The Evil Giant... Me?

I was reading some material by Daniel Goleman, a psychologist. He spoke of a conversation he had with an imprisoned serial killer known as the Santa Cruz Strangler. The man is almost seven feet tall, and he has and IQ of just over 160, making him a certifiable genius. The one question that burned in Goleman's mind was "How could you have done it?" The strangler admitted that he killed in a very personal way, so Goleman further prodded, "Did you not feel any pity for these poor people?" The murderer paused and answered in a matter-of-fact tone, "No, If I had felt even a hint of their distress, I would have been rendered incapable of my actions. I had to turn that part of me off."

That is so cold and calculated, and I think that, at first glance, an evil giant genius with a capacity for sociopathic behavior seems almost like science fiction to me. Still, his admission that he had to turn "that part" of his conscience off is fascinating. I can see myself in that. It seems possible, if not probable, that every human being is born with the capacity for empathy, but at some point we make a semiconscious decision to just turn it off.

I am from a small town, and there are very few homeless people here. However, when I have been to large cities in America, I have noticed many people just living on the streets. I can remember as a young child visiting Philadelphia, PA. As I walked around with my parents, we passed a small lot of grass just off the sidewalk, and on this little oasis of green lay nearly twenty dirty and disheveled homeless people. I was unfamiliar with the concept of homelessness at the time, so I was horrified to discover that these human beings lived outside. When I went to Europe, I saw beggars lining the streets, and as much as it bothered me in the beginning, by the end of my trip, I hardly noticed them.

I look at the evil giant genius, and I see a barbarian. Yet, I am the barbarian. I have done everything within my power to turn off that part of me that pities. I might make up excuses like "They should just get a job" or "They just want more booze" instead of "It is my job to love" or "They are slaves to addictions that I cannot even imagine." My forced ignorance of the pain of others might have begun with the extreme cases of homelessness, but it has filtered into most pieces of my everyday life.

Before Jesus ever walked this earth, the famous Rabbi Hillel was asked by an outsider to sum up the entire Jewish faith. He replied, "What is hateful to you, do not do to your fellow: this is the whole Law; the rest is commentary; go and learn." Jesus agreed. What do you think Hillel meant when he added, "go and learn." Study of the Torah is surely important, but I think it was more or less a command to "see for yourself." Just try it, and I think it is that simple. Each one of us has the capacity for empathy for compassion for good, and I honestly believe that this part of us is dying to come out. In John 4, when Jesus had just spoken with the woman at the well, he turned to his disciples, addressing the issue of service towards others. His advice? "Open your eyes, the fields are ripe for the harvest" (John 4:35). The fields have always been ripe, but I have not always noticed. Maybe the best thing is just to "Open our eyes."

The evil giant genius and I have a lot in common, but with my eyes open to hurt, my heart open to empathy, and my life in tune with the spirit of God, I just might begin to notice, again. I was born with open eyes, but I have lived with them closed. As for now, they are readjusting to the light.