Does Paul Erland Build a Case?

Erland's case against CS Lewis is weakness incarnate

One of the more amusing things about the fundamentalist atheism movement that has emerged behind individuals like Richard Dawkins is the very real sense that every fundamentalist atheist seems to believe they're a master philosopher.

Often, however, their arguments are every bit as weak as the religious arguments they seek to counter. For example, their ojbection to Pascal's Wager -- the argument that one is better off believing in God in order to essentially "hedge their bets" for the afterlife -- is usually expressed by positing the ever-insipid (although admittedly otherwise hilarious) Flying Spaghetti Monster.

Of course no one actually believes in the Flying Spaghetti Monster. But many people actually do believe in a sentient and interventionalist god. Thus, God is what philosophers would refer to as a live hypothesis, where as the FSM is not.

A much better argument against Pascal's Wager is a much simpler one -- Pascal's Wager is actually an extremely cynical argument. No believe based on solely on Pascal's Wager could ever be genuine. An all-knowing god would very much know the difference.

Many fundamentalist atheists can't seem to settle for these kinds of simple arguments. Instead, they seem to feel a need to concoct drawn-out arguments that they seem to believe implies a sophistication which rarely turns out to be present.

An interesting case in point are the objections recently raised to CS Lewis' religious thought voiced by The Examiner's Paul Erland, a Nashville Agnostic Examiner:

"CS Lewis, the defender of the faith so beloved by all Christ-ininnies for lending elegance to their untenable beliefs, wrote:

'If there was a controlling power outside the universe, it could not show itself to us as one of the facts inside the universe -- no more than an architect of a house could actually be a wall or staircase or fireplace in that house. The only way in which we could expect it to show itself would be inside ourselves as an influence or command trying to get us to behave in a certain way. And that is just what we do find inside ourselves.'

First of all, if we’re likening God to an architect, why couldn’t he leave traces of himself inside his work? Architects often employ signature features and flourishes.

Blithely assuming, however, as he frequently does (Lewis is a master of the false syllogism), that we’re all agreed so far that God can’t be expected to reveal himself, Lewis then proceeds to tell us what we should expect -- for him to show himself 'inside ourselves.' So, in light of the architect analogy, should we expect the builder of our house to show himself inside us? And in any event, how does his conclusion follow from his premise? OK -- God is outside the universe and can’t blatantly interfere. So, obviously, he has installed that little voice inside us that says, 'You’re being watched, so behave yourself.'

Lewis is trying to account for the 'Moral Law' that may or may not be universal (he says it is). But wouldn’t such a 'law' be more plausibly explained as a biological imperative—a check on murderous impulses that grew out of natural selection—than as the finger of God perpetually tapping us on the shoulder?

Richard Dawkins says that the God delusion is a virus. If that’s the case, then Lewis was struck by a particularly virulent strain."

Erland actually tips his hand awfully early in his article -- he flagrantly disrespects the religious views of Christians (referring to them as "Christi-ninnies", and labeling the post with "Christ-inanity"). That disrespect informs his argument against Lewis, as is, in fact, his argument's undoing.

Erland seems to think that he isn't required to attempt any kind of serious attempt to debunk Lewis' thought -- and that the fact that Lewis is a religious thinker has already done the lion's share of the work of invalidating his thought.

Noting that architects often employ "signature features and flourishes", Erland insists that these would be irrefutable evidence of the architect's existence, and that this notion somehow counters Lewis' ideas.

But in order to make this claim, Erland has to overlook the cornerstone of Lewis' religious thought: namely, that religion is much an enterprise of the rational mind as of the spiritual self.

As with many kinds of evidence, the "signature features and flourishes" example employed by Erland is only as meaningful as a human actor's ability to properly perceive, analyze and interpret them. To the unknowing mind or the untrained eye, such "signature features and flourishes" would seem like any other feature of the house.

