The Devil Made Me Do It

Any exploration of human morality must confront a difficult question: where does evil come from? Throughout history, humans have developed various explanations for wrongdoing, from external demonic influences to internal character flaws. The notion that "the devil made me do it" represents one of humanity's oldest attempts to locate the source of moral failure outside ourselves, rather than taking direct responsibility for our actions.

Yet contemporary understanding suggests a more nuanced view which we explored in “The Good Ship Morality”. Humans are neither inherently good nor inherently evil, but rather morally complex beings capable of both profound compassion and terrible cruelty depending on circumstances, the ambiguity of situationism that Simone De Beauvoir has explored. I won't repeat the previously cited examples, but they made it clear that ordinary citizens, when placed in certain circumstances will potentially terrorise prisoners or accept to torture others relatively easily. What we often label as "evil" frequently stems not from active malice, although there are pathological cases as we will explore later, but from moral vulnerability, moments when immediate desires can override longer-term values, when social pressure undermines personal conviction, or when self-interest clouds moral perception.

The Banality of Evil

No modern examination of evil is complete without an analysis of the Nazis. Perhaps the most disturbing insight into human evil came from Hannah Arendt's coverage of Nazi officer Adolf Eichmann's trial in Jerusalem. Arendt expected to encounter a monstrous figure but instead found an ordinary bureaucrat. She famously described the "banality of evil", the way extraordinary wrongdoing can emerge from mundane processes, routine obedience, and the failure to think critically about one's actions; the bigger picture getting lost in bureaucracy and efficiency. Eichmann organized transportation logistics for the Holocaust not through diabolical plotting but through the ordinary application of administrative skills. His evil consisted less in active hatred and more in his willingness to compartmentalise his actions, his deference to authority, and his moral thoughtlessness. "The trouble with Eichmann," Arendt wrote, "was precisely that so many were like him, and that the many were neither perverted nor sadistic, that they were, and still are, terribly and terrifyingly normal." In essence he just tried to do his job as best he could, with deadly efficiency.

This position was recently explored brilliantly in the film "The Zone of Interest" where a Nazi commander Rudolf Höss and his wife family lead an ordinary life in a house next to the Auschwitz concentration camp. The film deliberately focuses on the mundane domesticity of the Höss family, showing them gardening, having family meals, dealing with household concerns, while the true horror comes from the context that this "normal" family life is happening literally adjacent to Auschwitz.

The horror isn't shown directly through graphic depictions of the camp, but rather through the chilling normalization of evil - how a family can live comfortably and go about their daily routines while systematic murder occurs next door. This approach forces viewers to confront how perpetrators of atrocities can compartmentalise their actions and maintain what appears to be normal family life, making the film particularly unsettling in its portrayal of the banality of evil.

These perspectives challenge our traditional narratives about evil. Many of history's greatest atrocities were carried out not by demonic villains but by ordinary people who believed they were doing their jobs, following orders, or even serving some greater good. Evil, in this light, becomes not an aberration of human nature but a potential within ordinary human psychology, activated under specific social and institutional conditions.

The Mechanism of Dehumanisation

Central to understanding how ordinary people become complicit in evil is the process of dehumanization. When we strip others of their fundamental humanity, viewing them as objects, statistics, or abstract threats rather than fellow human beings with inner lives, feelings, and dignity, we create the psychological conditions that make cruelty possible.

Dehumanisation operates through language, imagery, and systematic policies that gradually erode empathy. The Nazis didn't begin with death camps; they started with propaganda that portrayed Jews as vermin, parasites, or diseases threatening the social body. Rwandan radio broadcasts called Tutsis "cockroaches" before the genocide began. These aren't merely offensive words but deliberate strategies to overcome the natural human reluctance to harm others.

