The Evil Within: Why We Need Moral

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THE EVIL WITHIN
THE EVIL WITHIN
Why We Need Moral Philosophy

Diane Jeske

1
1
Oxford University Press is a department of the University of Oxford. It furthers
the University’s objective of excellence in research, scholarship, and education
by publishing worldwide. Oxford is a registered trade mark of Oxford University
Press in the UK and certain other countries.

Published in the United States of America by Oxford University Press

198 Madison Avenue, New York, NY 10016, United States of America.

© Oxford University Press 2018

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in

a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the
prior permission in writing of Oxford University Press, or as expressly permitted
by law, by license, or under terms agreed with the appropriate reproduction
rights organization. Inquiries concerning reproduction outside the scope of the
above should be sent to the Rights Department, Oxford University Press, at the
address above.

You must not circulate this work in any other form

and you must impose this same condition on any acquirer.

Names: Jeske, Diane, 1967– author.

Title: The evil within : why we need moral philosophy / Diane Jeske.
Description: New York : Oxford University Press, 2018.
Identifiers: LCCN 2017057399 (print) | LCCN 2018023199 (ebook) |
ISBN 9780190685409 (online resource) | ISBN 9780190685386 (updf) |
ISBN 9780190685393 ( epub) | ISBN 9780190685379 (cloth : alk. paper)
Subjects: LCSH: Good and evil. | Ethics.
Classification: LCC BJ1401 (ebook) | LCC BJ1401.J47 2018 (print) |
DDC 170—dc23
LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2017057399

9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
Printed by Sheridan Books, Inc., United States of America
To my mother, Barbara Franke:
Thank you for being my best friend
Contents

Preface | ix
Acknowledgments | xiii

1. Learning from Evil | 1

2. Just the Bad and the Ugly | 30

3. Culture and Moral Evaluation | 71

4. Do the Ends Justify the Means? | 115

5. The Feeling of Morality | 152

6. Moral Evasion | 195

7. The Moral of Mr. Jefferson’s Story | 224

NO T E S | 2 5 1
I NDEX | 2 7 5

vii
Preface

When I was eleven years old, my mother gave me a copy of The

Diary of Anne Frank. At the end of the book was an afterword,
explaining what happened to Anne and the other occupants of
the Secret Annex after their capture by the Gestapo. This brief
glimpse into the horrors of the Holocaust had a profound impact
on me. I was young enough to be afraid that what had happened to
Anne and her family could happen to me and my family. I wanted
to alleviate this fear, and thus was led to find out more about the
Holocaust and its origins in order to reassure myself that what
had happened in Europe in the 1940s would never happen in the
American Midwest of the late twentieth century in which I lived.
By the time I was fourteen, I had done more reading, including
William Shirer’s The Rise and Fall of the Third Reich. Gradually, the
object of my fear had changed: instead of being afraid of being a
victim, I had become afraid that I carried within me the potential
to be a perpetrator. This fear was in part responsible for my in-
terest in philosophy: I wanted to know how to be a good person,
how to ensure that I would be and would stay the sort of person
who would never, under any circumstances, be a perpetrator.
Not surprisingly, as I studied philosophy, my focus and
interests changed. However, after I had tenure, I had more

ix
x | Prefac e

freedom and time to think about new sorts of courses to teach.