Even beyond that, the "signature features and flourishes" are not, themselves, the architect, but rather identifying characteristics left ehind by the architect.

Much like the "moral law" that Lewis has often posited, both through his philosophical works and through his literary works.

Erland posits that this "moral law" would "be more plausibly explained as a biological imperative" vis a vis natural selection. But his argument could quickly be countered by anyone who argued, even if only for argument's sake, that such a biological imperative could have been included by the creator's design.

What CS Lewis would actually argue in regard to his moral law argument is that the "moral law" in question is actually the message of Jesus Christ, and the blueprint for a moral life that his teachings provide. Lewis argues that those who do not follow this blueprint essentially debase themselves.

Lewis would go so far as to argue that the benevolence of Christ's message essentially gives it a monopoly on moral behaviour. He would more explicitly argue that no evil could ever truly be done in Christ's name -- although some certainly attempt to invoke Christ to justify their own immoral actions.

Moreover, Lewis argues that those who live in a moral manner are doing the work of Jesus Christ regardless of whatever religion they purportedly follow. (Admittedly, this argument has been interpreted as offensive -- perhaps quite rightly -- by a great number of people who subscribe to non-Christian religious beliefs.)

Perhaps Lewis would even argue that human conscience -- that voice within us that tells us when we've done something wrong -- could be interpreted as God's moral fingerprint on humanity.

These are interesting ideas, and admittedly are no more decisive than Erland's.

But there's very likely a good reason why Erland targeted Lewis in such a brazen manner in the first place. Richard Dawkins -- whose "faith as a virus" epithet Erland invokes in the conclusion of his article -- has advanced a perception of religion as adverse to rational thought.

Yet it was CS Lewis who said that being a Christian is hard intellectual work. He argued for spiritual faith mediated by the rational and intelligent mind. As a result, Lewis is clearly a thinker very threatening to Erland, Dawkins, and their fundamentalist atheist worldview.

CS Lewis certainly doesn't build a decisive case for "moral law", but he never truly meant to, either. What Lewis does do is build a compelling and inclusivist case for God's moral influence on the world.

Paul Erland, on the other hand, fails spectacularly in his attempt to build a decisive case against CS Lewis. Not only does he not seem to understand Lewis' thinking in the first place, but his scornful starting point nearly precludes any kind of rational criticism of Lewis' ideas.

Pop Culture and Philosophy vol. 4: Slim Shady, Dawg Philosopher

"Eminem is better than the best," writes BET vp (music and talent) Stephen Hill. "In his own way, he is the best lyricist, alliterator and enunciator there is in hip hop music. In terms of rapping about how other disenfranchised people feel, there is no one better than Eminem."

Much of Eminem's music captures the cynicism with which many such disenfranchised people have begun to view the world. To people who cannot meet what so-called societal elites deem to be the expectations of society, cynicism often emerges as a natural defense mechanism.

Eminem's music deeply embraces that cynicism, and often hands it down as an indictment of these societal expectations.

Despite it's extremely bad rap, cynicism's ancient Greek origins reveal a deeply philosophical nature to true cynicism. Ancient Greek cynics were branded as dog-like kynikos. These were individuals who offended the societal elites of their day by speaking truth to power. The ancient Greeks saw dogs as disobedient, corrupt, and indecent individuals. The implicit accusation against the kynikos was that they were disloyal to Greece.

The kynikos lived to provoke outrage. They often sought to reveal hidden dilemmas within well-accepted traditions and social norms. As such, if the kynikos were traitors to ancient Greece in any form, it was through their philosophical challenges to the mainstream Greek culture of the day. It's because of their philosophical work that the kynikos are also known as dog philosophers.

Diogenes of Sinope has been hailed by many as the prototypical dog philosopher. Diogenes is perhaps most famed for winning the favour of Alexander the Great not by submitting to the great Greek conqueror, but by speaking truth to his power.

