Our world today feels deeply divided. Political polarization, social unrest, and ideological conflicts dominate the headlines, creating a sense that we are locked in endless battles against one another. In this climate, it has become easy—almost instinctive—to see those we disagree with not just as wrong, but as inherently bad or even evil. Across the political and social spectrum, we dehumanize one another, casting entire groups or individuals as “deplorables,” “ignorant,” “radicals,” or otherwise irredeemable threats to society.
This pattern of dehumanization may feel like a response to harm, but it is actually a form of harm itself—one that fractures not just our societies, but our own humanity. When we label others as “evil” or “deplorable,” we project onto them the parts of ourselves we fear or reject. We split off our own capacity for cruelty, selfishness, or judgment and exile it onto someone else, as if it exists on another planet, far from who we are. In doing so, we create an illusion of separation, distancing ourselves from the uncomfortable truth that the capacity for both harm and healing resides in all of us.
This is not just a social or political issue—it’s a spiritual and psychological one. The division we see in the world reflects the divisions within ourselves. It’s only by acknowledging and integrating our capacity for both harm and healing that we can stop perpetuating cycles of separation and othering.
As Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn wrote in The Gulag Archipelago, “The line dividing good and evil cuts through the heart of every human being. And who is willing to destroy a piece of his own heart?”
This profound insight reminds us that the potential for harm and compassion is not something that separates us from others—it is something we all carry within ourselves. When we project evil outward, we deny this truth, reinforcing cycles of division and harm.
The Return from the Other Planet
This idea of splitting off parts of ourselves—projecting our darkness outward—is powerfully explored in The Return from the Other Planet, a film inspired by the life of Holocaust survivor Yehiel De-Nur (Ka-Tzetnik 135633). De-Nur described Auschwitz as “Planet Auschwitz,” a place so horrifying and alien that he could not reconcile it with the rest of humanity. He saw the atrocities he endured as belonging to another realm, something entirely separate from the human condition. (Read more about The Return from the Other Planet.)
Decades later, during LSD-assisted psychotherapy, De-Nur experienced a transformative vision that shattered this sense of separation. He realized that Auschwitz was not another planet—it was part of humanity, a reflection of the human condition. He famously wrote of his realization, “I am the SS officer, and he is me.” This was not an erasure of accountability or a denial of suffering, but a profound recognition that the capacity for both good and evil exists within all of us.
De-Nur’s realization is unsettling but essential. It asks us to confront the parts of ourselves capable of harm, cruelty, or judgment—the parts we would rather exile to “another planet.” Only by facing these shadows can we integrate them and break free from the cycles of dehumanization that perpetuate division and violence.
The Danger of Splitting Off Our Shadows
The History of Exclusion and Control
The philosopher Michel Foucault observed this dynamic in Madness and Civilization, where he explored how societies have historically split off and excluded aspects of human nature deemed threatening or unacceptable—like madness, irrationality, or unpredictability. By labeling certain individuals as “mad” or “other,” society justified their exclusion, creating a sense of order and control. Yet Foucault warned that these systems of control often became embodiments of the very madness they sought to repress—oppressive, irrational, and deeply harmful.
Projecting Evil Outward
This dynamic holds true for evil as well. When we refuse to confront the parts of ourselves capable of harm, we project them outward. In the United States, we see this dynamic in our prison system, where we view those who have committed heinous crimes as “monsters” unworthy or incapable of redemption. Similarly, wars abroad are frequently framed as battles against “evil,” creating systems of violence that perpetuate harm on both sides. We even see this in our politics, seeing the other side as “evil” or “stupid” or “unhinged” rather than as complex people capable of making terrible mistakes and also of profound growth.
The Cost of Denial
Efforts to banish evil from ourselves can create mechanisms of exclusion and oppression that perpetuate harm, precisely because we fail to recognize and relate to our own shadow. Healing begins not with denial or projection, but with the courage to face the full truth of who we are.
Jung and the Shadow
Carl Jung’s concept of shadow integration teaches that healing requires us to confront and integrate the parts of ourselves we fear or reject, what he called the “shadow.” These are the darker aspects of our nature: anger, judgment, jealousy, or even cruelty. Jung argued that wholeness comes only when we can hold both the light and the dark within us.
From Shadow to Wholeness
This doesn’t mean blindly acting on these impulses, but rather recognizing them as part of who we are. Integration helps us see that what we reject in others often mirrors something denied within ourselves. Without this work, we unconsciously project our shadows outward, creating division and conflict. When we acknowledge our full humanity, including our capacity for harm, we are better able to extend compassion to others and create space for connection and healing.