My early concerns about the perpetrators of the Holocaust and
a somewhat more recent interest in the history of American
slavery led me to construct a course called The Nature of Evil, in
which I used case studies of very bad individuals to examine var-
ious topics in moral philosophy. My teaching of this course has
been one of the most rewarding experiences of my twenty-five
years as a professional philosopher. Students have often been
struck by their unexpected sympathy with perpetrators and with
a stark realization that they just don’t know what they would do
if they found themselves in morally challenging circumstances.
I have been gratified by the extent to which the grip of the first-
person perpetrator narratives has resulted in the same sort of
self-examination in my students that it has caused in me, and
also by how those narratives can make what might otherwise
have seemed to be merely abstract philosophical issues appear as
what they really are: urgent questions that every person needs to
confront for him or herself.
And so I began the writing of this book, using first-person
narratives by perpetrators of evil to enliven and make accessible
issues in moral philosophy. Gradually, however, I began to see the
book as a way to demonstrate the importance, for everyone, of
the study of moral philosophy. This motivation came as a result
of spending six years as chair of my department, six years that
commenced in 2008 just before the economic downturn that has
resulted in so many cuts in higher education. Attempting to de-
fend the autonomy of my department in opposition to an admin-
istration that wanted to merge us with other units, I was forced
to constantly point to how well philosophy majors do on entrance
exams for business or law school and how high the salaries of
philosophy majors who end up in business are relative to those
who majored in other fields. And I realized that we are all losing
 Pre f a c e | x i

the most important point of a liberal education, an education to

which philosophy is absolutely essential: the creation of citizens
who can think for themselves, and can enter into civil debates on
complex moral issues with others who have opposing positions,
citizens who can analyze arguments, and perhaps most impor-
tant, see when no argument has been forthcoming. The level of
the “debate” in the 2016 American presidential election and the
numbers of people seduced by terrorist propaganda have con-
firmed to me how much we need to ensure that we have citizens
who can think beyond mere efficiency, self-interest, and slogans.
I am certainly not naïve enough to believe that a study of moral
philosophy is either necessary or sufficient for creating the sorts
of citizens we need in order to have a well-functioning democracy.
But I do believe that incorporating the study of philosophy—in
particular, of moral philosophy—into our standard curricula at
all grade levels has the potential to contribute to the creation of
such citizens. The best compliment I ever receive as a teacher is
when a student thanks me for a course in political philosophy or
ethics by saying, “I just never thought about these issues in this
way before.” I regularly see students questioning their beliefs,
and questioning them in ways that are completely new to them.
Most important, I see students coming to see complexities that
they had never seen before, acknowledging that maybe, just
maybe, there is more to think about with respect to their own
views and with respect to the views of others than they had pre-
viously thought.
Studying philosophy can be a painful process, insofar as it has
the very real potential to shake our deepest convictions and to
cause us to view ourselves in a new and perhaps less gratifying
light. I am firmly convinced that education must challenge
students to confront uncomfortable claims made by others, and
teach them how to engage in such debates in a civil and fruitful
xii | Pre fac e

manner. We do not do that by limiting what we say to each other

but, rather, by learning how to respond to each other and how to
examine what we ourselves are saying.
The first and most important step we need to take in any
attempt to find the truth is figuring out what we actually believe
and why we believe it. This book is intended, in part, to provide
the reader the kind of exercise in self-examination that I think
is philosophy’s most important product when it is successful. In
my own case, I have never entirely convinced myself that I ab-
solutely could not, under the “right” circumstances, become a
perpetrator of evil. I do hope that my own study of philosophy
has at least lessened the likelihood that I would become such a
perpetrator, and I think that we have absolutely nothing to lose
from launching an experiment to see whether widespread educa-
tion in moral philosophy can help us to collectively prevent such
“right” conditions from ever being realized.
Acknowledgments

The idea for this book grew out of my experiences teaching a

course called The Nature of Evil. I would like to thank all of the
University of Iowa students who have taken that course over the
past several years for your enthusiasm and contributions to class-
room discussions: you have helped me a great deal in thinking
about the issues raised by this book. I would also like to thank
the graduate students in my seminar Ethics and the Holocaust for
provocative discussions of similar issues.
The final version of the manuscript benefited greatly from
comments by David McNaughton, Lisa Tessman, and an anony-
mous referee for Oxford University Press. Richard Fumerton read
and reread and then read yet again various drafts of this manu-
script and, as always, provided incisive comments and critiques.
Most important, he provided encouragement and advice at every
step of the process as he has throughout my career, and this work,
like all of my work, is far better than it would otherwise have been.
Finally, I would like to thank my editor at Oxford University
Press, Lucy Randall, who has been enthusiastic and supportive
from first submission to final product, and who provided valu-
able and insightful comments on the manuscript.

