When I Met Evil

This will not be a pleasant article.

I have never been one to shy from moralistic posturing, because I have never been one for lying.

I feel that what I am ultimately seeking is the ideal of good.  I feel this is what every driven mind and hungry heart in this world seeks, though precious few care to admit it.  I feel that a large number of people are either indifferent or pursuing good in a lackadaisical, half-hearted and easily-consumed manner.  More and more, I believe this has always been the state of the human race.  Not quite bound to sin and total depravity, more inclined to the vulgar and venial.  Wickedness is not mundane.

I no longer believe that the personally harmful and socially damaging things in our world today were primarily the creation of purposeful human design.  I believe that few people truly desire to be bad.  To be bad is as much of a sacrifice as it is to be good.  I nowadays feel that the answer we seek isn’t a matter of less bad, but more good.  There is a distinct shortage in the world of both bad and good.

Rarer still is actual evil.

There is as profound a gulf between bad and evil as there is between good and divine.  I see good and bad as something humans have to work hard to achieve.  The divine lifts these works to impossible heights; evil tears them down, makes the effort meaningless.  The divine is love, the other is worse than even hate, it is the removal of all things that make love possible.

I see both divine and evil acts as something humans cannot achieve on their own.  Something outside has to help them along.

I have only read of men and women who have touched the divine.  I have known a man who touched the other.  I once called him my friend.

We’ll call him J.

J was a fraternity brother, as well as a college and military band mate.   J was relatively dependable and capable of bringing attractive girls to parties, which was baseline friend material at that point of my life.  He was the catalyst of numerous vulgar stories that I will happily share over a cigar and when the wife is out of earshot.

This was early in my exposure to online blogs (07 – 09).  After following a link on Maddox’s website, I started reading Tucker Max’s stories and sharing them among my friends.  We began trying to emulate Tucker, with varying and amusing results.  We started referring to our weekend jaunts as “safari,” and comparing the women to various savanna beasts (I bought a safari hat, which met a grim fate one night).  Our parties became noticeably wilder.  We started trying to one-up each other.  Most of us would burn out quickly, a few never grew out of it.

At some point and for some reason, J became involved, and began to share his personal “game” stories with the gang.  What made this distinct was that J was an open homosexual.  I imagine now that it gave him a thrill to see the uncomfortable and sometimes disgusted looks we shared.  J would begin to have his male friends at these parties, and would make a point to verbally and physically denigrate them in front of us.

Over time we noticed that his partners became noticeably younger and his treatment of them became noticeably worse.  The last relationship I can recall J having was with a boy we believed to be between 16 and 19, perhaps even younger.  J was also becoming a very belligerent alcoholic and destructive drug user.  This led to the group splitting up, as the discomfort simply became too much

I fell out of contact with J for a while; he moved several times, and I had started turning my life around, finding steady work and steady women.  Months later and out of the blue, J contacted me.  He needed transport to a mid-day fraternity meeting, and his car was in the shop.  I obliged.

I drove to his place at the time, finding a male in noticeably baggy clothes seated on the back porch.  His head was in his hands.  The back door was open.  Walking in I was assaulted with a horrible smell I’ve never been able to forget.  In the living room I found J and two men I had never seen before smoking and laughing.  Bottles and clothes littered the floor, though everyone was dressed.

J proceeds to tell me the boy outside was a local student (high school or college I will never know) and had been buying drugs from one of the guys next to J for a while.

The three men had gotten him high and raped him all night.

Seeing my reaction, the three laughed and loudly went into detail of the happenings the night before.  I remember hearing a sob during their storytelling, I remembered the porch door was open.

Eventually I was able to remind J of the meeting that day.  We left the two guys on the couch and walked out.  J stopped and violently kicked the guy on the porch.  I heard a pathetic yelp.  I kept walking.

“Go wash your ass, faggot.  You stink.”

*I didn’t think about this day and that guy on the porch for a long time.  I spent the better part of eight years not even thinking about J.  Last I had heard, he was in a rehab somewhere.  I can’t even remember how long ago I heard this, and I have less than no interest in an update.

*I attempted to repress that memory, but what I saw that day had a profound effect on me nonetheless.  *

*I am to this day highly sensitive to abusive language in public, and have a hard time not feeling a very primal terror when I am angered or cross a point in heated argument.  I’ve noticed this causes drastic mood swings, though I’ve always been able to control them.  *

*Inebriation or the prospect of losing consciousness or control frightens me.

*I struggle even today to not see all homosexuals as predatory monsters, and have a difficult time fairly treating social issues connected to that lifestyle.  I harbor a deep revulsion towards drug culture and hedonism, anything or anyone that celebrates a lack of self-control.  *

  • I cannot say whether or not this event had any impact on my faith at the time, as I was a cynical heathen long before even college.  I will say that this has had an impact on my faith today.  As I read and listen to debates and discussions on evil, I find myself thinking about this awful memory very often.  I will never pray for J.

*I hope that, better equipped both mentally and spiritually, that I could better respond if I ever encounter evil again. *

I pray that I never have to.

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Bulbasaur is a blue collar worker and part-time polemicist from the Southern U.S.