This ran a while back on Splice Today.
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Evil is a force, possibly metaphysical, but certainly rhetorical. To identify evil is to change the world, first perceptually and then politically. We say “evil,” and bombs fall on the Middle East; we refuse to say “evil” and machetes fall across Rwanda. Evil, then, is not just a serpent in our hearts; it’s a statement of purpose.
If evil is, in part, a rhetoric, then it is important to name it correctly. This is why Alan Wolfe’s new book, Political Evil: What It Is and How to Combat It, places the definition first in its subtitle. Wolfe’s argument is that we have become confused about evil, and especially about its political character. As a result, we name political evil incorrectly, and so fail to control it. What we need, he argues, is a more careful language, and a more thoughtful understanding of political evil if we are to confront it effectively.
Wolfe’s a long time wonk — an editor of the Nation and later of the New Republic — and his prescription is one that appeals powerfully to the wonky hind brain. To contain evil, his argument suggests, we need, not faith or forgiveness or spiritual transformation, but better monographs.
Be that as it may, Wolfe’s particular monograph is for the most part insightful and convincing. His main point, that political evil is so devastating because of its political character, seems inarguable. Hitler was so dangerous not because he was a hideous, hateful madman (of which there are certainly no shortage in the world) but because he was a politically talented hateful madman who was able to take advantage of a particularly volatile historical period. Wolfe’s conclusion is that, to stop political evil, it’s vital to pay attention not just to the evil, but to the politics as well. You must understand the difference between the nationalistic impetus which fueled ethnic cleansing between Serbs and Croats and the ethnic hatred which fueled genocidal carnage between Hutus and Tutsis. If you don’t understand those differences, you will be unable to stop political evil, and will very likely make things worse. As, Wolfe argues, we managed to do in both Yugoslavia and Rwanda.
Wolfe, then, advocates complexity and careful distinctions. In that vein, he lays out four kinds of political evil: “terrorism, ethnic cleansing, genocide, and a reliance on means such as torture to fight back against evil.” These forms of political evil, he argues, are those which have “grabbed the greatest amount of our attention.”
This does raise the question though — who exactly is this “our” whose attention has been grabbed? Nobody would deny (or certainly I wouldn’t) that terrorism, ethnic cleansing, genocide, and torture are all examples of political evil. But it seems like you could come up with some other examples as well that have played an important part in history if you wanted. What about, for example, imperialism? Apartheid, whether the American, South African, or (arguably) Israeli versions? What about war-mongering? Is it politically evil to build up a gigantic stockpile of weapons which could destroy the world twenty times over? For that matter, where does, say, China’s state-sponsored repression fit in Wolfe’s schema?
Wolfe does call China politically evil a number of times, and he doesn’t say his list is meant to be exhaustive. But it’s focus is telling. The evil that has grabbed the greatest amount of “our” attention is evil perpetrated against the West (terrorism) or by those outside the West (genocide in Rwanda, ethnic cleansing in Yugoslavia) or by the West as a direct reaction to evil committed against us (torture, or Israel’s actions against Gaza.) Wolfe even refers to the overreaction to terror by a specific name to separate it from the other acts of evil. He calls it counterevil — which, no doubt unintentionally, sounds suspiciously like it might mean “good”.
Wolfe unambiguously believes that counterevil is itself a form of evil. But the way in which his neologism turns on him is telling, I think. For while Wolfe is willing to condemn the US and Israel, it’s always for errors of judgment and understanding rather than for errors of the heart. There’s one particularly revealing passage in which he declares:
“Israel’s decision to clear out Arabs from areas of Palestine it was determined to incorporate within its new state ought to caution us against denouncing ethnic cleansing for the goals it seeks, since those goals are so widely shared.”
In other words, we can’t condemn the goals of ethnic cleansing because Israel engaged in ethnic cleansing, and while Israel’s methods may be damnable, its goals never are. And furthermore, in regards to ethnic nationalism, if everyone does it, it must be okay— an argument dear to many a 6-year-old, but not the more convincing for that.
At the end of the book, Wolfe turns, somewhat inevitably, to Niebuhr, advocating a principled, pragmatic opposition to evil tempered by humility.
“The appreciation of our inherent weakness, and its corresponding warning never to commit the sin of imagining oneself to possess all the power at God’s disposal, are routinely ignored by those who argue that one should refuse all engagement with terrorists, or that radical Islam inherited its totalitarian nature from Nazi Germany […] Underlying all these flawed attempts to respond to political evil is the conviction that human beings can know with certainty which side is always the good one and which one the bad.”
It is not a refutation of that point, but a confirmation of it, to suggest that Wolfe could as easily apply it to himself as to the others he cites. It is Wolfe, after all, who confidently lists the forms of political evil we should pay attention to, presenting them as naturally or clearly the most important, as if his Western, pundit’s perspective gives him a God’s eye view of the world’s sins. And it’s Wolfe who invokes that tireless shibboleth of punditry, “moral seriousness,” and drapes it, with beaming pride, across his call for greater humility.
