In 1986 a man named John Demjanjuk was extradited from the U.S. to Israel to be tried for war crimes during World War II. He was originally from Ukraine but was a U.S. citizen living in Cleveland. He was sixty-six at the time; he had two kids and had worked for decades as a car mechanic. His life seemed unassuming and calm; he was not known to be a violent or aggressive person. Nonetheless, he was accused of being “Ivan the Terrible,” a Nazi who operated gas chambers at the concentration camp Treblinka. Ivan the Terrible was remembered as being particularly sadistic and cruel. Survivors of Treblinka gave emotional testimonies during Demjanjuk’s trial, saying that Ivan seemed to take joy in torturing people, describing his ruthless actions in disturbing detail. In 1988 Demjanjuk was convicted of being Ivan the Terrible and was sentenced to death. Five years later, however, new evidence surfaced that contradicted the basis of his conviction. Despite that, the Chief Justice of Israel did not declare Demjanjuk innocent. The proof that he was Ivan the Terrible specifically was iffy, but there was still significant evidence that he was a Nazi. He was able to return to Cleveland, but not for long. Soon after returning to the U.S., he was accused of being a guard at a different concentration camp— Sobibor. He was then extradited to Germany, where he was convicted for his role at Sobibor. He died in 2012 as he awaited appeal.
John Demjanjuk was convicted, so in the eyes of the law he was the Nazi he was accused of being. And there was plenty of evidence to support the case against him. With that being said, it is impossible to know the truth for certain given that he was tried so many years later. But if we assume that he was guilty, that poses a critical question. How is it possible that a cold-blooded Nazi could go on to live such a normal life? John Demjanjuk is simply a high- profile example; there were plenty of times throughout the last half of the twentieth century when older men were discovered to have been Nazis, despite having gone on to live nonviolent lives. They were all undoubtedly awful people—there is no defending a Nazi. But were they unusual in their personalities? Did they all just completely lack empathy?
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Empathy isn’t exactly what most people think it is. Personally, I previously perceived empathy as a mechanism to prevent humans from hurting one another and doing bad things. I, like most people, cannot imagine killing another human being, much less wanting to. I used to attribute this to my empathy. But people kill each other all the time, and have been killing each other for all of human history. A true sociopath is rare, meaning that individuals who possess empathy are usually the ones committing these atrocities. Scientists and philosophers alike have argued that empathy actually has very little bearing on aggression and violence. The German philosopher Immanuel Kant claimed that empathy is too closely tied to emotion for it to be used as a moral compass, and that rational thinking is actually the better way to lead a moral life. A study done at the University of Buffalo even indicated that empathy can lead to further aggression, given that it is a strong emotion and therefore is prone to be twisted. This phenomenon is apparent in the world today. Regardless of what you think of him, it is undeniable that Donald Trump very intentionally plays on the fears of his supporters. He spouts stories—of varying degrees of truth—about murders and assaults committed by undocumented immigrants. This allows his supporters to justify and reinforce their racism not only through fear, but through empathy as well. They feel empathy for the victims of these alleged crimes, which only makes them more angry. Their empathy is selective, however. It is only directed at people who remind them of themselves, in this case primarily white Americans. This is only one example of the infinite times throughout history, on both a global and micro level, that empathy has been used as a tool for hatred.
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A 1999 New York Times article written by Andrew Sullivan explores the public mindset on hate crimes, the motivations behind them, and the way that we as a society define hate.While empathy doesn’t necessarily prevent hate, a lack of empathy can definitely exacerbate hate. Sullivan cites psychologist Elisabeth Young-Bruehl’s theory on the three categories of hate: obsessive, hysterical, and narcissistic. Narcissistic hate, as Young-Bruehl describes it, is the version most tied to empathy. The example she gives that Sullivan notes in the article is sexism. Most misogynists do not hate women in the sense that they want them dead, or avoid interactions with them. All men have mothers and female family members whom they care about, and most are sexually attracted to women. The root of sexism, Young-Bruehl argues, is an inability to relate to women on a personal level and a lack of desire to do so. Many men don’t see women as beings even in the same realm as themselves, and therefore only regard them as sexual objects for their own benefit as opposed to full and complex human beings who are capable of contributing in other ways. While sexism is clearly a much more complicated and layered issue, if we take this type of “hate”—narcissistic hate—at face value, then it is purely based in lack of empathy. This particular form of apathy is unique in that it doesn’t often lead to isolation. Misogynists marry women and can genuinely love them while simultaneously lacking an understanding (of women) to the point that they are incapable of viewing them as equals.
Possessing empathy in general does not mean that one uses it all the time, or in the right way. This is displayed through major global issues, but is also apparent in day-to-day interactions. I consider myself a fairly empathetic person, but have made mistakes countless times that made me feel guilty afterwards because I knew that I had not treated someone with the kindness they deserved. A catalyst for this is peer pressure, or mob mentality. If my friend dislikes someone, regardless of whether or not I have a personal reason to dislike that person, I often find myself beginning to hold a grudge on behalf of my friend. This exhibits empathy for my friend, but that empathy is misdirected and misused, as it has led me to treat someone else poorly. In a way, this is “targeted empathy,” reminiscent of Trump supporters who only feel empathy for people they relate to. Of course, this is on a much lower and less impactful scale, but it demonstrates that I experience the same vein of emotion that I judge so harshly in others.
