The Nature of Evil: a Philosophy

I’ve long pondered the nature of evil. Love doesn’t take much effort to understand, but evil is another matter entirely.

I used to think of love and hate as opposites — completely unrelated. But I’ve come to see something more complex: opposites are not truly opposite. They measure the same quality, varying only by degree.

Light, for example, is the presence of light particles, while darkness denotes their absence. Yet even darkness is rarely absolute; it is light in a diminished form. Hot and cold are likewise relative measures of atomic motion and our perception of it.

Perhaps the same is true of love and evil — or, more precisely, love and hate.

What if evil isn’t love’s opposite, but rather its lack — love in potential rather than manifested form? When seen this way, evil becomes a space where love can emerge, not something to fear or avoid.

What if love is a magnetic force? The stronger the love, the stronger its magnetism. Just as magnets align scattered particles, love allows us to enter chaotic spaces — filled with hate or evil — and bring order through its pull.

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Hate as Love Gone Awry

If evil isn’t truly the opposite of love, then hate even less so. Hate is often love that has gone awry — twisted, wounded, misdirected.

Hate clings to its object with a fervor that reveals its roots in passion, not indifference. It often arises when love is betrayed, obstructed, or internalized as pain. Hate is love poisoned by fear, loss, or misunderstanding — love waiting to be healed and re‑oriented toward its natural state.

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The Paradox of Evil’s “Destruction”

The destruction of evil is a paradox: not obliteration, but transformation — chaos organized, hatred healed, potential love brought forth.

Perhaps this is what is meant by “God is love.”

God is not one who destroys through violence, but one who “destroys” by creating — imposing order on disorder, drawing forth love where it seems absent. Evil dissolves not through force but through love’s illumination and re‑creation of what was broken.

This vision shows the divine as creator, not destroyer: one who transmutes hate and evil back into their true nature — love. It is not the end of something, but its fulfillment.

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Light as the Perfect Metaphor

This is precisely what light does. Darkness does not resist the light; it simply vanishes as light fills the space it once occupied. Darkness has no substance of its own — only the absence of light.

When a candle is lit, the darkness retreats not because it is destroyed but because it is replaced. Light organizes the space, revealing what was hidden and bringing clarity.

Similarly, love fills spaces where evil seems to dwell. The more we embody love, the more its radiance penetrates the darkness — not by defeating it, but by replacing it with what was always meant to be there.

The destruction of evil is not violence but illumination — creative, restorative, revealing that darkness and hate were never more than love waiting to shine through.