The urge to destroy

Recently, though, that was problem when my husband's clock radio went off and the fist thing I heard was about the woman trying to destroy the Mona Lisa at the Louvre in Paris.

I just don't get it. I don't understand vandalism.

No -- actually, I do. There are a lot of things the theologians, philosophers and talk show radio hosts will try to convince you is the "original sin," from sex to wearing white after Labor Day. My mom thought it was all things related to self-absorption, such as selfishness and self righteousness.

My personal original sin is inconsistency because my theory changes from day to day, depending on what's ticked me off at the moment. But I've decided (for today, anyway) that the original sin is vandalism.

"What?" asks the outraged philosopher and theologian. "Vandalism is worse than sex?"

To whom I respond -- you have got some serious issues, there, bud.

No, not vandalism itself so much as the petty, mean spirit behind it. We are told that we are created in God's image, and what is God? The greatest creator of all. What separates man from animal, besides the ability belch the alphabet at frat parties and recognize the faces of famous people in potato chips?

We also create.

Face it, the greatest builders in the animal world, the bees, the termites, the weaver birds and the beavers, were given one or two basic blueprints for their work, and that was it. They haven't really changed those plans in thousands and thousands of years.

If the critters could create, could you imagine the line-up in HGTV? This week's episodes: Buster Beaver Brings the Outside In. Belinda Bee: Why the Hexagon is SO Yesterday's Shape. Willow Weaver: Macrame -- Creating the Perfect Retro Nest.

But because we have that same creative spark that was the gift from the greatest creator, we have homes like Falling Water instead of Damming Water. We have Buckminster Fuller's geodesic domes instead of the same-old, same-old hive; and we can even weave masterpieces out of our garbage by using old plastic grocery bags. We create.

Or we try to. Most of the time, our creation does not meet our expectations (which should probably make us a lot more sympathetic to God) and we get frustrated -- and that's where the original sin, or my version thereof, comes in.

When our creative effort fails, we have choices. We can keep trying, perfecting one method or testing another. We can recognize that our vision is greater that our talent and we can use that vision to encourage others to create.

Or we can destroy.

The monster who will not be named destroyed John Lennon because he wanted to be John Lennon. He wanted to ne the one who created those incredible songs. Adolf Hitler was rejected by an art school. He went on to destroy half of Europe and seven million Jews. What would have happened if they'd let him into the art school, I wonder? Would there still have been a Holocaust, only illustrated by mediocre watercolors?

Fidel Castro wanted to play professional baseball, which, technically, isn't creating something, but it would have created a new life and a new opportunity, which is what the woman in Louvre was also trying to do. A Russian, she wanted a new home and a new life in France and when it was denied, she struck out at one of the nation's greatest treasures out of frustration.

If you want to sum it up in one category, look at theater critics. Some of them go on to write their own plays and some of them are actually good. Some critics recognize the seeds of greatness in other playwrights and nurture, encourage and praise them.

And some shred every work they can simply out of petty maliciousness. They can't write "The Glass Menagerie," so they don't think anyone else can, or should be able to.

What is the opposite of creation? Destruction. What is the opposite of good? Evil.

I can understand the woman lashing out in anger and frustration. But at the same time, the element of choice and free will comes into play. We aren't supposed to be governed by those petty, mean-spirited first reactions. Sure, we may want to lash out and throw cups and famous paintings, scrawl ugly messages on bathroom stalls in indelible ink, or conquer an entire continent, and in some cases, it may even be justified. (Okay, maybe not the conquering thing.) After all, we aren't God, we are only human.

But when we give in to that first mean, petty reaction, we give in to destruction.

Trying to ruin anything, from a painting to a life to a world, is not honoring the creator. It is vandalism of the soul.

-- Mary Reeves is a Times-Gazette staff writer. She can be reached at mreeves@t-g.com.