, and gradually work up; resist that second piece of chocolate cake (perhaps even the first one) and walk away. You’ll be surprised how satisfying that will feel, as opposed to the brief sensation of physical pleasure that comes from consuming it, followed by the inevitable guilt and weakness you will feel from letting the vice win. It takes practice, but it is practice well worth it.

In the 1985 fantasy film “Legend,” Jack (the film’s protagonist portrayed by Tom Cruise), seems to have overcome the film’s antagonist, simply referred to as “Darkness.” Darkness is depicted as a very devi-like figure, huge and muscular, with a red body, large black horns, and hooves. Just as he is about to be struck down, Darkness delivers this monologue:

“You think you have won! What is light without dark? I am a part of you all. You can never defeat me. We are brothers…eternal.” 

Yes, darkness is a part of us all. We may not be able to defeat it, but with the help of the cardinal virtues, we may well be able to keep it at bay until the dawn comes. 

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References:
“Halloween.” imdb.com
Shermer, Michael. The Science of Good and Evil. New York: Henry Holt and Company, 2004
Sullivan, Randall. The Devil’s Best Trick: How the Face of Evil Disappeared. New York:
Atlantic Monthly Press, 2024.