xiii
THE EVIL WITHIN
1

Learning from Evil

Thomas Jefferson and Edward Coles

In 1814, Thomas Jefferson, retired from public service after his

two terms as president of the United States, was living the life of
the genteel southern patriarch: ensconced in his mountaintop
home, Monticello, Jefferson could indulge his passions for in-
vention, correspondence, and university building because the
day-to-day work of his plantation was performed by the men,
women, and children he held in bondage. This human capital
constituted a large portion of Jefferson’s assets, against which
he could borrow money to hold on to Monticello and to continue
to engage in his intellectual endeavors, particularly those that
would solidify his reputation with posterity. And this was how
the revered author of the Declaration of Independence fully in-
tended to live out the remainder of his days.
In that year, Edward Coles punctured the fabric of this
southern idyll. Coles was a young man who had served as a pri-
vate secretary to James Madison and was soon to inherit the
means to live the southern upper-class male ideal on a neigh-
boring plantation. But Coles had come to see slavery as wrong, as
a blight on the South left over from colonial days. He knew that

1
2 | The evil WiThin

Jefferson had, as a young man, spoken out against slavery, even

including in his initial draft of the Declaration of Independence
an indictment of England for having introduced such an institu-
tion on the soil of the New World.1 Of late, Jefferson had been
silent on the slavery question, but Coles recognized Jefferson’s
potential influence in moving Virginia toward a policy of gradual
emancipation. He hoped to rouse Jefferson to once again speak
out, unhesitatingly and without reservation, against the insti-
tution of slavery, thereby giving emancipation the support of
Virginia’s favorite and most revered son.
But Coles did not intend simply to sit back and see what
Jefferson and the Virginia legislature would do. Coles could not
control the fate of slavery in Virginia, but he did have immense
power over the fate of his own slaves. He intended to sell his plan-
tation, move with his slaves to the free territory of Illinois, and
use his resources to establish farms for his then-freed bondsmen
and bondswomen. Coles hoped to get Jefferson to endorse this
plan, thereby encouraging other young men of Coles’s position
to follow his example. For Coles, recognition of the evil of the
institution of slavery was motivating—it provided him with an
impetus to action, an impetus that outweighed his own social
and financial interests. He wanted to get others to see slavery’s
wrongness and to act on that perception, and he formulated a
plan to extricate himself from complicity with the institution
and to do what he could to help those who suffered under it.
Thomas Jefferson, however, did not intend to allow Coles’s
letter to puncture the fabric of his peaceful retirement. His re-
sponse to Coles was twofold: first, Coles ought not to carry out
the proposed move to Illinois because former slaves were as “in-
capable as children of taking care of themselves.”2 Given this
fact, Coles’s best strategy, according to Jefferson, was that which
Jefferson himself had adopted: stay in Virginia and quietly (ap-
parently, if we take Jefferson to be acting on his own advice,
 l e a r n i n g f ro m ev i l | 3

