Caroline Donovan-Boyd
The Moral Compass, Deferred
The past century, if not all of human history, has been marred with undeniable acts of depravity. While the mind is an unquestionably beautiful thing, it is also capable of ushering true horror into our world. From the Nuremberg Trials to Abu Ghraib, we have seen seemingly regular people turned to indisputable monsters. In fact, these horrid acts have become almost commonplace. We see them on our news broadcasts; we discuss them, aghast, over coffee and we contemplate what pushes people to such wanton extremes. But perhaps, the ability to cross the threshold into immorality is easier than one may think. Each and everyone one of us is capable of plunging into madness—because, what really is madness when the world around you has seemingly gone mad? Under the right conditions, there lies an innate capability for moral darkness in the hearts of all men.
Plainly, this capability is most easily seen during times of war. Each and every war in the past century has brought with it an array of war crimes—from the Holocaust to the use of Agent Orange in Vietnam, from Afghanistan to Iraq, we have seen people slaughter their fellow men with unmistakable brutality. With an understanding of the histories of these places, is it that hard to fathom losing one’s own moral compass in such a murky abyss? I think not. In times of severe trauma, ethics and values become casualties themselves. Imagine the psychological implications of making a choice between friend and enemy, civilized and heathen, life and death. In response (and with the support of his peers and advisors), the soldier dehumanizes the opposing group in order to inherently protect himself and his sanity. In turn, of course, he strips himself of his own humanity.
However, mankind’s capability for depravity is not limited to times of war. The controversial 1961 Milgram experiments provide a fitting example of the human capability for darkness in the name of mere obedience. Milgram’s study recruited a variety of participants, all of whom were intentionally misled and told that the experiment was to study “the effects of punishment on learning ability” (Encina). In a series of about 20 experiments, hundreds of decent, well-intentioned people agreed to deliver what seemed to be increasingly painful electric shocks to another person. No actual shocks were administered, but the actors “would begin to grunt at 75 volts…let out agonized screams at 285 volts. Eventually, in desperation, the learner was to yell loudly and complain of heart pain… at 330 volts the actor would be totally silent” (Encina). The teachers exhibited varying levels of emotional distress themselves, but a whopping sixty-five percent still administered the maximum 450-volt shock (Encina). Discouragingly, the Milgram experiments have been recently repeated with almost identical results.
Sadly, we must understand that there is a part in each and every one of us that could go there. Yes, the everyday acts of insensitivity, institutional indifference and outright aggression are like pathogens that could be nurtured and grown to frightening size as if in a petri dish. Just as you can argue that each of us is both male and female, you can understand that each of us is both good and evil, both sane and insane. When one’s world becomes psychologically daunting, to have one’s sense of ethics severely skewed isn’t just likely—It’s almost inevitable. The grim, dim reality is that we are fragile creatures often borne along on rivers of doubt, wont of approval, and an aching need to prove we are forces to be reckoned with. None of us are exempt from marked psychological depravity. Under the right conditions, we are all agents of moral darkness.