According to Christian theology, humans are a race unto ourselves. We can’t become angels or demons; those creatures are of a prior order of Creation. Yet when I look upon the behavior of some of our kindred, I can’t help thinking “she would make a ‘good’ demon.”
In his novel of black magic Black Easter, the late James Blish described one supporting character, a succubus whom another character is thinking of bedding, as a member of very low order of demons:
“Suppose you should find, for example, that no human woman could please you any more, and you’d become dependent on succubi? I don’t know how much you know of the theory of such a relationship. In general, the revolt in heaven involved angels from every order in the hierarchy. And of the Fallen, only those who fell from the lowest ranks are assigned to this sort of duty. By comparison, MARCHOSIAS is a paragon of nobility. These creatures have even lost their names, and there’s nothing in the least grand about their malignancy – they are pure essences of narrow meanness and petty spite, the kind of spirit a Sicilian milkmaid calls on to make her rival’s toenails split, or give an unfaithful lover a pimple on the end of his nose.”
“That doesn’t make them sound much different from ordinary women,’ Jack said, shrugging.
Jack’s assessment to the side, “ordinary women” are morally much superior to succubi… well, most “ordinary women.” For today we have a category of women before us that would surely be suited for that very low order of demons:
The Buffalo Bills aren’t the only beneficiaries of the knee injury to Kansas City Chiefs kicker Harrison Butker.
News of Butker’s injury came out Thursday evening ahead of the Chiefs-Bills showdown Sunday, and, for many liberals disgruntled with the outcome of the recent election, the news was a reprieve and cause for celebration on social media.
[…]
Several social media users posted in celebration of Butker’s injury, referencing the kicker’s previous comments on the benefit of women accepting domestic roles as mothers and wives and his endorsement of Trump.
One widely circulated post had a caption that said, “Women seeing Harrison Butker get injured,” attached to a video of a television audience standing up and cheering passionately.
Much as I’d like to copy the whole article – it’s a perfect depiction of “narrow meanness and petty spite” in human flesh – I’ll just suggest that you click through for the rest.
What can one say about such low-grade schadenfreude? Delighting in another’s pain is a dead giveaway of a shriveled soul. What kind of man would willingly associate with such a woman? If she has a man, he’s likely to be a low-grade creature himself.
Yet this is, if not uniform on the Left, in abundant supply.
No, we in the Right aren’t a gaggle of saints. There are some among us who would take pleasure from an injury to a political or cultural opponent. There are probably some who would wish such harm to befall a disliked figure. But please, God: keep whoever suffers such a malady far from decent persons. It’s probably not infectious – people with an adequate stock of charity and humility recoil from spitefulness – but it’s repulsive, even nauseating.
And as for you, Gentle Reader: should you ever be tempted to gloat over the misfortune of another, thrust it away at once! It’s powered by the residuum of malice we cannot completely expunge, that beckons us to partake of the dark pleasures of hatred. It’s a more seductive and more potent poison than belladonna. If you allow it an inroad to your soul, it will ruin you. Leave it to the demons.
Take it from one who knows.