Humour was known to be a favoured tactic of the kynikos. It was often their preferred tactic of provoking outrage.

More than 2000 years after Digoenes, Eminem has emerged as the modern-day prototype of a dog philosopher.

Humour has been the strong point of Eminem's music.

When he burst on to the music scene in 1999 with "My Name Is", the message of the song was implicit: that the world is a fucked up place, and that traditional values have done little or nothing to avert this:



The outrageous and (delightfully) obscene content of Eminem's first major release, The Slim Shady LP succeeded in provoking outrage. The criticisms of Eminem's music ranged from GLAAD insisting that the album encouraged hatred and violence against homosexuals to Tipper Gore and Lynne Cheney eventually naming him before a Senate committee.

Eminem responded to these kinds of criticisms with the song "Criminal":



In concert, Eminem donned a prison outfit to embody his indictment of his critics -- because the world has become fucked-up despite the influence of their social values, criminalizing people like Eminem for writing music about how fucked up the world is, and demonizing them for finding humour in it does nothing to solve the problem.

As with Diogenes, the outrage provoked is a symptom. It most certainly is not the cure.

In "White America", Eminem's indictment of American society reaches its most grandiose peak:



In "White America", Eminem makes his response to his critics much more clear: there are serious problems in the world -- in the video, topics such as racism, school violence and teen drug use are addressed -- yet time and energy that could be better used addressing those problems are often being used to attempt to silence those who speak out about these problems.

But like with any good dog philosopher, the ultimate goal for Eminem is not to accrue personal glory, but rather to get the message out. Far from reveling in it, Eminem has often demonstrated a distinct discomfort with his fame -- something Steve Berman mocks in a skit on Eminem's most recent release, Relapse.

Eminem best exhibits his discomfort with this fame in "Toy Soldiers", a song he wrote about people being killed over hip hop:



Eminem clearly recognizes that, for rappers as with dog philosophers, fame can be a catch .22. Being famous clearly makes it easier to disseminate a message. However, at the same time that fame can obscure the message, making it harder to separate the intended message from the controversy, just as some find it difficult to separate hip hop from the violence that has embroiled it over the past 20 years.

Regardless of whatever consequences his fame has had for his message, Eminem has firmly established his bona fides as not only one of the greatest rappers of all time, but as perhaps the greatest dog philosopher -- or dawg philosopher -- hip hop has ever produced.

Knowing Without Meaning May Not Be Enough

In Knowing, ingenious director Alex Proyas presents the tale of an astrophysicist who is convinced by a number list "randomly" presented to his son that he can predict and prevent disasters.

When John Koestler's son, Caleb (Chandler Canterbury) comes home from school with a list of numbers scrawled out by a youngster 50 years previous, John (Nicholas Cage) insists that he must return it as quickly as possible.

Upon more closely examining the page, however, John recognizes that 9/11 is predicted on it -- right down to the number of people killed on that fateful day. As he continues to examine the list he finds that each one corresponds to every major disaster of the previous 50 years, including the one that killed his wife.

According to the philsophical principle of determinism, everything that happens occurs for a reason. It insists that there is purpose and meaning to everything that unfolds in the universe.

Determinism is at the heart not only of many theistic religions, but also of many works of historical study. Theological scholars, like historians, often look for underlying causes for any particular event that would render them inevitable.

John Koestler doesn't fully believe in determinism, even though his father is a pastor.

John eventually concludes that the number series is a warning meant for him. He concludes that he must be able to prevent these incidents from happening, if only he can discern what they are. And yet, despite his best efforts, they continue happening. These events may be pre-determined to the extent that not even his intervention can prevent them.

In Preempting Dissent, Andy Opel and Greg Elmer argue that preemptive action is based on a principle of inevitability.

Aside from the minor detail that inevitability suggests that an event cannot be prevented -- whereas most of those who offer justification for preemptive action insist that it's necessary in order to prevent something from occurring -- the determinist philosophy of which Koesler speaks of seems to be deeply ingrained within Opel and Elmer's thesis.