This phenomenon of loyalty overpowering kindness also appears elsewhere in the social strata of high school. It’s what adults like to refer to as being a “bystander.” There have definitely been situations where I’ve witnessed someone at school being ignored or left out and not stepped in, because I knew it would be awkward and make me stand out from the group. By not inviting that person into the conversation, I clearly put my own social desires over their comfort, happiness, and belonging. Having empathy doesn’t mean that it is the most prominent urge all of the time.
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From what I can tell, empathy is an innate human trait, but it is not equivalent to morality, nor is it the most compelling human trait. For most people, our primal survival instincts are likely to win over empathy if put in the correct scenario. Power, and the desire to experience power authentically, often overrides empathy. It is easy to believe that power only corrupts some, but over and over again it seems that that’s not the case.
In 1973 a professor at Stanford conducted a two-week-long psychological experiment in which students “played” inmates and guards. This experiment was voluntary, and the students understood the terms. If they were “cast” as a prisoner, they were to essentially be treated exactly how a real inmate would for two weeks. This experiment quickly devolved into chaos and cruelty, with the “guards”—who were also college students—abusing their power over the inmates. The prisoners also began to act in ways typical of real convicts, such as making alliances with the guards to benefit themselves. While both parties understood logically that this was a two-week-long social experiment and that their roles were completely arbitrary, it proved nearly impossible for those involved to separate themselves from whatever they were experiencing in that moment. In other words, the experiment became very real. As early as the first day the guards began physically and verbally abusing the inmates, resulting in a “rebellion” the second day. Within a few days many of the inmates had begun to self identify not by their names they’d had their entire lives, but by the inmate number assigned to them. Prisoner #819 had given himself so fully to the experiment that his declining mental state became a liability for the researchers, who wanted him to leave. He refused, stating that he couldn’t because he was a “bad prisoner.” It was the abuse of a few seemingly normal and innocuous college students that led the inmates to this state. After only six days the experiment had to be ended early for the wellbeing of the participants. The man in charge, Professor Zimbardo, admitted that even he had been swept up in the experiment. He had begun to think more like a prison superintendent than a psychologist. Most of us like to believe that it would take a true life-or-death situation to even begin to corrupt our morals, but the Stanford Prison Experiment showed that all it really takes for most is a few days of extenuating circumstances. Empathy did not prevent the guards from immediately reverting to primal cruelty in the name of power.
While the guards in the Stanford Prison Experiment were “normal” people who were corrupted by power, John Demjanjuk showed that the gain and loss of empathy is a cycle that can go both ways. John Demjanjuk was able to lead a completely normal life after committing atrocious war crimes; he had a wife, a steady career, two kids, and a community full of friends and neighbors who were shocked to discover his past. It is easy to understand how an empathetic person can be led astray, but less clear how someone who has seemingly sold their soul can return to a normal life and be viewed as a typically “good” person. Power corrupts, but it’s possible that the spell can be lifted and for empathy to not be lost completely—at least it seems that way from an outside perspective.
Despite the possibility of change, I still find it difficult to wrap my head around people such as the Stanford Prison Experiment guards, or John Demjanjuk. And I don’t feel comfortable using the latter as an example of renewed empathy, given the unfathomably horrific things he did throughout his life. All of this leaves me with larger questions about the human psyche and our capacity as a species for kindness, selfishness, cruelty, violence, and many of the other forces that contribute to whether or not we act empathetically. These are questions that will likely never be answered because I highly doubt that a concrete answer even exists— which, in a way, is the reason to pursue the topic at all.
Cameron, Daryl C, et al. “Empathy Is Hard Work: People Choose to Avoid Empathy Because of Its Cognitive Costs.” American Psychological Association, psycnet.apa.org/record/2019-20830-001.
Ewing, Jack, and Alan Cowell. “Demjanjuk Convicted for Role in Nazi Death Camp.” The New York Times, 12 May 2011, www.nytimes.com/2011/05/13/ world/europe/13nazi.html.
“John Demjanjuk, Convicted Nazi Death Camp Guard, Dies Aged 91.” The Guardian, Guardian News and Media, 17 Mar. 2012, www.theguardian.com/ world/2012/mar/17/john-demjanjuk-nazi-camp-guard-dies.
Kwon, Diana. “The Limits of Empathy.” The Psychologist, Jan. 2017, thepsychologist.bps.org.uk/volume-30/january-2017/limits-empathy.
Mcleod, Saul. “The Stanford Prison Experiment.” Simply Psychology, 2020, www. simplypsychology.org/zimbardo.html.
Stueber, Karsten. “Empathy.” Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy, Stanford University, 27 June 2019, plato.stanford.edu/entries/empathy/.
Sturcke, James. “Timeline: John Demjanjuk.” The Guardian, Guardian News and Media, 12 May 2009, www.theguardian.com/world/2009/may/12/ ivan-demjanjuk-timeline.
Sullivan, Andrew. “What’s So Bad About Hate.” The New York Times, 26 Sept. 1999, www.nytimes.com/1999/09/26/magazine/what-s-so-badabout-hate.html.