very quietly) work for gradual emancipation. Jefferson claimed

that prudence dictated waiting for public perception to advance,
because one would do more harm than good if one aimed for
immediate change or tried to exhort people toward any moral
improvement to which they were adamantly opposed. Jefferson,
then, seemed to present himself as in fact taking the moral high
ground by continuing to live a life financed by the sweat of his
slaves.
Beyond these more general attempts to justify refusing to
speak out in accordance with Coles’s request, Jefferson also
appealed to his advanced years. He told Coles that the work of
emancipation was for younger generations, and that he was
simply too old to undertake such an arduous task.3 Coles must
have found this a particularly weak excuse, given Jefferson’s
ceaseless and energetic commitments to invention, writing, and
university building. In his response to Jefferson, Coles attempted
to shame him by pointing to the continuing activism of the eld-
erly Benjamin Franklin, a fellow Founding Father more than forty
years Jefferson’s senior. More important, Coles pointed out that
Jefferson had a special obligation to take up the work of emanci-
pation: Jefferson was one of the few “who have it in their power
effectually to arouse and enlighten the public sentiment, which
in matters of this kind ought not to be expected to lead, but to
be led.”4 If the problem was public sentiment, then Jefferson,
with the great respect and authority he carried, needed to work
to change it. Coles might have added that by doing nothing,
Jefferson was actually helping to solidify public opinion against
emancipation, thereby making it more difficult for the younger
generations to make that fight against slavery.
Edward Coles received no further communication from
Jefferson. In 1819, he packed up his slaves and headed to Illinois.
He not only emancipated those seventeen men, women, and
children but he also established them on farms that they could
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 This ebook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United
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Title: When a witch is young: a historical novel

Author: Philip Verrill Mighels

Release date: June 5, 2022 [eBook #68249]

Language: English

Original publication: United States: R. F. Fenno & Company,

1901

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*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK WHEN A

WITCH IS YOUNG: A HISTORICAL NOVEL ***
WHEN A WITCH IS YOUNG
═════════════════════════════

WHEN A WITCH
─────────────────────

❦ IS YOUNG ❦
═════════════════════════════
A Historical Novel
─────────────────────

By 4—19—69
═════════════════════════════

═════════════════════════════
R . F. F E N N O & C O M P A N Y
9 and 11 East 16th Street, New York
─────────────────────
1901
Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1901
By R. F. FENNO & COMPANY
In the office of the Librarian of Congress at Washington
 CONTENTS.

PART I.
CHAPTER PAGE

I. Le Roi est Mort 9

II. A Friendship of Chance 14
III. The Germ of a Passion 22

PART II.
I. A Rover and his Retinue 27
II. An Ungodly Performance 36
III. ’Twixt Cup and Lip 45
IV. The Opening of a Vista 53
V. A Weighty Confidence 62
VI. Pan’s Brother and the Nymph 71
VII. The Meeting in the Greenwood 78
VIII. Paying the Fiddler 86
IX. A Matter of State 94
X. To Foil a Spy 100
XI. Dangerous Tributes 105
XII. Hours that Grow Dark 110
 XIII. A Kiss Deferred 121
XIV. Overtures from the Enemy 133
XV. Love’s Inviting Light 140
XVI. Garde’s Lonely Vigil 149
XVII. A Night Attack 153
XVIII. The Glint of Treasure 160
XIX. Mutiny 164
XX. Garde’s Extremity 171
XXI. Randolph’s Courtship 180
XXII. David’s Coercion 187
XXIII. Goody’s Boy 193
XXIV. A Greenwood Meeting 200
XXV. Love’s Traps for Confessions 213
XXVI. A Holiday Ended 221
XXVII. In Boston Town 228
XXVIII. Love’s Garden 234
XXIX. The Enemy in Power 243
XXX. A Fight at the Tavern 249
XXXI. A Refugee 255
XXXII. A Foster Parent 260
XXXIII. Repudiated Silver 269
XXXIV. Lodgings for the Retinue 275
XXXV. Garde Obtains the Jail Keys 280
XXXVI. Garde’s Ordeal 287
XXXVII. Rats in the Armory 296
XXXVIII. Love’s Long Good-by 303
XXXIX. Mutations 308
XL. Golden Oysters 314
XLI. Fate’s Devious Ways 319
XLII. Little Ruses and Waiting 327
 PART III.
I. A Topic at Court 335
II. Illness in the Family 342
III. Foiled Purposes 345
IV. Making History 350
V. Old Acquaintances 357
VI. Juggling with Fire 362
VII. A Beef-eater Passes 368
VIII. A Woman Scorned 371
IX. Revelations 382
X. After Six Years 392
XI. A Blow in the Dark 398
XII. Adam's Nurse 403
XIII. Goody in the Toils 407
XIV. Garde’s Subterfuge 414
XV. The Midnight Trial 425
XVI. The Gauntlet Run 436
XVII. Bewitched 442
WHEN A WITCH IS YOUNG.