This element of determinism is unmistakable. It should be remembered that Elmer and Opel don't necessarily incorporate this determinism as part of their own personal beliefs, but rather attribute that determinism to the beliefs of others -- in this case, those who make important policy decisions.

While that determinism may not be as pure as the version described by Koesler -- purely considered, determinism ascribes meaning and inevitability to events through a combination of natural and human factors -- this impurity actually suits the needs of Elmer and Opel's argument. Opel and Elmer's thesis is best related to human factors alone.

In Knowing, there is much more to the list than it would seem. In its own way, the list very much is a form of otherworldly intervention. It very much does have meaning and purpose, even if the events it predicts actually cannot be averted -- even one that seems like it may be the end of the world.

Pop Culture and Philosophy vol. 2: Trent Reznor and the Invisible Antagonist

Like quite a few heavy metal bands, the music of Nine Inch Nails -- which is really more of a one-man project by frontman Trent Reznor than an actual band in its own right -- is awash in philosophical questions.

"Only" clearly provokes an underlying question of what is real: the protagonist of the song or the antagonist?

If one wanted to be facetious, the answer could be considered fairly simple: the writer of the song, Trent Reznor, is a real person. So from that point of view one would expect that it would have to be him.

When one takes a close look at the lyrics of the song, it quickly becomes apparent that the protagonist himself may not be entirely sure of his own existence, at least in the conventional, corporeal sense:

"I'm becoming less defined as days go by/
Fading away/
And well you might say/
I'm losing focus/
Kinda drifting into the abstract in terms of how I see myself

Sometimes I think I can see right through myself/
Sometimes I think I can see right through myself/
Sometimes I can see right through myself"

The protagonist seems to suggest that he's beginning to see himself less as an actual person and more as an idea. He says that he can see right through himself, as if he's become invisible or, worse yet, he doesn't necessarily like this particular idea.

In other words, he doesn't like himself.

In his self-loathing, Reznor's protagonist takes the route that many self-loathers do -- he rejects the world itself:

"Less concerned about fitting into the world/
Your world that is/
Cause it doesn't really matter anymore/
(no it doesn't really matter anymore)/
No it doesn't really matter anymore/
None of this really matters anymore"

But for Reznor's protagonist the matter may go deeper than even this. Even if he doesn't necessarily recognize himself as real in the conventional sense, even if he views himself merely as an idea, the world he's rejecting -- the antagonist's world -- may be nothing more than a fantasy that he made up.

Moreover, in a vein typical of self-loathers, Reznor made up his antagonist -- and his antagonist's world -- up out of sheer masochism:

"Yes I am alone but then again I always was/
As far back as I can tell/
I think maybe it's because/
Because you were never really real to begin with/
I just made you up to hurt myself"

After remarking on his success in hurting himself, Reznor's protagonist rages about the nature of the fantasy world itself. For him the point of it all is very simple:

"There is no you/
There is only me"

To put it simply, while Reznor is unsure of his own existence as anything other than an idea -- or, possibly, an apparition -- he is sure of his own existence period.

Furthermore he's also assured of the nonexistence of his antagonist. He rages over and over again: "there is no fucking you/There is only me."

But is his self-assurance justified?

If one were to be facetious again, one would realize that the listener -- to whom the song could be argued is addressed -- realizes that they are real. One must at this point question whether or not Reznor's protagonist is delusional, insiting that the antagonist doesn't really exist despite the fact that they clearly do, or is imagining himself in a world without his antagonist.

Then again, there's a reason why this particular line of reasoning is facetious. Reznor wrote this song for a purpose. Considering that he published it, that purpose was obviously not self-gratification.

