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In terms of innate poten­tial­i­ty, we are a total­ly depraved species. I have lit­tle trou­ble admit­ting as much. There is not a sin­gle one of us inca­pable giv­en the right con­flu­ence of cir­cum­stances of unspeak­able evil, both inad­ver­tent and intentional.

The fore­ground of con­scious­ness is like an ice­berg float­ing on a sea of unknow­ing. What we know we know and what we think we think is a van­ish­ing­ly small part of the whole scope of those pre­de­ter­mined and cul­tured dri­ves, shaped or instinc­tive inhi­bi­tions, pre­con­cep­tions, prej­u­dices, pre­oc­cu­pa­tions, and pred­i­cat­ed impuls­es that lie buried beneath the sur­face of a world that we whol­ly hal­lu­ci­nate into men­tal existence.

Our will is as much a psy­cho­log­i­cal deceit as it an expe­ri­en­tial real­i­ty. What con­sti­tutes our thoughts is no thing of solid­i­ty or fix­i­ty but a riv­er that nev­er ceas­es in its move­ment, each thought an inde­pen­dent flash of exis­tence, a reim­pres­sion of an impres­sion of an impres­sion of an impres­sion run through a pre­dic­tive per­cep­tu­al engine on a crude sense scaf­fold encrust­ed with accre­tions, such that what we expe­ri­ence is the prod­uct of process­es that pre­ex­ist the moment, the very instant of sense, the very point of con­scious thought.

What our minds design to ignore is an amass­ment near lim­it­less­ly greater than what ever pass­es into our aware­ness. In those unknown shad­ows lies the capac­i­ty for so many things we can­not even begin to imag­ine. We are total­ly depraved inso­far as we are irre­triev­ably of our own pow­ers inca­pable of ban­ish­ing final­ly these demons of por­tent potency.

That it is dif­fi­cult to accept this is not dif­fi­cult to under­stand, for it elic­its a great exis­ten­tial dread and par­a­lyz­ing fear of our dark and cav­ernous unknowns. The very mech­a­nisms which con­tain the pow­ers to con­ceive this truth about our­selves are always urgent­ly attempt­ing to sub­merge these con­sid­er­a­tions of their own integri­ty. It is the mak­ing of mad­ness and despair.

With­out the pre­tense of hope, a dogged belief in belief, an accep­tance of graces and benev­o­lences and sav­ing acts beyond all pow­ers and prin­ci­pal­i­ties, most espe­cial­ly those that move with­in all of us, unknown to us, act­ing upon us with­out con­sent, with­out mandate.

Some­thing, Some­one who tran­scends our inner void of hor­rors and enters into it and har­rows it and lib­er­ates it from the encrip­pling paral­y­sis of knowl­edge, not its con­tent but the fac­ul­ty itself. I hap­pen to believe that the enti­ty that ful­fills that whol­ly imag­ined role is Jesus Christ, the sec­ond per­son of the undi­vid­ed Trin­i­ty. I don’t expect oth­ers to believe in this myth, this myth which I hold fast is the Myth made true, made real.

Hume said that we “sup­pose two dis­tinct species of men, the good and the bad. But the great­est part of mankind float betwixt vice and virtue.” At the sur­face, at the lev­el of con­scious­ness, we are nei­ther good nor bad, nei­ther moral nor immoral, nei­ther vir­tu­ous nor vicious. We are an entan­gle­ment of both sus­pend­ed in ocean of pos­si­bil­i­ties and prob­a­bil­i­ties, so much of that being entire­ly ran­dom and total­iz­ing­ly out­side of our con­trol. But we are depraved in nature, fall­en out­side of the bounds of per­fect good­ness and full knowl­edge. And that is some­thing that we must reck­on with, that we must try to accept.

If the events of the past week, if the events of the past fifty years, if the events of the past four hun­dred years teach us any­thing, it is that human beings do not move ever and nec­es­sar­i­ly for­ward from good­ness to greater good­ness. There is no moral arc on which path we are ever trod­ding. If our his­to­ry tells us any­thing, it is that of our own pow­ers we are ever sub­ject to the same essen­tial pos­si­bil­i­ties, that who we think we are is nev­er the whole or even the larg­er part of the sto­ry, and that we will float between virtue and vice, some­times col­lec­tive­ly achiev­ing an abun­dance of one over the oth­er, some­times mere­ly expe­ri­enc­ing an abun­dance of one over a great and hid­den sin, some­times acti­vat­ing the worst parts of us in hor­rif­ic and far-reach­ing and trans­gen­er­a­tional crimes.

But the moral uni­verse that we live in is the always now. There is no before and there is no after. This is always the deci­sive act, the trans­for­ma­tive event in this moment and at this moment alone.

Let us try to be kind, let us try to be com­pas­sion­ate, and let us try to accept the bro­ken­ness of all of us by acknowl­edg­ing the bro­ken­ness with­in each of us.