Ignorant of Evil

In our age, it’s hard to say if there’s a consensus conception of evil. Even if we might not be able to define it, maybe we can identify it. The Holocaust serves as the clearest example of evil in modern times. However, it also demonstrates principles that suggest the potential for evil lies in all people.

I’m reading a book called “Eichmann in Jerusalem” by Hannah Arendt, an account of the trial of Adolf Eichmann. Eichmann was a high ranking Nazi officer in charge of emigration from Germany and its occupied territories under the Nazi regime. This meant, when the Final Solution was initiated by Hitler, that he was tasked with organizing the shipping of Jews from their homes to death camps in Germany and Poland. According to Arendt, the point of his trial in 1960 was to prove that Eichmann’s deeds were a result of a severe anti-Semitism. How else could someone have lived with facilitating the deaths of so many? Yet, she argues, Eichmann’s testimony suggested otherwise. Eichmann’s testimony was marked by idiosyncrasies: he couldn’t remember anything regarding his responsibilities or orders unless they specifically regarded his prospects for career advancement or his personal life; he showed obvious inconsistencies in his thoughts and ideals and was unaware of them; it seemed like he adopted ideals and clichés depending on the situation. All this made the central question of the trial – “did you feel regret? Did your conscience permit you to do this” – almost unintelligible, inapplicable, because it seemed as if he could not even get it through his head that his massive crimes were inconsistent with his claimed love for Jews.

Eichmann, as a high-ranking Nazi official, was probably atypical in his ignorance of the implications of what he was doing. But his denial and thoughtlessness were likely common to many citizens in Germany under the Nazi regime. This is not to say that the Holocaust was not a deliberate, hateful act aimed at genocide of Jews, homosexuals, Roma, and many other groups of people. But Nazi Germany was not solely composed of people single-mindedly committed to commit these crimes. It is a fallacy to assume that the people of Germany were, by nature, different than you and I. Rather, they fell into social traps to which all people can succumb: basing moral judgments on norms, deferring to authority figures, fearing consequences for dissent. This meant that when the Nazi system was established – once the system of propaganda was established, targeted groups were sufficiently dehumanized, and all was disguised under a veneer of nationalism – otherwise well-adjusted individuals were sucked into committing the worst offenses of human history.

But we aren’t Nazi Germany. Yet the same inconsistencies and biases contaminate our moral decision-making. Much of our moral thinking is dependent on non-moral considerations. Think about how you would react to a robbery, a man begging for money, or a domestic dispute in a public place if you are the only one around. Now consider the same situation again in a crowded public place. You might not be as inclined to help in the second situation, and this “bystander effect” has been well-researched and supported in psychological studies. The famous Milgram experiments showed us how people could be compelled to shock a person to death simply through the verbal urging of an authority figure. Economic implications factor in as well. Think of another prominent of example of a crime committed against an entire people: slavery in America. Slavery was so persistent in southern America because of the economic interest to keep slaves. The agricultural society depended on slavery for cheap labor. Releasing slaves would require the empowered people of the time, slaveowners, to change their lifestyle and to give up a large portion of their wealth. For a modern example, just look at the money seeping from the oil industry to support climate-change denial. Our moral thinking is often not as rational as we assume.

This frightens me. When I reflect on what might be the dominant moral issues of our time – reconciling our lifestyles with the apparent damage to the climate, possibly displacing millions – living in wealth while millions in Africa and Asia suffer from curable diseases – the dominant form of thought I identify in myself is avoidance and suppression. I think, “I’ll give more to charity in the future,” or “I need to focus on my own life;” yet these thoughts don’t seem to align with any explicit moral principle that I would accept; they are irrational, but I go along because it is easy and it doesn’t shake things up.

I am not a religious or spiritual person. But I grew up in a Christian family, and so I have imagined a conversation with God after my death.

God asks, “When these millions of people were in trouble, you had the capacity to help them. Why didn’t you?”

I don’t know what I would say.

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(People, I had some trouble structuring this essay. I didn’t know whether I spent too long on the Nazi thing, or if I should have gotten to the implications earlier, or if the personal slant at the end is weird or something.

Also is the comparison to Nazi Germany valid? I think I could have done better in the paragraph 3-4 transition.)