I once knew a person who was chillingly evil.
When their malice was exposed, their only defense was rage and blame-shifting. Like a narcissist caught in a mirror, they couldn't bear to see their own reflection and, instead, pointed a trembling finger at anyone but themselves. It reminded me of a much older story, one many of us have heard since childhood: the story of the devil.
This impulse to externalize our worst qualities has, it is believed, influenced the foundations of many spiritual themes. It’s an easy comfort to accept that our cruelty comes from a demon, or the devil, or a dark force outside of ourselves. It’s an excuse that allows us to feel less responsible for our ill will. But what if this spiritual scapegoat is just a grand, collective version of the narcissistic deflection I witnessed? Have we created and named an entire legion of beings to avoid facing ourselves?
I am not discounting the deep spiritual truths found in nature, love, or ancient history. But I want to talk about this mental aspect of faith: the one where we hand off our evil to a convenient entity.
We see the evidence in our daily news cycles—the violence, the hatred, the injustice. This evil isn't the work of supernatural puppeteers; it is the product of human choice and human normalcy. I would not even call it a flaw -- just normal. Some are shaped by trauma, others by their upbringing, still others by negative scorpionic or plutonic aspects, but all are ultimately accountable for their actions. Not all abused become abusers. Not all poor [or rich] turn to stealing. We decide to be who we will be. This is true even when observers look for convenient, un-human explanations, like possessions or miracles. These extraordinary experiences, whether psychological or energetic, are still filtered through a human vessel from old human energies. A choice must be made to act on it.
While spiritual traditions draw from many sources—from encounters with the unexplainable to our appreciation of nature's power—some have also integrated the human need for a convenient scapegoat. The phrase "the devil made me do it" is more than a cultural cliché; it is the ultimate expression of this narcissistic deflection. Every human baby is born not giving a damn about how tired their moms are, or what the mom recently went through by birthing them. They want what they want. Then they grow up that way.
Even our capacity to do good or to love others is based on selfishness. Not wanting to feel guilt for not doing the right thing. We raise our kids well because others are watching. Or we want the kids to grow up and to care for us when we are older. We marry a sweetheart because of the pleasure they bring to us. Yes, even our love and mourning of the dead is selfish and based on what we are going to lose when they are gone.
The real path to redemption lies not in casting out a demon, but in facing our own tendency toward selfishness. It's an uncomfortable and humbling task. It means looking at the violence and the envy and the lies and saying, "Yes, that is a part of me, a part of us." When we finally claim this truth—when we stop blaming unseen human forces for our human normalcy—we can begin the hard work of building a better world, one grounded in honesty, self-knowledge and acceptance of who we really are.
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