The capacity for empathy represents perhaps our strongest defence against evil. When we genuinely perceive others as fellow human beings with hopes, fears, and loved ones, causing them harm becomes psychologically difficult. This is why torture requires special training and why soldiers are often taught to dehumanise enemies. Evil frequently succeeds not by overwhelming our moral sensibilities but by systematically dismantling them through the erosion of empathy. People are objectified, they become less than human, not like us and often are made to be seen as an invading sub species, taking our jobs, our homes, our resources. We are asked to defend ourselves against their “otherness”.

Social media and digital communication have created new pathways for dehumanisation. Online interactions can reduce complex human beings to avatars, usernames, or representatives of despised groups, making cruelty easier to inflict and justify. Keyboard warriors are emboldened by their apparent anonymity and the web offer a viral ability to express extreme views to a wide audience.  The amplification of outrage and the creation of echo chambers further accelerate these processes, as we saw in the UK riots following the Southport attacks, where misinformation and social media manipulation transformed grief into misdirected rage against immigrants.

Individual Agency: The Capacity to Resist

Yet dehumanisation and social pressure don't affect everyone equally. Even in the most coercive circumstances, some individuals find ways to resist, to maintain their moral compass, or to act with courage despite enormous personal risk. Understanding this resistance is crucial to comprehending human moral capacity.

During the Holocaust, while many participated or remained passive, others risked their lives to save victims. Oskar Schindler transformed from war profiteer to saviour. Irena Sendler smuggled Jewish children out of the Warsaw Ghetto. Witold Pilecki voluntarily entered Auschwitz to document conditions and organise resistance. What distinguished these individuals from their contemporaries?

Research suggests several factors contribute to such moral resistance. Strong personal values formed early in life provide a foundation that's harder to erode. Previous experience standing up for principles, even in small matters, builds what psychologists call "moral muscle memory." Social support from like-minded individuals creates alternative authority structures that can compete with coercive systems. Perhaps most importantly, the ability to maintain perspective and moral courage, to see beyond immediate circumstances to larger moral truths, helps individuals resist the compartmentalisation that fosters complicity.  We explored this a little in the previous article on ends and means.

The capacity for moral imagination also plays a crucial role. Those who resist evil often demonstrate an ability to imagine alternative possibilities, to see how their actions will be judged by history, or to consider the perspectives of victims. This imaginative capacity creates an empathetic connection which counters the dehumanising propaganda.  Religious and philosophical frameworks can also provide resources for resistance, offering transcendent values that compete with immediate social pressures.

Structural Evil and Personal Accountability

The tension between understanding evil as a product of systems and maintaining individual moral responsibility represents one of the most challenging aspects of moral philosophy. If circumstances largely determine behaviour, how can we hold people accountable for their actions? Conversely, if we emphasise individual choice, do we risk ignoring the powerful forces that shape human behaviour?

The answer lies in recognising that structural and personal factors operate simultaneously. Systems create conditions that make certain choices easier or harder, but they rarely eliminate choice entirely. Even under extreme pressure, degrees of moral agency typically remain. The key is calibrating our expectations and judgements accordingly.

Consider the distinction between active collaboration and passive compliance. Both contribute to harmful systems, but they represent different levels of moral culpability. The bureaucrat who enthusiastically designs more efficient methods of persecution bears greater responsibility than the clerk who reluctantly processes paperwork. The person who joins a lynch mob differs morally from someone who fails to intervene, though both contribute to the victim's suffering.

This graduated understanding of responsibility allows us to acknowledge systemic factors while preserving moral accountability. We can recognize that circumstances matter enormously while still expecting individuals to resist evil within their capacity to do so. The goal isn't perfect moral behaviour under impossible conditions but rather the expectation that people will exercise whatever moral agency they possess.  We must remember the classic quote from Edmund Burke: "The only thing necessary for the triumph of evil is for good men to do nothing."

