Silent Victim - C. E. Lawrence [64]
Even for New York, it was a strikingly European-looking crowd. Philosophy just wasn’t an American pastime—it didn’t drive fast or shoot or take its clothes off in public.
The moderator was a charismatic, soft-spoken man who taught philosophy at Baruch College, Bernard Elias. His skin was olive, but his accent suggested Paris rather than Cairo. His face and manner were charming, gracious, and kindly.
“We have a rather good turnout tonight,” he observed, looking around the room. “I see a few new faces.”
Lee stiffened, hoping he wouldn’t ask them to introduce themselves, but to his relief, Elias continued.
“Those of you who are new, just a few quick ground rules. To avoid confusion or cross talk, we ask that you raise your hand to be recognized by the moderator before speaking. This week I’ll be the moderator, though we often take turns—if other people volunteer to moderate, it’s fine with me.”
“You’re still the best,” the sharp-faced Frenchwoman said, and several other people nodded.
“Well, thank you, but my job is mostly just to keep things moving,” Elias replied with a modest smile. Lee didn’t doubt the Frenchwoman was right—Elias exuded warmth, and had a quiet self-confidence.
“Now then,” he continued, “this week’s topic was suggested by Jonathan.” He nodded in the direction of the young man with the round glasses, who nodded back stiffly. “So it is our tradition to have him begin with the first comment—perhaps telling us why he chose this topic.”
Jonathan removed his glasses and wiped them with his napkin.
“Well,” he said, replacing them on his nose, “I have always been interested in the relationship between culture and language. The Japanese, for example, have no word for ‘no'—only an elaborately polite way of avoiding saying yes. This tells you something about the way their culture operates.”
Several people nodded and smiled. Jonathan was younger than most of them, and it appeared he functioned as a kind of mascot, or pet, of the group.
“So I was wondering what it says about our culture that we seem to place a lot of value on this word ‘evil'—especially in the current political climate.”
“Very timely, Jonathan,” Elias said with a fatherly smile. “Would anyone care to comment?”
They discussed the connotation of the word as it relates to religion and sin, and whether or not the concept of evil existed at all outside religion. Most of the group agreed it did—and also that it seemed to exist as a concept in most cultures. Then they began to investigate where evil comes from, and whether it exists in the animal kingdom outside the realm of humans.
“It seems to me that animals have no moral sensibility,” the chic Frenchwoman said. “Therefore their actions, no matter how vicious or cruel, could not be said to be evil.”
“All right,” said Elias. “So would you also say that a knowledge of right and wrong as defined by society is necessary in order to call an action—or, indeed, an individual—evil?”
As the others contemplated the question, Elias looked around the room, and his eyes fell on Lee and Kathy. She had offered one or two comments, but Lee had not yet spoken. Elias smiled at Lee.
“What do you think, Mr.—”
“Campbell,” said Lee. “Call me Lee.”
“Lee, then—what do you think?” Elias repeated.
Lee squirmed in his chair. He didn’t want to throw the cold, hard light of criminal psychology into the discussion, but it was exactly what was needed.
“Well, in my profession I deal with criminals—”
“Oh, how interesting,” the Frenchwoman said, leaning toward him, hands clasped in her lap. Her husband frowned and crossed his arms. “What’s the difference between a sociopath and a psychopath?” she asked.
“It’s subtle,” Lee said, and went on to explain what a psychopath is. The group listened silently, a few people nodding when he gave examples of psychopathic behavior,