Good and Evil are the lead stars in religion's drama. Scriptures obsess about them as much as tabloids obsess about Hollywood celebrities. Ignoring them is simply not an option. Their central importance forces every living human being to pay them proper consideration.
Every religion, without exception, has to tackle good and evil. This is no idle philosophical game—mind you. How we end up defining them determines the range of what we view as acceptable choices. Ultimately, it determines how we intend to live. What a given religion decides to call good or evil will encourage or prohibit certain activities accordingly. Providing guidelines—and in some cases strict rules—for how people should behave is one of the central functions of most religions.
But this is where the similarities end, for different religions offer radically different answers about the nature of good and evil as well as about the specific steps human beings should take, from the moral
absolutes, literally written in stone, of the Ten Commandments to the Taoist libertarianism best expressed in the maxim “The more prohibitions there are, the poorer the people become.”
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With so many options at our disposal, it is wise—before coming up with our own answers—to examine what pushes different traditions toward certain conclusions.
On one end of the spectrum we have the idea of a divinely ordained morality. This concept is the bedrock of Western religions and is present in branches of other world religions as well. These traditions assume that God is the ultimate arbiter of good and evil. In his infinite wisdom, he creates rules of behavior that human beings should follow. According to this view, ethics and morality are rooted in how closely we adhere to God's laws. Followers of this theology are more likely to be suspicious of separation between church and state because man-made laws should not allow what God prohibits, or vice versa. The freedom to live one's own life the way they see fit should not extend to what God deems evil.
The obvious problem with this very popular idea rests on a basic question: how does anyone know what God wants us to do? How do we know what God considers good or evil? Clearly, something must be getting lost in translation since various people, equally committed to obeying God's dictates, hear very different messages. So either God is a trickster who loves messing with people, or somebody is getting it wrong. When separate religions give you very different rules to live by, and they all claim the rules come straight from God, who should you listen to? George W. Bush and Osama bin Laden both claim to be doing God's will and fighting against evil. How do we know which one (if either) is right?
All these major disagreements seem to indicate that good and evil are not self-evident, purely objective categories. Distinguishing
between man-made laws and God's laws is a bad joke because without a shred of objective evidence no one can realistically claim that any set of rules enjoys God's stamp of approval.
Even though it defies logic, the enduring appeal of a divinely revealed morality is easy to understand. Wouldn't it be nice—as the Beach Boys ask—if we knew precisely what is good and what is evil, and we could behave accordingly embracing the former and avoiding the latter? Wouldn't life be easier if we only knew exactly what a benevolent God wants us to do? Things would be simple and straightforward, then. No nagging moral ambiguities. No struggling with complicated choices. Just execute God's game plan, and that's it. No wonder most human beings badly want to believe. Otherwise, the burden to make difficult decisions and live with the consequences would fall entirely on their shoulders.
Unfortunately, since no one has the number to God's private line, life is not so simple. As Jared Diamond writes, “History, as well as life itself, is complicated; neither life nor history is an enterprise for those who seek simplicity and consistency.”
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Drawing a sharp line between good and evil, we end up painting the whole world black and white, without leaving any room for greater complexity. “The enemy of my enemy is my friend” is the logical, albeit suicidal, political consequence of this dualistic mentality. The support given by the US government to Islamic fundamentalists in Afghanistan during the 1980s is a perfect example of the failure of this idea. We are in the middle of the Cold War, the US government reasoned, so anyone fighting against those Communist Russian bastards is our ally. The Soviet Union invaded Afghanistan? Let's not waste time, then, and send plenty of weapons and military training to anyone willing to fight them—including the most extremist Islamic fanatics.
Sounds reasonable, right? Too bad this seemingly coherent rationale leads the US government to offering a terrorist finishing school for Osama bin Laden and friends—the very same people who just a few years later will kill more Americans than the Soviet Union was ever able to do. This is precisely the kind of thing that can be expected when we want to oversimplify reality into a game of good guys versus bad guys.