One is brought back to Reznor's conceptualization of himself as an idea:

"Well the tiniest little dot caught my eye and it turned out to be a scab/
And I had this funny feeling like I just knew it's something bad/
I just couldn't leave it alone, I kept picking at the scab/
It was a doorway trying to seal itself shut/
But I climbed through

Now I am somewhere I am not supposed to be, and I can see things I know I really shouldn't see/
And now I know why, now, now, now I know why/
Things aren't as pretty/
On the inside"

Considering that Reznor's protagonist has already admitted that he can see right through himself, one is drawn to the conclusion that the scab in question must be metaphorical.

Considering the aforementioned obvious overtones of self-loathing inherent in the song, it's pretty clear that the scab in question is not the healing over of a physical wound, but a psychological blemish that is either the cause of, or mere reinforcement of, the protagonist's palpable self-hatred.

As it turns out, this metaphorical scab is the doorway within himself, where he can see things he "really shouldn't see" and discovers that "things aren't so pretty on the inside."

Having been confronted by his inner self, the protagonist's discomfort seems to be enough to provoke a severe psychological crisis. His rejection of the world's existence could clearly be a manifestation of that crisis.

As interesting as the song itself may be, the music video actually adds additional evidence that Reznor's protagonist may actually be the one who is non-existent. In the video, Reznor appears only through an office toy -- the one that allows people to imprint their faces in magnetic metal beads. (If anyone knows what the hell those things are called, please feel free to share -ed)

Regardless of whatever conclusions one may draw about what the song's protagonist believes is -- or actually is -- real, the song does provide a fascinating window into the mind of an individual so disenchanted with themselves as to want to hurt themselves.

Pop Culture and Philosophy vol. 1: The Dark Knight and the Dilemma of Responsibility

As anyone who's ever read a Batman comic -- or perhaps Dark Knight of the Soul -- knows, the world of Batman is philsophically intensive.

There are countless philosophical questions at the very root of the Batman character, and of the world he inhabits.

Because it was released prior to the release of The Dark Knight, Dark Knight of the Soul doesn't directly address many of the interesting questions raised by the movie. Yet this film is utterly full of them.

One of the more intriguing scenarios in the film is the devious boat dilemma, in which two ferries are being used to evacuate two very different groups of people from Gotham.

One ferry is loaded with regular -- and presumably innocent and law-abiding -- citizens. The other is loaded with accused and convicted felons.

Under the guise of a "social experiment", the Joker has bombed each ship, and given the passengers of each ferry with the detonator for their counterpart's bomb. At any point, the passengers of either boat can ensure their survival by destroying the other. However, the Joker promises that at midnight he himself with destroy both ships.

In the overall scheme of the matter -- which is rather ironic seeing as how the individual who has dreamed up this nightmare scenario insists that he himself isn't a schemer, or "planner" -- deciding not to destroy the other boat actually ensures one's own death.

The scene confronts the occupants of each boat with a key dilemma -- that of responsibility.

First off, the nature of the occupants of each boat is clearly in play. Trapped on one boat is a collection of ordinary Gotham citizens. In the other, a group of violent criminals -- "Harvey Dent's most wanted", as its been remarked. It very well could be surmised that the latter boat is more likely to kill the occupants of the former.

After all, they're criminals. Their apparent lack of respect for the lives and property of others is a precipitating factor in them winding up in this predicament in the first place.

However, to make such an assumption could very well be argued to be an ad hoc fallacy, arguing that the criminals are criminals because they're more likely to "kill and steal" (as one passenger puts it), and the ordinary citizens are as such because they're less likely to do these things.

This can be argued to be a fallacy because such a view overlooks the numerous complicated factors that influence the decision to become a criminal. Factors such as poverty and drug and alcohol are known to increase an individual's likelihood to engage in criminal activity. Furthermore, such poverty or drug use is unlikely to be exclusive to the passengers of either ferry.

Last, but not least, there is the question of relative guilt or innocence. Any number of individuals on the prisoner's boat could be innocent and wrongly convicted, just as any number of individuals on the citizen's boat could be guilty of some crime for which they haven't been caught.