PART I.
 CHAPTER I.

LE ROI EST MORT.

The first, the last—the only King the Americans ever had, was
dead. It was the 13th day of August, in the year 1676. The human
emotions of the Puritan people of Massachusetts tugged at the
shackles of a long repression and broke them asunder, in the seemly
town of Plymouth. King Philip, the mighty Sachem of the
Wampanoag Indians, had been slain. His warriors were scattered
and slaughtered. His war was ended.
Through the streets of Plymouth poured a vast throng of people.
Men, women and children, they ran and walked, surrounding a buff-
colored army that filled the thoroughfares like a turgid flood. This was
the regiment which Captain Benjamin Church had led to the final
camp of King Philip, in the swamps at Mt. Hope and Pocasset,
where the last scene in the sanguinary drama had been enacted.
Here was a troop of sixty horse, with officers. They were well
mounted, caparisoned with glittering back, breast and headpiece,
and armed with clanking sword, shouldered carbine, and great
pistols, that flopped at the waist. Behind them were foot-soldiers,
brown Puritans—stern, mirth-denying, lusty at fighting. Some of
these bore no weapon other than a pike. Another frequently had
upon him sword, pistol and carbine. Above the heads of these men
on foot waved a thin forest of pike-staves, on the tips of which bright
steel threw back the dazzling rays of the sun. There was clatter of
scabbards on the pavement, thud and thud of hoofs and feet in the
roadway, and above all, shouts of men and gabble of children.
There were hordes on either side of this human flood, pushing and
crowding to gain the front of the column, while a similar aggregation
hung back upon the flank of the regiment, hooting, craning necks
and racing to keep pace with the steady, long strides of the soldiers.
This division of interest was caused by the two counter attractions of
the pageant. Thus at the front, a red Indian was leading the march
with a wild, half-dancing step, while he contorted his body weirdly for
the purpose of displaying to all beholders the ghastly proof of victory
—the head of the great King Philip. This Indian ally might have stood
for the mockery of a drum-major, heading a march of doom.
The spectators, racing, crowding, following, took a crazed delight
in beholding this gory head. Love, anger, joy, the daily emotions of
man, were habitually so repressed by these serious people that now
it seemed as if they reveled as in an orgie of shuddering and
gasping, to give vent to their pent-up natures. They laughed, they
skipped on nimble feet, they sang praises. The young men and
women snatched the occasion, with its looseness of deportment, to
look unbridled feelings into one another’s eyes.
The other attraction, in the rear, was a captive, a mere boy, as
white as any in the multitude, and paler than the palest. Tall and lithe
as he was, his age was scarcely a whit above fourteen. He was
dressed as an Indian; he bore himself like a sullen brave. At his side
was old Annawon, the last of King Philip’s councilors, who, having
surrendered under a promise of “good quarter” was even now being
led to his execution.
The interest centered, however, in the boy. Through the stoicism
which he labored to hold as a mask upon his face, the signs of
anguish played like an undercurrent. In all the throng he had but a
single friend, the Red-man with whom he was marching. He looked
about at the pitiless embankment of faces. Near him a score of
nimble boys were running, a frantic desire to strike him depicted in
their eyes. Further away a tall man was moving, perforce, with the
tide. On his shoulder he bore a little Puritan maiden, who might have
been crushed had he placed her on her feet. She was looking at the
boy-captive with eyes that seemed a deeper brown for their very
compassion. She clung to the man who held her, with a tense little
fist. Her other tiny hand was pressed upon her cheek till all about
each small finger was white, in the bonny apple-blush of her color. It
seemed as if she must cry out to the young prisoner, in sympathy.
While the boy was gazing back his answer to the child—a quiver in