Wanting to divide all phenomena between these two opposite categories is a violation of the complexity of existence. Even the scriptures of religions declaiming an uncompromising good versus evil rhetoric indicate that the demand for moral absolutes is more bark than bite. In the Bible, sometimes God comes across as a moral relativist since one moment he proclaims the sanctity of human life and categorically prohibits murder, and the next he either praises murdering entire populations (the native inhabitants of Canaan, for example), or takes matters in his own hands (such as when he kills all of the first-born children among the Egyptians—an event still gleefully celebrated in the religious holiday of Passover). It seems like killing can either be a horrible sin or an honorable activity, depending entirely on the context. This is hardly an example of moral absolutism. Similarly, plenty of Old Testament laws requiring grievous punishments for violators are amended or altogether eliminated by God at a later date.
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These instances of moral relativism raise the obvious questions: Did God change his mind? How can something be evil one day but acceptable the next? If we are going to allow for so many exceptions, why have absolute laws written in stone to begin with?
Despite these flagrant violations, some religions still find it appealing to praise (at least in theory) moral absolutism. The reason
for this is simple: they believe any moral flexibility will be abused by human beings out to find justifications for their selfishness. Giving people some leeway, they fear, will open the door to chaos and immorality. Even though this worry is very legitimate, the heavy dose of rigid, moral laws they prescribe as a cure does nothing to solve the problem.
Unfortunately, dogmatic, unchanging rules are drunken elephants in the house of crystal that is life. Rules without exceptions do more damage than good, for they don't possess the necessary delicate touch to be able to adjust the game plan to the present. By inviting us to follow the same recipe in all contexts at all times, they force us to apply a static model to a dynamic situation. But everything in life is in flux, as Heraclitus famously indicated. Very few things always hold true regardless of the specific context. Change and movement never fail to keep the world spinning. So, trusting an unchanging strategy to work in a reality that is always changing is plain delusional.
Paradoxically, the essence of morality seems to be found in timing. Nothing good comes from following the right rule at the wrong time. Telling the truth is a great policy, but not always. If during World War II, a person hiding Jewish refugees was asked by an SS soldier whether he had seen any Jews, answering truthfully wouldn't be virtuous—just stupid. Similarly, in a more ordinary context, it wouldn't be wise to offer a brutal truth to someone who is not ready to handle it. The only result of not telling a white lie would be to needlessly hurt them. The rule against killing people is obviously legitimate. But breaking it is the only morally good choice when it's done in order to stop someone from inflicting horrendous cruelties against the innocent and the defenseless.
What I'm endorsing here is not some wishy-washy form of moral relativism. The moral relativists who tell us that good and evil are only a matter of opinion must live in a much nicer world than the one I wake up in everyday. Evil has stared into my eyes too many times for me to pretend it's not there. When you see it, you can't mistake it for the simple carelessness and stupidity that are at the roots of many horrible, evil actions. Straight up, old-fashioned evil is something else.
Out of many encounters with evil, one instance stands out for me. When you hang out in the visiting room of San Quentin's death row, you expect to run into a few unsavory characters. These were the good old days when the inmates there still visited in a large communal room rather than behind a glass, so I was smack in the middle of a couple dozen convicted killers awaiting lethal injection. Some seemed to be polite, warm, caring. (Yeah . . . I know . . . not exactly what you would expect.) Others struck me as selfish little bastards who wouldn't think twice about putting a bullet in your head if you stood in their way. No big deal, though. Nothing I hadn't seen before. One guy, however, was in a whole different category. When he fixed his gaze on me, I literally felt chills running down my spine. This was no trigger-happy robber killing people for money, or some random, violent guy getting carried away in the heat of the moment. The man was pure evil—no doubt about it. His eyes were of someone whose favorite hobby was torturing people. Drawing blood, inflicting pain, and rejoicing in the screams of his victims were the guy's idea of a good time. When I asked who he was, I was told he was none other than Richard Ramirez, a.k.a. The Night Stalker, one of California's most infamous serial killers. If you haven't run into
someone like him, take my word for it, if you did, you wouldn't think there's anything relativistic about evil.
