Being 'Good' or 'Evil': Do We Really Have A Choice?

Quick context. To even begin unpacking the question in the title, you have to go back to something basic but uncomfortable. Why do we behave the way we do? Do we choose to be good, or are we just following a script written by society, law, or fear of consequences? Reading Fyodor Dostoevsky tends to mess with that foundation in a serious way. Not in a preachy, I have answers kind of way, but in that quieter, more dangerous way where you start noticing connections you hadn’t seen before and suddenly your certainty isn’t so solid anymore.

In The Idiot, there’s a question that refuses to die. Are genuinely good people recognized as good, or dismissed as fools? Try answering that without hiding behind ideals. It’s harder than it sounds. If you think about Forrest Gump, the parallel is almost too obvious. He’s kind, honest, incapable of manipulation, and because of that, he’s constantly exposed. We, as the audience, see him as pure, almost admirable. But inside the world he lives in, that same purity reads as naivety. Vulnerability. Something to be used.

And then the real question kicks in, the one that doesn’t let you off easy. Would you still choose compassion if there were no reward attached to it? No heaven, no moral scoreboard, no sense that being good will eventually “pay off.” That idea, especially in the West, is deeply tied to religious frameworks. Systems that, for better or worse, have shaped entire civilizations, wars, economies, power structures. Strip that away, and what’s left? Is kindness still something we reach for, or does it lose its meaning when there’s nothing waiting on the other side?

That’s where Fyodor Dostoevsky hits hardest. Not by giving answers, but by forcing the question to stay open. And even visually, that tension exists. The reference to The Body of the Dead Christ in the Tomb isn’t random. That image, raw, almost uncomfortable in its realism, strips divinity down to something painfully human. No glory, no idealization, just a body that suffered. It’s unsettling because it removes the distance we usually keep between ourselves and that kind of suffering.

And maybe that’s the point. If we are capable of cruelty, indifference, harm, then choosing the opposite becomes an act of will, not obligation. Not because we’ll be rewarded, not because we’re told to, but because we decide to. That’s the line that stays with me. Choosing humanity without the guarantee of salvation. No applause, no payoff. Just the decision itself. So yeah, the question isn’t abstract at all. It’s personal. What would you choose?