The Pathological Individual: When Evil Becomes Personal

While much of our discussion has focused on how ordinary people become complicit in evil through systems and circumstances, we cannot ignore the reality of individuals who appear to embody evil in a more direct, personal way. Serial killers like Fred West, Harold Shipman or Ted Bundy, and those who commit horrific acts seemingly for their own gratification represent a different category of wrongdoing that challenges our framework of situational ethics.

These individuals often display what psychologists term antisocial personality disorder or psychopathy, characterised by a profound lack of empathy, remorse, or emotional connection to others' suffering. Unlike the bureaucratic evil of an Eichmann, who could compartmentalize his actions while maintaining some semblance of normal human relationships, these individuals appear to lack the fundamental emotional equipment that makes most people recoil from causing harm.

The existence of such individuals raises uncomfortable questions about the nature versus nurture debate in moral development. While environmental factors certainly play a role,  childhood trauma, abuse, and social isolation frequently appear in these cases, research suggests certain individuals may have neurological differences that make them less capable of normal moral reasoning and emotional response.

This doesn't absolve them of responsibility, but it does complicate our understanding of evil's origins. If someone lacks the neurological capacity for empathy or moral reasoning, can we judge them by the same standards we apply to those who possess these capacities but choose to override them? We are also oddly fascinated by these people; fictional killers such as Hannibal Lecter or Dexter have a kind of hero status thanks to the books and films.

Perhaps more troubling than our relationship with such killers, is how these extreme cases can distort our understanding of evil more broadly. The dramatic nature of serial killers and mass murderers captures public attention and shapes our cultural imagination of evil, potentially blinding us to the more common but equally destructive forms of harm that emerge from systems and collective action. One psychopath may kill dozens, but bureaucratic indifference or systematic oppression can destroy millions of lives. 

The challenge is maintaining awareness of both forms of evil without allowing either to eclipse the other in our moral thinking.

Cultural Variations in Concepts of Evil

While certain forms of harm appear universal, murder, torture, betrayal, the specific behaviours that different cultures label as "evil" vary considerably. What one society considers moral failure, another might view as acceptable or even virtuous. These variations illuminate the socially constructed aspects of moral judgment while raising questions about universal moral truths.

Honour-based cultures might emphasize different forms of moral failure than individualistic ones (and have their own issues in terms of honour killings for example). Societies with strong collective identity may focus more on betrayal of group loyalty, while those emphasising personal autonomy might prioritize violations of individual rights. Religious traditions contribute additional layers of moral complexity, defining evil in terms of spiritual harm or divine commandments that may not align with secular moral frameworks.

These cultural differences don't necessarily imply moral relativism, the view that all moral judgments are equally valid à la Brothers Karamazov. Instead, they suggest that while the capacity for both good and evil appears universal, the specific forms these take are shaped by social, historical, and cultural contexts. Understanding these variations helps us recognise our own moral blind spots while identifying commonalities that might ground universal human values.

The globalisation of communication has created new challenges as different moral systems encounter each other with unprecedented frequency and immediacy. Social media conflicts often involve people operating from fundamentally different moral frameworks, leading to misunderstanding and escalation rather than meaningful dialogue about ethical differences.

Conditions That Help Prevent Evil

Understanding evil's mechanisms naturally leads to questions about prevention. If certain conditions make harmful behaviour more likely, what circumstances tend to promote moral behaviour and prevent wrongdoing?

Research in social psychology and history suggests several factors that correlate with reduced likelihood of moral failure. Diverse social networks that expose individuals to different perspectives make dehumanisation more difficult and provide alternative sources of moral authority. Educational approaches that emphasise critical thinking and moral reasoning help people resist manipulation and recognize ethical complexities.

Institutional structures that distribute power, encourage dissent, and protect whistle-blowers create barriers to the concentration of authority that often enables systematic wrongdoing. Transparency and accountability mechanisms make it harder to compartmentalise harmful actions or avoid responsibility for their consequences.