consequence almost loosening his lip—an urchin near him abruptly
cast a stone that struck him smartly in the side. With a panther-like
motion the captive launched himself upon his assailant and bore him
to earth in a second. The old councillor, Annawon, spoke some soft,
quick word at which the lad in buckskin immediately abandoned his
overthrown antagonist and regained his place in the march. His eyes
blinked swiftly, but in vain, for tears, of anger and pain, forced their
way between his lids and so to his cheeks, when he dashed them
swiftly away on his sleeve.
The foot-soldiers scurried forward and closed in about their
dangerous charge. The bawling youths of Plymouth seemed to
multiply by magic. But their opportunities for committing further
mischief were presently destroyed. The pageant was passing
Plymouth jail. An officer hustled ten of his men about the boy-
prisoner and wedged them through the press of people toward this
place of gloom. Above the clamor then rose a voice, and in the
Indian tongue the boy-captive heard the words:
“Farewell, Little-Standing-Panther.”
It was old Annawon, who had divined that there would be no other
parting with the lad, who was the only creature which the war had left
on earth for him to love.
The boy cried: “Farewell,” and the passage through the people
closed behind him.
Those who looked beheld old Annawon smile faintly and sadly. It
was the only expression which had played across his face since his
surrender, and there was never another.
 Through nearly every street the glad procession wound. At length,
the head of the butchered King Philip was thrust upon an iron stake,
which was planted deeply in the ground. Governor Winslow then
requested that the people disperse to their several homes.
The night at length came down—night the beneficent, that cloaks
the tokens of men’s barbarisms. Then the moon arose, casting a
pale, cold light, lest remorse lose her way. What a passionless calm
settled upon the sleeping village!
At last, with a tread as silent as that of death itself, an active figure
crept from shadow to shadow, in the streets which the moon had
silver-plated. The lone human being came to the square wherein
was planted the stake with the moon-softened head upon it. The
visitor was the white boy-captive, dressed in his Indian toggery. He
had escaped from the jail.
In the moonlight he came forward slowly. He halted and extended
his arms toward the stake with its motionless burden. He
approached in reverence, murmuring brokenly in the Indian tongue:
“Metacomet—Metacomet,——my foster-father,——I have come.”
He knelt upon the ground and clasping the cold iron stake in his
arms, he sobbed and sobbed, as if his heart would break.
 CHAPTER II.

A FRIENDSHIP OF CHANCE.

Through the gray mist of Plymouth’s dawn there came a sound of

footsteps, and then a murmur of melodious humming, somewhat
controlled and yet too sturdy and joyous to be readily accounted for
in the strict Puritan village. Presently, looming out of the uncertain
light, appeared the roughly-hewn figure of a young man of five and
twenty. He was singing to himself, as he hastened with big strides
through the deserted streets.
On the point of passing the place where the gibbeted head of King
Philip made a rude exclamation point in the calm of gray Plymouth,
the early riser suddenly noted the curled-up form of a human being
on the ground, his arm loosely bent about the iron stake, his head
resting loosely against it, his eyes fast closed in the sleep of
exhaustion. The man started slightly, halted and ceased his singing.
He blinked his eyes for a moment, shifted his feet uneasily and
rubbed stoutly at his jaw, as he gazed in perplexity at the picture
before him. He then tip-toed as if to go on, quietly, about his own
business. He glanced at the head, then back to the boy, from whose
lips, in his sleep, a little moan escaped. The visitor noted the traces
where tears had channeled down the lad’s pale cheeks. There was
something unescapable in the attitude of the bare golden head
against the stake. The man stopped and laid his big hand gently on
the half-curled locks.