This is all aside from simple considerations of character. The motive each man on the prisoner's boat for engaging in crime could range from anything between personality factors -- the previously-surmised lack of respect for others -- to economic desperation or even mental illness.

Likewise, the motive of each individual on the citizens' boat for remaining among the law-abiding is not entirely clear. It, too, could range between anything from personality factors -- perhaps these people have legitimately internalized society's rules and accepted as their own -- to economic comfort, or even mere fear of the potential consquences of criminal behaviour.

The situation is not nearly so black-and-white as those on the boats -- and many viewers -- may otherwise insist.

Each boat addresses the situation rather differently.

On the prisoner's boat, the prison warden holds on to the detonator. For the most part -- at least in the early going -- the decision seems to be largely up to him.

The captain of the citizens' boat seems to feel entitled to hold the same power over the situation. He tells the passengers of his boat that they aren't even going to talk about destroying the other boat. His passengers don't see it the same way. Intriguingly, they are much less orderly than the passengers on the criminals' boat. They loudly demand their say, using their obedience to the law as political capital with which they can demand the right to make that decision for themelves.

The National Guard sergeant on the boat concedes, and distributes rudimentary paper ballots among the passengers. When counted, more than twice as many passengers have voted in favour of killing the prisoners than have voted against it.

What has come into play is a diffusion of responsibility scenario.

The test case used to teach about diffusion of responsibility in sociology and social psychology is that of Kitty Genovese, who in 1964 was brutally murdered outside of her New York apartment building while her neighbours watched. None of her neighbours came to her aid, or even called the police.

Diffusion of responsibility is believed to become more and more pronounced as more and more people are present. The more people are present, the less responsible each individual feels for whatever events may transpire.

Thus, as merely one among 500 people on board the ferry, most of the passengers on the citizens' boat finds themselves able to do something that they initially considered themselves superior because they -- unlike many of the passengers on the prisoners' boat -- had not done. Namely, make the decision to take a life. And not merely one life, but hundreds.

Yet the situation is really not that simple. One person still has to trigger the detonator. Even with nearly 500 people involved in making the decision to kill a comparable number of people on the other boat, someone still has to take a direct hand in exercising that decision.

The captain -- being against the decision -- is clearly unwilling to do so. Even having presumably voted against destroying the other boat, there's little question that he himself would be directly responsible if he were to trigger the explosion.

The diffusion of responsibility would coalesce rather abruptly around the individual who conducted this legally unauthorized execution of 500 lives.

Even when an unnamed man who had argued vociferously in favour of destroying the other boat volunteers to use the detonator, he finds his enthusiasm for the act significantly diminished in the face of the fact that while he made the decision to destroy the other ship in concert with more than 300 others, it's he alone who has his fingers on the detonator.

In the end, he returns the detonator to its box, seemingly preferring to die rather than be directly and personally responsible for the destruction of the other ship.

On the other ship, the warden seems entirely unwilling to destroy the other ship. Yet as the clock ticks closer and closer to midnight -- the time at which both ships will be destroyed -- the warden has to consider the possibility of the loss of both ships. Not merely the loss of the innocent (or perhaps not-so-innocent) citizens on the other ship, but of the prisoners for which he, himself, is ultimately responsible.

It's unlikely that many people -- in the corrections system or otherwise -- will miss the passengers on his boat. But to lose both ships is a total loss. By saving the prsioners, at least the warden prevents that.

Then, naturally, there is the question of self-preservation. The warden may have a wife and children that he may want to go home to, just as many of his men must have families of their own. Furthermore, there is the matter of the families of the prisoners for which he is responsible.

If the citizens on the other ferry live up to their presumed innocent and noble character a great many people would suffer needlessly. The seemingly perverse nature of saving the prisoners at the expense of the innocent citizens aside, from a purely objective point of view it's prefereable to a total loss.

