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"Evil's Advantage Over Conscience, and How Goodness Can Win"

Matot 5765 Sermon, July 29, 2005

Rabbi Samuel M. Cohon

 

As some of you know, my family and I have just returned from a wonderful vacation in one definition of paradise, the Hawaiian island of Kauai.  Ironically, it was while we were enjoying our first week of trade winds, sea, and sand that word came of the horrific terror attacks in London, truly half the world away and in a completely different mindset.  There we were preparing to hang loose for a couple of weeks when we turned on the TV for the surf report and saw instead reports of carnage on double-decker buses and subway tunnels turned into catacombs. 

 

While we actually were a day late realizing the bombings had occurred, in this day and age there really is no place that is exempt from the reach of terrorists and the aftermath of their horrible work.  In the words of poet John Donne—writing fully 400 years ago—no man is an island, not even when he is on an island.

 

Even in Gan Eiden, the need to put these latest assaults into some context was strong.  And in a way, what better place to meditate on good and evil than the veritable Garden of Eden—after all, isn’t that where such human explorations of morality began in the first place?

 

And so I wondered yet again, how can such events continue to take place, when so many of the forces of the civilized world are arrayed against them?  And what do these latest events really mean to us?

 

First, of course, the recent murders in London remind us—as if we needed the reminder—of the constant presence of evil in our world.  Just when you begin to think it might be safe to go back in the ocean, the truth is revealed in all its starkness and horror.  Evil exists, and often it seems to win.

 

The well-coordinated attacks this time took place in Britain, instead of in New York or Tel Aviv or Madrid, which highlights the international nature of the current Islamic terrorist underground.  It also demonstrates, yet again, that our real war now is not the protracted, frustrated occupation of Iraq but the search and destroy mission aimed at the terrorist infrastructure of Al-Quaeda, and the broader ultra-violent Islamic extremist movements worldwide and their financial sponsors.

 

Even more important, in the wake of 9/11, the Madrid subway assaults, and the London bombings there is now widespread agreement that terrorism is beyond the pale of normal human expressions of resistance, and that the random killing of innocents on buses, in subways, and in marketplaces is not a political act but an immoral one.  Terrorism is, in every case, morally wrong.

 

And yet, we don’t always manage to stop terrorists. 

 

Which brings me to a second, and most important point.  These attacks again demonstrate that evil always has a certain advantage over good in our society, because our understanding of the nature of goodness is that we seek, always, to redeem even those who are unredeemable.  In the face of real evil, conscience is actually a handicap.

 

You see, because we are people of conscience, who try to act rationally and more or less with restraint, we tend to seek explanations for why others do not.  Those explanations—domestic political repression, poverty, religious passion—help us rationalize the irrational, and aid those who are genuinely committed to evil to succeed.

 

The perfectly reasonable, ethical commentator who explains that Hamas or Islamic Jihad is a response to poverty and repression, or even the fair-minded religious leader who preaches that love will overcome the machinations of Al Quaeda and heal the murderous rage of the Taliban is speaking from a position of conscience—but one that, unfortunately, badly misses the mark.

 

For conscience in this case is a fundamental handicap.  Sigmund Freud explains that the person with a conscience learns to repress his own most destructive impulses—and so fails to see it in others.  Conscience alerts us to minor evils in others and ourselves, but it also blinds us to massive evil in others.

 

This is why political battles tend to be fought over small violations of relatively minor regulations, while larger corruption and morally reprehensible policies slip below the radar.  Conscientious people give others the benefit of the doubt, always—even when they have proven they do not deserve it.

 

That is why a serial murderer, consistent liar, and failed leader mired in corruption like Yasser Arafat was given so many chances by stronger, brighter, more decent leaders who saved him many, many times.  Coming from a position of power and magnaminity, always seeking a higher goal than mere responsibility, leaders of conscience and decency continually kept him in a position of control.  Perhaps, they said, this time he will be redeemed.

 

What this latest episode in England teaches us, again, is that some people are just evil, and that we must not allow our innate goodness, our own sense of conscience, to be manipulated to save those who are truly evil.

 

This does not mean, by the way, that those who declare their political enemies to be evil are necessarily telling the truth, by the way.  But horrific acts of terror against innocents clearly define a form of evil that is beyond question.

 

So what does this teach us about ourselves, and what can we learn that will help us deal with the problematic nature of evil’s advantage over conscience?

 

When faced with the conundrum of how our own consciences limit our ability to destroy those who are truly evil the tendency is to abandon conscience entirely.  There are always those who say that conscience is a luxury in a dangerous world, particularly during wartime—and somehow, there is always a war.

 

But Judaism teaches us differently.  We are taught that, in every case, we must retain our essential belief in goodness, and preserve our commitment to conscience.  As the great poet Shaul Tchernikovsky put it, “laugh at all my dreams… yet I still believe in humanity, as I still believe in you.”  In the face of the immorality of individual men and women, in spite of the acts of terror and murder, we retain our dedication to peace, and to morality.

 

We continue to believe in the ultimate triumph of good, and of God. 

 

But we do so with full knowledge and understanding of the existence and strength of those who are immoral, and our need to resist them.

 

Our task, our greatest challenge, is to respond to true evil with decision and consistency, while retaining the pragmatic nature of our idealism.   We must be both decisive in our response to evil and firmly committed to creating holiness and respect in the world.  For if we abandon that commitment our victory over evil will be worse than hollow—it will be no victory at all.

 

The world is established on three things, Rabbi Shimon ben Gamliel teaches us in Pirkei Avot: on justice, on truth, and on peace.  First we must seek justice for those who were killed and wounded.  Then we must be truthful about what the killers and their sponsors represent, and how they must be stopped. And then we must work, with at least as much passion and energy and focus, to build peace in this world.

 

And then goodness can, and will, win.

 

May this be God’s will—and may this be our will, and our commitment.

 

Ken Yehi Ratson.

Shabbat Shalom.