sin

Evil, Meet Science

/ Elizabeth Gaucher / 4 Comments

The concept of evil is so ancient, vast, and complex that even though I think about it often I hesitate to write about it.  A story on NPR yesterday made me change my mind.

Consider this (emphasis added is mine):

Inspired by the structure of Dante’s circles of hell, Michael Stone has created his own 22-point “Gradations of Evil” scale, made up of murderers in the 20th century. “I thought it would be an interesting thing to do,” he says.

Dante's 9 Circles of Hell

His scale is loosely divided into three tiers. First are impulsive evil-doers: driven to a single act of murder in a moment of rage or jealousy. Next are people who lack extreme psychopathic features, but may be psychotic — that is, clinically delusional or out of touch with reality. Last are the profoundly psychopathic, or “those who possess superficial charm, glib speech, grandiosity, but most importantly cunning and manipulativeness,” Stone says. “They have no remorse for what they’ve done to other people.”

Stone hopes the scale could someday be used in prosecutions. “The people at the very end of the scale have certain things about their childhood backgrounds that are different,” he says, from those who appear earlier in the scale.

That a modern-day psychology/medical professional would use Dante to consider how to interpret and respond to criminal activity fascinates me.  I have a foundation of respect for things that are ancient and complex, and genuinely believe that no matter how “evolved” we become as a species we may never be able to get any closer to the Truth of some things than we did hundreds of years ago.  In fact, I often think we lose knowledge by insisting that something explained by older civilizations must need polish and improvement.  If it’s old-school, primitive hindbrain stuff, maybe not.  Avarice, gluttony, wrath, betrayal, etc. seem resistant to “evolving” out of human nature.

But how we interpret and label our condition is important.  How we position the concept of “evil” in the world is crucial to how we respond to it.  My life changed the day I internalized the concept, “We are not punished for sin, but by sin.”  Naturally the human justice system can only focus on punishment for, but the larger idea of why we suffer is directed by the idea that following certain inclinations rather than resisting them inevitably will lead to a bad situation.  It’s as guaranteed as basic addition.

When we label people themselves as evil, we are taking the easy way out.  If anything, Michael Stone’s analysis of the 22 murderous types indicates that the more abuse and trauma an individual as suffered, especially early in life, the more prone they are to a psychotic break that disconnects them from a capacity to participate in anything but increasingly violent and disturbing behavior.  There is clearly a stress point for the mind, and the scale suggests that it’s the passing of that point that creates an inability to ever go back.

Which brings us full circle (pardon the pun) to Dante.  

Reading Stone’s profiles of murderous behavior and its origins supports Dante’s story.  What we call “evil” is a concentric, spiralling energy that with each pass pulls one deeper into a level more difficult to escape.  Properly managed, this connection of old and new thoughts on the influence of evil on our lives has the potential to reinvigorate public interest in prevention of and intervention in abusive environments, especially for the very young.

It also reminds me that, past a certain point, there are still limits on what people can fix.  That doesn’t mean it can never be repaired.  See Dante.

I Didn’t Do Anything! Did I?

/ Elizabeth Gaucher / 7 Comments

One of my favorite American short stories is Stephen Crane’s The Blue Hotel.  Some people think it is very complex, some think it is very simple.  But most critics and scholars agree it is a terribly important piece of literature.

I’d be lying if I said I “enjoyed” reading it.  I really didn’t the first time or since.  But the theme of shared responsibility for the very things we decry made an impression on me that has only been strengthened with time.

It’s especially significant in American storytelling because it pokes around in our avoidance of shared responsibility for tragic events and human suffering.  Our national story is more exhuberant and fun when we focus on individual responsibility.  It’s also often more hopeful.  If I can focus only on myself, and my exclusive responsibility for my future, things seem more manageable.  If others do the same, we should all be fine as wine.

I think about this story often, and today it came up to shine a mirror in my face as I criticized The Charleston Gazette for not better policing their online comments.  I swear that site has turned into some kind of Roman coliseum, but all the gladiators and spectators are wearing hoods over their heads.  Only the prey in the center are identified by name.  A series of recent personal and cowardly attacks on individuals finally pushed me to ask “out loud” on Facebook, what the hell is going on?

One journalist who I deeply admire took the time to write to me in private and encourage me to contact executives at the paper.  S/He said they do care what readers think, but the new world of making a living at a newspaper is creating stress and strain for everyone.  Website clicks create statistics that help sell advertising.  People are prone to click on controversy and, let’s face it, ugliness.  There is a degree to which this knowledge and the need to put food on the table sometimes overrides the decency that is most people’s hearts.  It’s a very difficult situation.

I had to ask myself, what do I proactively do to support the newspaper financially?  Nothing.  I no longer subscribe to the paper because I can “get it” for free online.  I don’t buy ads.  I don’t donate.  I don’t give them any financial support at all, and yet I am free to criticize.  And how do I know about the troubling comments?  Because I click on the comments section.  Crane concluded this in his short story:  “Every sin is the result of a collaboration.”

It’s a new world for newspapers.  I don’t have the answers.  But I think it starts with holding online comments to the same standards of printed comments.  Who are you really, not what cute online code name do you use?  Expect that your actual identity will be attached to what you say publicly in our newspaper when you comment online, just as it is when you comment in print.

From the last lines of The Blue Hotel:

“Fun or not,” said the Easterner, “Johnnie was cheating. I saw him. I know it. I saw him. And I refused to stand up and be a man. I let the Swede fight it out alone. And you — you were simply puffing around the place and wanting to fight. And then old Scully himself! We are all in it! This poor gambler isn’t even a noun. He is kind of an adverb. Every sin is the result of a collaboration. We, five of us, have collaborated in the murder of this Swede. Usually there are from a dozen to forty women really involved in every murder, but in this case it seems to be only five men — you, I, Johnnie, old Scully, and that fool of an unfortunate gambler came merely as a culmination, the apex of a human movement, and gets all the punishment.”

  The cowboy, injured and rebellious, cried out blindly into this fog of mysterious theory. “Well, I didn’t do anythin’, did I?”