Evil is an attack against human spiritual development and

Host: The night was black velvet, the sky low and endless, pierced only by the glow of a distant city. The air was thick with the quiet hum of neon lights, the faint rustle of wind against old concrete, and the unspoken heaviness that came with long conversations after midnight.

Inside an abandoned warehouse turned art studio, the walls were covered with half-finished paintings — faces blurred by time, colors bleeding into shadow. In the center, a single bare bulb hung from the ceiling, swinging slightly, throwing light like a heartbeat over two figures sitting opposite each other on the floor.

Jack sat cross-legged, his hands stained with paint, his grey eyes hollow but alive, like someone who had seen too much and thought too deeply. Across from him, Jeeny sat quietly, her dark hair loose, her gaze calm but piercing, as though she could see through both the man and his demons.

She picked up a scrap of paper from the floor — a quote scribbled in fading ink — and read softly into the charged silence:

“Evil is an attack against human spiritual development and enlightenment. All evil, badness, neurosis — it has one motive and one motive only, which is to destroy — to destroy your chance of arising above yourself.” — Vernon Howard

Jeeny: “It’s strange, isn’t it? How he doesn’t call evil a force, but an interruption.”

Jack: (nodding slowly) “An attack against growth. I like that. Makes sense. The worst things that ever happened to me didn’t just hurt — they kept me from becoming.”

Jeeny: “That’s what he means — evil isn’t just cruelty. It’s stagnation. It’s anything that stops you from reaching upward.”

Jack: “So... depression’s evil?”

Jeeny: “Not depression itself. But what it tries to convince you of — that you’ll never rise again. That you’re less than what you could be. That’s evil’s whisper.”

Jack: (quietly) “I’ve heard that whisper.”

Host: The light swung gently, the bulb creaking on its cord. Shadows rippled across the cracked floor like ghosts passing beneath water. The smell of turpentine hung in the air — sharp, cleansing, intrusive.

Jack: “You know, I used to think evil was something out there — dictators, murderers, the headlines. But Howard makes it sound like it’s inside — like a parasite that feeds on hesitation.”

Jeeny: “Exactly. Evil doesn’t always come with horns. Sometimes it comes with habits — excuses, fear, self-loathing. Anything that convinces you to stop evolving.”

Jack: “Then what’s enlightenment? If evil destroys growth, what does good create?”

Jeeny: “Awakening. The realization that you’re meant to rise, no matter how many times you fall. That every failure’s an initiation.”

Jack: “Sounds like something out of a monastery.”

Jeeny: “Or a battlefield.”

Host: The wind howled softly through a crack in the old walls, stirring a few loose sketches on the floor. One drawing fluttered across the space between them — a crude image of a figure climbing upward toward light, surrounded by chaotic black strokes.

Jack: “So what do you think evil wants, really?”

Jeeny: “To stop you before you reach the light. To convince you that the climb’s pointless.”

Jack: “That’s too poetic. Evil’s not a myth. It’s just broken people breaking others.”

Jeeny: “And where do broken people come from? From forgetting their own light. Evil is contagious, Jack — not by contact, but by imitation.”

Jack: “You think we can catch it?”

Jeeny: “Only if we stop resisting it. Evil doesn’t win by fighting — it wins by exhaustion. It wants you too tired to care.”

Host: The light flickered, once, twice — then steadied. The bulb buzzed softly, the sound like the hum of a nervous thought refusing to die.

Jack: “I’ve been there. That place where the voice says, ‘Stay down, it’s easier.’”

Jeeny: “That’s the battlefield. That’s where you decide whether to obey the voice or defy it.”

Jack: “Defiance sounds noble. But when you’re down there, it just feels like survival.”

Jeeny: “Survival is sacred. Every small act of defiance — getting up, speaking truth, refusing to hate yourself — that’s what destroys evil’s rhythm.”

Jack: “So every time I forgive, every time I keep going — I’m fighting it?”

Jeeny: “Yes. You’re breaking its spell.”

Host: A drop of rain leaked through the cracked ceiling, landing in a tin cup with a soft plink. The sound repeated — steady, patient, infinite.

Jack: “You ever notice how evil thrives in repetition? Lies repeated. Pain replayed. The same old wounds reopening.”

Jeeny: “Because repetition keeps you asleep. Awareness breaks the pattern.”

Jack: “And awareness hurts.”

Jeeny: “So does healing.”

Jack: “You talk like pain’s a teacher.”

Jeeny: “It is — but only if you listen long enough to graduate.”

Host: The wind calmed, replaced by the stillness of reflection. The city sounds outside grew softer — distant car horns, faint laughter, the slow pulse of civilization carrying on, unaware of the two souls wrestling with philosophy under a swinging bulb.

Jack: “You know what’s ironic? The more people try to escape evil, the more it hides in the things they chase — comfort, ego, distraction.”

Jeeny: “Because evil’s not the opposite of good. It’s the perversion of it. Comfort becomes cowardice. Confidence becomes arrogance. Love becomes possession.”

Jack: “So enlightenment’s not about escaping the dark. It’s about walking through it without becoming part of it.”

Jeeny: “Yes. You can’t defeat the dark by denying it. You only defeat it by transforming it.”

Host: Jeeny’s voice softened, her words landing like embers. The light swung slower now, the rhythm hypnotic — a pendulum marking not time, but truth.

Jeeny: “Vernon Howard said evil destroys your chance of arising above yourself. But that means goodness is the act of rising. Even when you’re afraid. Even when you’ve failed.”

Jack: “And what if I fall again?”

Jeeny: “Then you rise again. The fall isn’t evil. The refusal to rise is.”

Jack: “You make it sound simple.”

Jeeny: “Simple doesn’t mean easy.”

Host: The rain eased, leaving behind the scent of wet earth and iron. Somewhere in the silence, a clock ticked — slow, deliberate, eternal.

Jack: “You know, for all his talk of enlightenment, Howard understood darkness better than most. Maybe that’s what made him wise.”

Jeeny: “You can’t understand light until you’ve lived in the dark. You can’t understand evil until you’ve felt it trying to unmake you.”

Jack: “And you?”

Jeeny: “I’ve seen what it does — how it seduces, how it whispers comfort while it’s killing your will. And I’ve seen what happens when someone refuses to let it win.”

Jack: “You?”

Jeeny: “Someone close to me once almost didn’t make it. But they did. That’s what I mean by the glow — that stubborn light that refuses to die.”

Host: The bulb flickered again, then steadied into a still, warm light — soft as forgiveness. Jack’s face relaxed, the shadows around his eyes less severe.

Jack: “Maybe evil isn’t the enemy then. Maybe it’s the test.”

Jeeny: “Exactly. The climb needs gravity, Jack. Without it, you’d never rise.”

Jack: “And rising — that’s the whole point.”

Jeeny: “Always has been.”

Host: The rain stopped entirely. The world outside was damp, glistening — washed clean. The two sat in silence, the bulb humming softly above them, the light no longer trembling but steady, unwavering.

And in that stillness, Vernon Howard’s words pulsed through the air like a revelation:

that evil is not the darkness itself,
but the voice that tells you to stop reaching for the light —

and that the only true act of goodness
is to rise, again and again,
until even your scars begin to shine.