Wolfe is determined that his book, despite its woeful litany of failed interventions and bungled international war crimes prosecutions, should not be used as an excuse for “throwing up our hands in hopeless resignation.” Such resignation, he says, “allows evil to continue and gives the bloodthirsty what they crave.” He advocates neither reckless interventionism nor isolationism, but rather a humble, thoughtful middle way. Maybe that will work. But personally I have a sinking feeling that political evil comes in more varieties than Wolfe is willing to admit, and that one of the ways it manifests on our shores is through the claim that we are modestly spreading peace by covering the earth with arms.
Noah, I agree with several of your points in this essay, but I disagree with your initial assertion. We do not use “evil” as a statement of purpose; we use “threat.” We rationalized (or explained, depending on your opinion) inaction against evil in Rwanda because it was not a threat to the American people or their interests. When we take action, a politician usually has to explain to the American people why that action is necessary to counter a threat. Evil is used rhetorically, but I don’t think it’s key to most people’s decision-making on the conflict, any more than people consider whether a shark attacking them is evil. Regardless, self-defense justifies violence against the shark.
There are exceptions to this – Somalia in 1993 for example – but for the most part, I think Americans believe our interests have to be involved when we respond to evil, because otherwise, we will run out of resources responding. The old Treaty of Westphalia rules are a factor here also, although they are decreasingly relevant over time. It used to be that a government could do anything it wanted, as long as it was only doing it in its own territory to its own citizens.
Moral rhetoric can get us into trouble, because it misleads people on how we make foreign policy decisions. People fighting the Assad regime in Syria have repeatedly expressed frustration that the West, and particularly America, have done less than they expected to help them. America is in a quandary. The Assad regime has supported terrorists who have targeted American allies, and less frequently, American citizens. Many of the people fighting the Assad regime denounce terrorism. But others, like the Al Nusrah Front, directly denounce America and the West and advocate terrorism against them. So, having recently re-learned that it is difficult to predict the results of intervention, America is proceeding cautiously. Nevertheless, almost everyone agrees that the Assad regime is evil – evil not just because it supports terrorism, but because it’s repressive. Repression, as you point out, is an evil conspicuously absent from Wolfe’s list.
I can’t find the quote, but Secretary Clinton famously explained this contradiction between rhetoric and action. She said something to the effect that our national ideals were aspirational, but our policy had to reflect reality and our interests as a nation, as well as our ideals.
Regarding “counterevil” – I think a lot of the terrorism, ethnic cleansing, and genocide in history has been rationalized as a response to other evil. So, if we ignore the categories Wolfe excludes, we’re setting ourselves up for more of the ones that make his cut. But that takes us back to the Syria dilemma…
I think the US tends to mix up national interest and morality, actually. I talk about this some here.
Thanks for the link. I think you make some excellent points in that essay. I remember during the 2004 election reading that some people in the Middle East thought they should get to vote in the U.S. Presidential election, since the outcome would affect their lives more than it would affect the average American.
I think we tend to appeal to moral justification for our policy for a couple of reasons. One is that an argument that combines emotion with logic is more compelling than one that uses logic alone. Another is the appeal to the moral, universalistic aspects of America’s narrative, as you reference Damon Linker talking about in the linked article. That said, I don’t think the moral line of argument is the most effective when it comes to convincing the American public to use force. I think it’s a secondary means of persuasion. My evidence for this is Howard Schuman’s study on the Two Sources of Antiwar Sentiment in America. He determined that the moral arguments against involvement in Vietnam mattered to college students far more than the general public, who were more concerned with whether or not the war was effectively achieving U.S. national objectives. I think the attitudes of the American public on post-Vietnam conflicts have been similarly linked to interests. When the compelling national interest is unclear, support for military action wanes, even when the adversary is unquestionably committing evil acts. So I agree that we mix morality into the discussion, but I don’t think it’s as meaningful to most people as our interests are when it comes to the use of force.
I think it’s hard to uncouple…but I think looking to public polls to find the basis of US policy is not necessarily all that illuminating. It’s elites who make these decisions. And I’m not exactly sure that they’re actually more pragmatic than the public. I’m pretty sure Bush/Cheney/Rumsfeld thought they were on a righteous crusade.
Yeah, I won’t argue that, but your previous point about accountability to the polity holds. Eventually, the masses will get a say. If you’re the decision-making elite, you’d better show some pragmatic results by then.
I tend to agree with Noah’s initial suggest that to declare something/someone evil is tantamount to a declaration of intent.
We may not have fallen in line to push Iraq off its knees and onto its face because we considered Hussein to be evil, but it certainly made the predictable consequences a lot easier to stomach when they came to pass and continued to escalate.
From what I can tell the war weariness that America has come to feel in regards to Iraq and Afghanistan or in regards to other places like Syria and Iran, has less to do with a recognition of the horrors inflicted on the people in those areas than on the cost borne by their own people.
There’s a strong correlation to what an electorate is willing to forgive to how it’s framed in context. It may be a moral outrage to torture an innocent man who might know something important, but many people won’t see a problem with torturing a terrorist who might know something important.
Adam, I agree with everything you said except your first sentence. Our government declares actions to be evil all the time and then does nothing else, satisfied that in most cases registering a voice of protest is all that’s appropriate — Treaty of Westphalia rules again. Besides, as you point out, going around righting wrongs is costly. It’s when our government (or any other) harps on the evil deed incessantly that you know they’re about to take more substantive action.