Of course even the notion of self-preservation doesn't account for the fact that, being responsible for the destruction of the other ship, the warden would be widely reviled for his actions. That revulsion would almost certainly be taken out on both himself and his family by the families of the occupants of the other ship and by orderinary citizens alike. Then, to top this all off, there is the matter of moral and criminal responsibility.

But perhaps this is all besides the point.

Regardless of who makes the choice and whatever choice they make, the role of the Joker in the entire matter is unmistakable. After all, it was the Joker who engineered this sadistic choice in the first place.

Even more important than this is the Joker's compunction for offering deceptive choices. When Batman and Commissioner Gordon are given the choice of saving Harvey Dent or Rachel Dawes from the predicament they've been placed in, the Joker gives Batman a false location for each: Harvey is where Rachel is supposed to be, and Rachel dies because of this deception.

But the Joker himself accepts little responsibility for the matter. When confronted by Gordon about their whereabouts, the Joker asks him who left them with. One can't help but remember that Dent himself confronted Gordon with his concerns about some of the officers in his unit.

Just as the Joker refutes any responsibility for the death of Rachel Dawes and the disfigurement of Harvey Dent -- insisting to Harvey that he's just like a dog chasing cars -- he would certainly claim no responsibility for the result of his boat trap.

One way or another, the people aboard the boats made their choices. Fortunately for the people of Gotham -- and unfortunately for the Joker -- each chooses not to destroy the other boat, even under the prospects of impending death. After all, without Batman's heroic intervention, everyone involved dies, no matter what.

Almost unequivocally, those involved have to be taking responsibility for the prospect of their own deaths. And even if the Joker refuses to accept any responsibility for his actions, that refusal may prove to be a moot point. Responsibility ultimately would have been forced upon him, although his contempt for that may in turn render forcing responsibility upon him pointless.

Meditations on the Subject of Evil

Evil exists. Personally, I find it to be a little absurd that so many people in our society today wish to deny the existance of evil, but there is no question that it exists.

Frankly speaking, it is a big, scary, ugly world we live in. Whatever the source or ultimate cause may be, there is no question that there is a lot anger, meanness and bitterness in the world, and it hurts a lot of people on a day to day basis?

So, the question must be asked: if evil exists, then what is evil? Is evil a tangible force at work in the world around us, or is it an ideal? Is there any true concrete cross-cultural definition evil, or evil (like beauty) in the eye of the beholder?

There are a lot of arguments on both sides. Certainly, explorations of historical episodes such as the Holocaust (or, indeed, any to do with ethnic cleansing of any kind) are often used to explore the true nature of what evil is, or what evil isn't, but constantly come up short of giving us a real definition on which we can agree.

Essentially, what the question of evil may be decided upon is this: is evil the sum of the cause and effect of one's actions, or the sum of one's intentions?

Either way, the case could be made that someone such as Adolf Hitler (man, we claim to hate this guy but we loooooove to talk about him, don't we?) was evil. But a closer examination of Hitler seems to give people room to argue.

After all, some people argue that Hitler was not evil because he was doing everything he did in order to benefit the German people. It seems, however, that this line of argument ignores one crucial factor: how did the death of millions of Jews benefit even a single German citizen? Furthermore, how could these benefits possibly be worth millions of lives?

It could be argued that evil comes attached to a lack of value for human life, or at least a distorted value of human life. However, it could also be argued that "good" has often acted with a disregard for the value of human life. So once again, the scales draw evenly. Of course, it could be argued that often evil masquerades as something other than evil (which, as we are socialized to believe, is supposed to be "good").

How does one define evil then? There is one aspect of evil that seems to be ignored every now and then, and that is the small, every day evils that occur.
It is my belief that evil exists in the heart of everyone who just wants to hurt someone else, and in the mind of everyone who thinks that is all right. Evil is empowered by those who tolerate this, allowing this manner of behavior to continue.