The concept of evil is hard to define with precision. Ethical arguments swing back and forth. Consensus is elusive. What seems right in one context appears wrong in another.
Most of the time, loopholes are available. Two schools of ethical thought prevail as polar opposites, each with its flaws. Kant’s duty-based perspective asserts that some actions are evil in themselves, regardless of consequences. Mill and Bentham give utilitarian dissent, claiming that the ethical imperative is to foster the greatest good for the greatest number, that the end justifies the means, and it is the outcome that matters.
But once in a great while, a case emerges which defeats every sophistry. Some actions and consequences fail under either perspective. When the means are bad, and the ends are bad, evil remains as the default explanation.
Sentient and honorable observers must agree that gratuitous cruelty defines such a case. If an action is cruel ab initio, it fails Kant’s test, while if it is gratuitous, it fails that of Mill and Bentham.
British subject Alfie Evans died at the age of 23 months, suffering from a rare condition that caused neurological dysfunction and seizures. He was able to eat, drink, breathe, and according to his parents, respond to measures of comfort. His illness eluded precise diagnosis, but was thought to fall into a category known as mitochondrial disorder. These are almost always fatal, although there are cases of survival through adolescence, and even beyond. The prognosis for Alfie was thus extremely grave.
In delivering this news, his physicians averred that he could not survive even briefly without intensive life support. All such measures they then withdrew, including access to food and water. He survived this arduous regimen for five days. By grace of the state, his parents were permitted to hold him.
In the world where most of us had thought we lived, gravely ill persons have, at the very least, a peremptory right, at their own expense and risk, to seek a second medical opinion. Minor children may have such decisions made by their parents or guardians, absent clear evidence of serious abuse.
But not so in Great Britain. The pope had urged the family to come to Italy, whose government had granted Alfie citizenship. Transportation, medical assessment, and care were ready, and all expenses paid. All that was necessary, one might think, was for the mother to pick Alfie up, leave the hospital, and try for a medical miracle, which at least would include availability of food and water.
But it was not to be. Men with guns were ordered to prevent this outcome. And they did.
The underlying moral argument, if such it can be called, is that your government knows better than you do about what is in your best interest, even if it turns out to be your death. Is it in the best interest of the child to die by dehydration? Is it in the best interest of the parents to hold their child while he desiccates to death over a period of days? Or, rather, might it instead have been in the interest of government to avoid the embarrassment of the flagrant denial of its sovereign majesty? In their pride, authorities inhabit a fool’s fortress. Gratuitous cruelty is the result.
The Evans family asked nothing of their government other than to be permitted to travel to a country that they deemed more salubrious. If living in a free country has any meaning, surely the right to go somewhere else must be the lowest possible bar.
The history of the twentieth century has as its dominant theme the arguments between governments and their citizens/subjects/serfs over the question of who owns their minds and bodies. The several wars we all fought were, at last, mostly about that. Yet the totalitarian temptation never sleeps. It emerges in places formerly thought unlikely, and thus perpetual vigilance from free citizens is required.
