Practicing Compassion in the Face of Evil

The Cho murders have been analyzed up one side and down the other - as they well should be. This terrible tragedy brings up many important issues to be discussed, debated, struggled with. Issues of security. The responsibility and capability of a university to protect its students. Gun control. Our violent society. Mental illness. Bullying. Injustice. About the Outsider in our society. It also brings up spiritual issues about evil. The possibility of evil being redeemed. About whether evil can be saved. About our ability to be compassionate toward someone who has created such a tragedy.

There is no question that first of all, our compassion has to go out to the many victims. Definitely to those who were killed, with their happy, hopeful faces and the look of a good future, loving friends, profound and beautiful connections with others. The victims that were shot, as they struggle with normalcy, and their close brush with death. The grief of those who loved. The desire of a university to create a community of care.

Among all of this profound sadness, is there room to be compassionate for the murderer? I am struck by how profoundly isolated and deeply troubled and wounded he was. I'm struck by the depth of his alienation. One of the great Protestant theologians of the 20th century, Paul Tillich, believes that our Fall from Grace (whether seen in terms of the meaning of the Adam and Eve story, or in terms of our own personal experiences of disconnection) is a fall from harmony into alienation. He sees one of our most profound spiritual journeys to be one of overcoming the alienation that seems to be potentially at the core of our human existence. Most overcome it through their relationships with others, through developing a spiritual life, through finding meaning in work and study. There is a belief that everyone is redeemable, and that life has the potential to bring blessings, sometimes called Grace, in the midst of struggle and conflict.

In many studies of these murderers, there is a common denominator - they were usually bullied and felt injustice, which simmered until it lashed out with an explosion of rage. They were profoundly alienated. One of the survivors of Columbine, Craig Scott, who was the brother of one of the first students to be murdered, Rachel Scott, travels around the country talking to students about compassion, care, speaking to the isolated and alienated. That means seeing the person who is different from us - whether culturally, or mentally, or psychologically, or in terms of class, race, gender - not as The Other, but as someone who is somewhat like us. Instead of saying "Nothing foreign is human to me" we learn to say "Nothing human is foreign to me." We see some connection between their struggles and others - which usually is in degree, and in the action we take, but may not be so terribly different than our own moments of isolation and alienation. Craig believes, and has seen evidence, that some of these tragedies can be stopped through our recognition of alienation, and our determination to reach when we see it. Craig has become a friend of mine, and I have become quite convinced that he is right.

There were clearly those who tried to help, tried to reach Cho, tried to intervene, although with little knowledge of how troubling this would turn out to be. For me, it makes me want to be more aware of all of our needs for compassion and connection. It makes me wonder if help was possible, while believing that it could have been.