Evil is much more real and concrete than what moral relativists claim, but so is good. To act as a counterbalance to people like Richard Ramirez are many individuals in my life whose hearts overflow with kindness, empathy, and a love that keeps giving until it hurts and beyond—nothing relativistic about these qualities either.
Similarly, just like people, certain actions contain no shades of gray, and their moral standing doesn't change depending on the context. Unlike the delicate souls who believe in rehabilitating rapists, my moral flexibility doesn't stretch that far. Whereas even killing could be justified, there is never such a thing as self-defense rape. Rape is indefensible no matter what the surrounding circumstances are. No possible scenario exists under which it could ever be considered a good thing. Any intentional act of cruelty toward a sentient being is evil—period. I make no exceptions about this.
But this doesn't mean all of life, or even the majority of it, is so clear-cut. Most people and most actions are not so one-sided. Even though it may sound like a hyperbolic paradox, I firmly believe reality is made with more exceptions than rules. Too often, we are blackmailed into thinking that if we reject dogmatic absolutism, then we should promote absolute relativism, and the notion that there is no such a thing as “good” or “evil.” The first approach is the cousin of Fascism, while the latter is a symptom of the spinelessness (did I make up this word or does it really exist?) of postmodernism. Neither one offers us a healthy solution; so let's explore some alternatives.
No rigid moral laws can ever replace the one thing we need most: the awareness and the talent to choose wisely case by case. The greatest balance is not to be found in the adherence to a static rule,
but in the dynamic ability to read the present situation and be able to make the right call. In violation of Mosaic laws, Jesus went toe to toe with the political and religious traditions of his times by healing the sick during the Sabbath and preventing a mob from legally executing a woman for adultery. Through these radical actions (which were punishable by death), “outlaw” Jesus demonstrated real morality is greater than any legislation, and true virtue is not afraid to break “virtuous” dogmas. The goody-goody morality of those who would never dream of departing from the rules is a very distant second best to the ability to think and act on one's feet. Laws and theoretical models, in fact, should be treated as little more than guidelines in an ever-changing universe. Guidelines help us navigate through life, but fixed precepts are for people too stupid to live without them. As Thoreau writes, “I do not mean to prescribe rules to strong and valiant natures, who will mind their own affairs . . .”
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This is, clearly, easier said than done. Living unbound by rigid rules without inventing justifications for all kinds of self-serving behaviors requires tremendous skill, self-awareness, and sensitivity. As Bob Dylan sang in his song “Absolutely Sweet Marie,” “To live outside the law, you must be honest.” Only a crystal clear consciousness will not abuse this freedom.
But for someone who does indeed possess equal measures of integrity and intelligence, a blind obedience to the laws is a cage. Forcing them to stick to a pre-set ideology inevitably means restricting their ability to make choices moment by moment. When someone hits you, sometimes it is wise to turn the other cheek. Other times, it's better to knock their head into tomorrow. There's nothing wrong with keeping our options open.
One of the tasks of a vital religion consists in instilling good judgment and self-confidence. It's about helping us develop the
tools to forge a powerful, yet flexible character. Shoving down our throats a myriad of specific rules is a poor substitute for creating a balanced personality. Rules and absolute laws are necessary only for people whose internal guidance system is broken, and who would be lost without dogmas to lean on. But as Thoreau again warns us, “No method nor discipline can supersede the necessity of being forever on the alert.”
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At best, absolute laws can only limit the damage certain individuals can be capable of—nothing more. But real character is greater than this petty morality. Expecting talented individuals to always bow to the rules is like telling great explorers they should always remain on the beaten trail, or telling master chefs they should always stick to a recipe.