David McElroy

The devil doesn’t have horns and a pointed red tail. He doesn’t wear a red suit. The devil looks exactly like whatever it is you want the most.

The devil is a shapeshifter, changing himself in every moment to become some thing which is too good to be true. He appears to me as the object of my deepest desires — and he appears to you as whatever it is you need most as well. But when we allow ourselves to follow where this shapeshifting demon leads us, the heaven on earth which we expect turns out to be a living hell.

The devil is one of the most enduring archetypes of human history. For some people, he’s been a literal creature roaming the earth. In Christian theology, he’s seen as a spirit who’s the chief of the fallen angels. But however the devil has been conceived in theology or mythology or psychology, the real demon is in your head. It’s the lying trickster promising whatever it is you want and need the most.

The things that destroy us are typically the things we eagerly accept and even pursue. When evil and heartbreak arrive in our lives, these things don’t typically force their way in. They come in disguise — and we eagerly welcome them in.

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You are an irrational person. Yes, you.

That’s not an insult. If you can read this, you’re a human being — and that makes you irrational. In fact, I believe — in all seriousness — that every human being is just a little bit insane. Some form of insanity is a universal “birth defect” among us.

One of the biggest mistakes we make in life is assuming we’re rational. What’s worse, we notice that other people seem irrational and stupid, but almost all of us believe we’re the exception. My way of looking at the world is right and rational. Your way is wrong and irrational. (You probably have evil motives, too.)

You are the hero of your own story. In your own mind, you believe you’re making rational and smart and sane decisions. You believe you have good motives, at least within the context of however you’ve justified your own actions.

I do exactly the same thing. And our mutual blindness about this whole charade leaves us with warped perceptions of the world around us — and of each other.

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For the last week or so, something has been telling me to check on my neighbor Ruth. Every night when I got home, I’d think about walking over to her house and knocking on the door. But I kept putting it off. It can always wait another day.

Ruth has lived near me several years. She’s in her mid 50s and lives alone. I originally got to know her because she has two young granddaughters who like to ask Lucy to stop and see them when they’re at Ruth’s house.

About six months ago, a man moved in with Ruth and I soon met him. He seemed nice enough. He was her ex-husband — and they were trying to see whether they could get back together again. As I talked to both of them over the coming weeks — sometimes individually and sometimes together — I knew it wasn’t going to work.

Ruth kicked him out about six weeks ago. She briefly told me that when I saw her on the street one day, but I didn’t have time to stop to chat about it then. But I’d been having a strange feeling lately that I needed to check on her.

I finally got home tonight about 8:30, but I didn’t even go inside. I left my things in the car and walked straight to Ruth’s house and knocked on the door.

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