Do someone else’s dirty hands make mine dirty, too?

The question on my mind derives both from personal experiences and also from some of our texts. Waltzer’s last few lines of his ‘Dirty Hands’ writing indicate that everyone has dirty hands, and that dirty hands end up being necessary for society to continue in some ways. Dovi’s depiction of Addams appears to be compelling reason to understand that making a far-reaching difference for the poor may mean accepting the unjust benefits of one’s own wealth. In seeking to hold others accountable around me, I’ve almost felt that my hands are dirty because of my dedication to upholding the institutions with which I work. But my own experience has been that, in light of my idealism, I try to have clean hands. But here is my question: do someone else’s dirty hands make mine dirty, too?

Now before I admit to having dirty hands of my own, I need to clarify how far-reaching I want to frame my use of ‘dirty hands,’ and I want to restrain Waltzer’s use thereof. Waltzer’s depiction of necessary ruthlessness or corruption during a campaign is absurd to me. He brings up an example of someone having an obligation to engage in corruption to win in a campaign. And he seems to conclude that whoever refrains from corruption in a campaign does not deserve to be in the position for which she is campaigning. But my personal experience has been entirely to the contrary: choosing corruption would have disqualified me from the campaign for which I was running. In running for my current role, my team and I were offered dirty campaign money to purchase extra marketing materials. We also were offered a copy of confidential documents that were not ours to have. Had we accepted the campaign money, we would have been restrained for the rest of the year in opposing a group that was not within the interests of our organization. Had we accepted the confidential documents, our competitors would have used such an acceptance to disqualify us. But we followed moral and legal principles (at least to some degree) in our campaign, and that is what strengthened and qualified us as candidates. So Waltzer’s argument for corruption in campaigns fails. But from Waltzer’s failure, that all instances of ‘dirty hands’ are illegitimate does not follow.

            Dovi’s dirty hands with Addams appears compelling to me in a way that Waltzer’s doesn’t, for Addams’ using her (perhaps) inequitably-inherited wealth uses moral principles to benefit those who need the help. Waltzer advocates for the creation of inequity to accomplish one’s goals, where my experience has been that preventing such creation proves to protect one’s efforts. But Dovi’s example of Addams gives me the impression that Addams would use the already existing wealth that she has—even if others engaged in corruption in order for her to acquire the wealth—for the advancement of her moral principles of helping the poor. But Addams was still haunted by Tolstoy’s commitment to principles by his avoiding the already existing inequities of wealth and power, and if Addams has dirty hands, then she has them as a result of this haunting of her conscience. So it is not Waltzer’s dirty hands with which I identify, but instead with those of Addams.

I ratted out a guy I’ve known for most of my life and allowed for a different investigation to happen to a very close friend whom I deeply enjoy, each for basically one reason—they broke the rules. They got their hands dirty, so to keep mine clean, I reported them, and I have no intention of stopping any administrative investigations into either case. But does that make my hands dirty? To parallel Addams, my existing conditions were that I had relevant information to motivate their investigation. I have good reason to believe they’ve broken the rules in ways that would compromise the integrity of the overall institution that is investigating them if their violations were unreported. Another existing condition was that I had the power to report the information very easily. And I did. Further, I think the overall institution is better off for my reporting these people—students are safer, students’ advocacy with administrators is more secure, and those two young men are facing accountability for their actions. But because those guys’ hands are dirty, my idealism ended up preserving my clean hands in a way, but got my hands a little dirty because I regarded my principles and the institutional laws as more important than how those two guys would view their friendships with me.

In light of Easter weekend, I’d like to bring up an example that ties into my experience: Pontius Pilate. For those who may not be familiar, Pilate was a Roman governor who oversaw the province of Judea in the early first century. What he thought was someone else’s decision to authorize Jesus’ brutal torture and execution became his decision. As a few eyewitnesses and a quasi-reporter at the time relate, religious officials with an angry crowd demanded to execute Jesus, but they wanted the Romans to do it. Pilate took a few steps to prevent this execution. He offered the absurd release of a convicted murderer in exchange for Jesus and he questioned of the legitimacy of Jesus’ alleged guilt. But Pontius Pilate had an obligation to Caesar to make sure that Judea did not become too unruly, and he appeared to be concerned that failure to authorize Jesus’ death could result in an uprising from this angry crowd. Faced with all of these things, he confirmed multiple times how sure the religious officials were that they wanted to kill Jesus. They expressed unanimous consent, despite Pilate’s apprehensions. Pilate deliberated in front of the demanding crowd by giving them what they wanted—a convicted criminal to go free in place of Jesus and an order for Christs’ crucifixion.

Then Pilate asked for a bowl of water.

‘I wash my hands of this.’

He tried to preserve the institutional integrity of the Judean province, articulated what he thought was right, and allowed for the already existing conditions of an angry populace to guide his decision in giving his constituents what they wanted. But do his constituents’ dirty hands of demanding for blood make Pilate’s hands dirty as well? Based on my experience: yes in a way, and no in another.

Perhaps I’m stretching Pilate’s innocence, and he’s more culpable than I’d like to believe.  I’m sure I’d have a far worse view of him if he were only part of a narrative that ended in the death of Jesus. But the Resurrection of Christ puts Pilate’s actions into context, such that his hands are a little cleaner because he plays a part in a story that far supersedes his quelling of an insurrection in his province. It seems that he is culpable insofar as he meant to kill Jesus, so his hands could be cleaner the less he has a choice in the matter–a fact confirmed by the earlier viewing him as a part of this greater narrative of the Jesus story.

Let me know if you figure out how to get Pilate’s hands—and mine—completely clean in a way that doesn’t involve Christ’s Resurrection.