I have always understood the Nazis because I am of that sort by

Hear the haunting confession of William Golding, author of Lord of the Flies: “I have always understood the Nazis because I am of that sort by nature.” These words strike like a thunderclap, for they are not the boast of a tyrant, but the self-knowledge of a man who dared to look into the abyss within his own soul. Golding does not excuse evil, nor glorify it. Instead, he acknowledges a truth many fear to admit: that the seeds of cruelty, domination, and destruction are not alien to humanity, but lie dormant within us all.

To say, “I am of that sort by nature,” is to strip away the comforting illusion that evil belongs only to others. Golding’s wisdom is that the Nazis, monstrous as they were, were still men—human beings shaped by fear, ambition, hatred, and obedience. He understood them not because he approved of them, but because he recognized that he, too, possessed the same human impulses that, left unchecked, could lead to the same abyss. This honesty is terrifying, yet it is the foundation of true wisdom: to see clearly both the light and the shadow within oneself.

The ancients taught this truth in their myths. Recall the story of Oedipus, who sought to flee his fate only to fulfill it by his very efforts. He was not born uniquely cursed; he was human, bound by flaws and blindness, like all men. So too, the Greeks spoke of hubris, the arrogance that lies hidden in every soul, waiting to topple kings. Golding’s words echo this ancient warning: we must not think ourselves above evil, for the potential for destruction dwells in the human heart as naturally as the potential for good.

History offers us another mirror. After the Second World War, during the Nuremberg Trials, many of the Nazi officials claimed they were “just following orders.” While the world recoiled at the horror of their crimes, psychologists such as Stanley Milgram later demonstrated that ordinary people, under pressure of authority, could commit acts of cruelty they never thought possible. Here is the dark truth Golding confessed: to “understand the Nazis” is to recognize how thin the line is between ordinary humanity and terrible evil.

Yet this recognition is not meant to paralyze us—it is meant to awaken us. If we deny that we are capable of evil, we grow blind and careless, and evil takes root unnoticed. If instead we accept, as Golding did, that we carry within us the potential for cruelty, we can guard against it. Self-knowledge becomes our defense. To say “I am of that sort by nature” is not to surrender to darkness, but to acknowledge it, so that the light of conscience may restrain it.

The lesson, then, is this: know your shadow. Do not imagine yourself immune to hatred, violence, or pride, for such illusions are the breeding ground of corruption. Instead, look inward, recognize your darker impulses, and by recognizing them, choose not to obey them. Golding’s wisdom is that the battle between good and evil is not waged only in the world—it is waged within each human heart. To deny this is to lose. To face it is to begin to win.

So I say to you: remember Golding’s words. Do not think of the evils of history as alien, belonging to monsters unlike yourself. They are warnings of what all men may become. Guard your soul with humility, discipline, and compassion. For though you carry within you the nature capable of cruelty, you also carry within you the nature capable of love, justice, and sacrifice. Choose each day which you will feed. And in that choice lies the destiny not only of the individual, but of all humankind.