Perhaps most importantly, cultures that regularly engage in moral reflection and self-criticism develop greater resistance to ethical complacency. Societies that acknowledge their own capacity for wrongdoing and actively examine their moral blind spots create conditions for moral progress rather than stagnation.

The cultivation of empathy through literature, art, and direct contact across social boundaries and geographies helps maintain the human connections that make cruelty psychologically difficult. When we regularly encounter others as complex individuals rather than abstract categories, the foundations for dehumanisation become harder to establish.

In a nutshell, travel, talk to people, consider walking in their shoes, listen to their stories.  Empathy will then follow for most of us. We are all humans together under a cold, indifferent sky at the end of the day (see “The Good Ship Morality” for more musings on this).

The Evolution of Evil in our Cultural Imagination

Our conception of evil has undergone remarkable shifts throughout history. Ancient cultures often personified evil through specific deities or supernatural forces: Apep in Egyptian mythology, Angra Mainyu in Zoroastrianism, or Satan in Abrahamic traditions. These figures were there to explain the sources of evil but also to show it as a temptation; without humanity being complicit the evil remains only a possibility. Even Jesus was tempted in the desert by the devil but is able to resist.

Medieval Europe saw evil primarily through religious frameworks, with demonic possession and witchcraft explaining wrongdoing. And the persecution of innocents by Witchfinders, a practice that was unquestionably evil, justified by the church. The Enlightenment began to secularise evil, locating it in social systems rather than supernatural forces. Later, Freudian psychology suggested evil might emerge from repressed instincts, while political theories identified it in structures of power and domination.

Contemporary culture has witnessed another significant shift, what might be called the pop culture version of evil. Horror films, fantasy literature, and video games have created a highly aestheticized, TikTok vision of evil that often bears little resemblance to evil's actual mechanisms in human society. The brooding villain with elaborate schemes has become a narrative staple, (give or take the cat) while reality suggests that evil more commonly wears the face of bureaucratic indifference, systematic dehumanisation, or collective moral failure.

Yet films and books have helped to shape how we imagine evil in popular consciousness and this pop culture conception of evil, dramatic, intentional, and often visually striking, may actually hinder our ability to recognise and address real-world wrongdoing. When we expect evil to announce itself with malevolent laughter or obvious malice, we miss its more common manifestations in seemingly benign policies, incremental ethical compromises, or the quiet rationalisation of harmful norms. Although I hasten to add, never enter that dark house down the gloomy lane next to the cemetery! It's not just the bureaucrats who are out to get you!

The distance between our cultural imagination of evil and its typical reality creates a dangerous blind spot. We become vigilant against villains who rarely exist while remaining vulnerable to the banal forms of evil that actually threaten human welfare, the slow erosion of ethical boundaries, the casual dehumanisation of outsiders, or the prioritisation of efficiency over human dignity. And in the era of social media it is clear how easily our fear can be manipulated and explode.

Moral Excuses and Responsibility

This perspective of external forces creating or encouraging evil highlights the psychological function of moral excuses. When we act against our own moral self-image, the resulting cognitive dissonance creates psychological discomfort (see my previous Moral Universe article on identity, "Happiness Optional"). Narratives that externalise responsibility, whether blaming supernatural forces or societal pressures, offer resolution to that discomfort by acknowledging wrongdoing while preserving our core self-concept.

The human capacity for evil exists in tension with our drive toward moral order. Our ethical systems attempt to contain and manage destructive impulses, yet complete control remains elusive. The persistence of harmful behaviours, whether understood as metaphysical evil or as extreme human wrongdoing, challenges the sufficiency of any moral framework.

Perhaps what distinguishes us is not perfect moral behaviour but rather our capacity for moral awareness and regret. We notice the gap between our actions and our ideals, we create stories to explain that gap. And sometimes, through that awareness, we develop the moral strength to narrow it.

In the Moral Universe, these stories, this awareness and the moral strength we take from it may be our greatest weapons in the fight against evil, however if manifests itself.