The Universal Wisdom of Interconnection
Across cultures and spiritual traditions, the idea of interconnection appears again and again, reminding us that healing ourselves also heals the world. Though the language differs, the insight is universal: the light of one being illuminates the path for all.
Living Examples of Compassion and Courage
Figures like Nelson Mandela, Tibetan monastics, Thích Nhất Hạnh, Etty Hillesum, Malala Yousafzai, and Abdul Ghaffar Khan embody this truth. Mandela, during his 27 years of imprisonment, chose to treat his captors with dignity and later championed reconciliation in South Africa. Tibetan monks and nuns, imprisoned and tortured during the Chinese occupation of Tibet, found freedom within themselves through prayer and meditation. They refused to surrender their humanity and instead cultivated compassion for their captors, praying for their liberation as well as their own.
Etty Hillesum: Peace as a Moral Duty
Etty Hillesum, a Dutch Jewish writer during the Holocaust, chose to transcend hatred and cultivate love, even in the face of unimaginable suffering. While working at the Westerbork transit camp, she devoted herself to easing the suffering of others, offering kindness and support to those awaiting deportation.
In her diaries, Etty wrote about her refusal to let the Nazis “poison” her spirit, believing instead that inner peace was her moral responsibility. She wrote,
“Ultimately, we have just one moral duty: to reclaim large areas of peace in ourselves, more and more peace, and to reflect it toward others.”
Her story is a testament to the power of compassion and humanity, even in the darkest of times.
Choosing Compassion Over Retaliation
Malala Yousafzai’s story is a powerful example of refusing to dehumanize in the face of violence. After surviving an assassination attempt by the Taliban for advocating for girls’ education, Malala chose not to respond with anger or hatred. Instead, she devoted her life to amplifying her mission for universal education, emphasizing its power to heal societies and uplift communities.
Her response is rooted in Islamic principles of justice and compassion, showing that even in the face of harm, we can choose connection over division.
Spiritual Nonviolence as a Way of Life
Abdul Ghaffar Khan, a devout Muslim and ally of Mahatma Gandhi, founded the Khudai Khidmatgar (Servants of God) movement, which rejected violence in all forms. Khan believed deeply in the oneness of humanity and viewed nonviolence not just as a political strategy but as a spiritual practice. Even when faced with imprisonment and brutal suppression, he remained committed to love and compassion as the ultimate tools for justice.
Compassion Is Not Naive—It’s Courageous
These examples echo the wisdom of Buddhist traditions like Thích Nhất Hạnh’s interbeing and the Tibetan monastics’ ability to cultivate compassion for their captors. They remind us that accountability and justice do not require hatred or dehumanization, and that liberation comes not from avoiding suffering but from transforming it through love.
Examples like Yehiel De-Nur, Nelson Mandela, and the Tibetan monastics show us that radical compassion is not naive—it’s courageous. They faced unimaginable suffering and still chose to see the humanity in those who harmed them.
That doesn’t mean they excused the harm, but they understood that accountability is most effective when it acknowledges shared humanity.
True accountability requires compassion. Without it, we just perpetuate more violence, division, and alienation.
The Ripple Effect of Awakening
The Capacity Within Us All
The Capacity Within Us AllYehiel De-Nur’s realization — “I am the SS officer, and he is me” — reminds us of a profound truth: the capacity for harm and compassion resides in all of us. When we deny this, we create systems of separation, projection, and violence. But when we face it, we create the possibility for integration, connection, and healing.
This topic challenges how we view justice and progress. There’s a strong instinct to blame, punish, and exile those we see as harmful. While those instincts are understandable, they often come from the same fear and anger that drive harm in the first place. Moving forward requires something much harder: a willingness to stay connected, to see the humanity in even those who have caused enormous harm, and to work toward reconciliation instead of revenge. That’s not to say we ignore systemic injustice or individual responsibility—those are critical—but we need to address them without falling into the trap of dehumanization.
Oneness as a Path to Healing
The recognition of oneness, our deep interconnection, is transformative. It asks us to approach conflict and harm not as battles to be won, but as wounds to be healed. It invites us to imagine a world where justice is rooted in empathy and where healing is prioritized over punishment. Every act of compassion, every moment of integration ripples outward. As De-Nur discovered, when one person heals their inner fragmentation, it illuminates the path for others.
When one of us awakens, all of us move closer to awakening.
About the Author
Erin Jacklin, PsyD, LCP
Dr. Erin Jacklin, CEO and founder of The Catalyst Center is passionate about psychedelic assisted therapy, assessing and celebrating neurodiversity, and depth supervision. A longtime meditator and keen observer of human patterns of behavior, Erin blends a calm centered presence with her deep knowledge base. She is not currenting taking new weekly therapy clients, but remains available for supervision, assessment, psychedelic assisted therapy, and business consulting.
