Bystander evil and upstander intervention: the stories of Job and Jesus

Ego evil

Kant postulates that evil need not be related to dark personality traits; rather, the weakness of the human ego is enough to drive people to reset their moral compass. Evil is “radical” because a person is “conscious of the moral law but has nevertheless adopted into his maxim the (occasional) deviation therefrom” (Kant [1792] 1960, 27). Kant’s radical evil comes in different degrees.

First, there is the weakness of the human heart in the general observance of adopted maxims, or in other words, the frailty of human nature; second, the propensity for mixing immoral with moral motivating causes (even when it is done with good intent and under maxims of the good), that is, impurity. (24)

In other words, people know they should do the right thing, but human weakness can make them choose differently, or they will only do good under certain conditions.

I argue that the famous “bystander effect” is a classic case of ego evil, foregrounding deviation from the categorical imperative due to human weaknesses (such as self-interest, fear, or pretended ignorance) as well as impure motives (such as cost-reward calculation, peer pressure, or diffusion of responsibility). Bystander studies have long been inspired by a 1964 case in which Kitty Genovese was raped and stabbed while neighbors allegedly observed from their homes but did not actively intervene. Someone finally called the police; hence Kitty was alive when the police arrived, but she died en route to the hospital. This case drew considerable attention because The New York Times published a flawed article claiming that, for “more than half an hour, thirty-eight respectable, law-abiding citizens in Queens watched a killer stalk and stab a woman” (quoted from Manning et al. 2007, 556). ² This prompted Bibb Latané and John Darley to highlight the problem of “bystander apathy” (1969, 244), while also coining the term “bystander effect” to explain people’s asocial decision due to the diffusion of responsibility, evaluation apprehension, or “pluralistic ignorance” (1970, 41).

While classic bystandership foregrounds an apathetic and passive bystander, contemporary research contests this view in light of game theory and evolutionary psychology. Bystander inhibition can be explained by active calculation of self-interest, safety concerns, risk aversion (personal retaliation, peer or public censure), or loss aversion (loss of friendship, time, money, opportunity). The volunteer’s dilemma is a good example of the bystander’s logic in a group scenario. Individuals can choose to contribute a little to benefit everyone, or they wait for someone to take action and reap the benefit. In a large group, bystanders may think that offering a public service is “none of their business.” In cases of social helping, Peter Fischer et al. further observe that people may divide the responsibility by the number of people present and “feel responsible for a fraction of the cost to the victim associated with non-intervention” (2011, 518). When no one lifts a finger, everyone takes comfort in collective (pluralistic) ignorance, thinking that nothing needs to be done.

If there is only one bystander, the bystander’s logic is often ego-related: one should not take risks, “rock the boat,” or invite peer punishment. In 2015, Mack Prioleau, an eighteen-year-old football player at Vanderbilt University, woke up at midnight and noticed from his top bunk that his roommate Brandon Vandenburg and several football players were taking turns to sexually assault an unconscious woman. In his words, “I rolled over and after that I didn’t see anything else…I was scared and uncomfortable and didn’t know what to do.” The perpetrators were “charged with numerous crimes,” but Prioleau “did not face any charges” (quoted from Swan 2015, 1002). The Tennessean reports that Vandenburg also sent video and still pictures to two high school friends, Joseph D. Quinzio and Miles J. Finley, who lived in California, while the assault occurred. Yet no one reported the incident (Wadhwani et al. 2015).

New research also pinpoints the problem of kinship, reciprocity, cost-benefit analysis, and contextual factors in bystandership. Though Kant calls these “impure” calculations, these are important factors that can over-determine bystander decisions. William Hamilton’s theory of inclusive fitness provides a neat formula for working out how humans dole out helping efforts. ³ People are often passive bystanders when the outgroup is in trouble, but they are often upstanders when the kingroup is in need, especially as failure to provide help can backfire and greatly affect their reputation and wellbeing.

Robert Trivers’s model of reciprocal altruism singles out the logic of reciprocity. ⁴ Direct reciprocity is straightforward: I scratch your back, you scratch mine. Indirect reciprocity implies some form of repayment in the future by the same person or other persons: we all need help and we all want to be helped one day, so it is good to be upstanders and help others, hoping that friends and strangers may offer help when we need it later. Nevertheless, bystandership studies reveal the problems brought about by the principle of reciprocity. Take the example of direct reciprocity: since you helped me a lot, so if you rape someone, I’ll keep quiet. In cases of indirect reciprocity, Job and Jesus offered their support to many, but people may not choose to return the favor, and it is a matter of chance whether strangers will offer any support.

Jane Allyn Piliavin singles out a cost-reward model in predicting the bystander effect. She discusses how bystanders handle the tension between “costs associated with helping (e.g., effort, embarrassment, possible disgusting or distasteful experience, possible harm, etc.), costs associated with not helping (mainly self-blame and perceived censure from others), rewards associated with helping (mainly praise from self, victims, and others), and rewards associated with not helping (mainly those stemming from continuation of other activities)” (1981, 7). In one incident, a student who reported a sexual assault was fined $250 for “violating the school’s alcohol policy” (Swan 2015, 1026). This “no good deeds go unpunished” approach can send a strong message to future bystanders.

Contextual factors can also accentuate or overcome human weakness. Irving M. Piliavin et al. observe that people’s (close or long) distance to the scene of action can affect their decisions. They can choose from one of the following responses: “(a) helping directly, (b) going to get help, (c) leaving the scene of the emergency, and (d) rejecting the victim as undeserving of help” (1969, 298). Group size and group membership also matter greatly. Pol Campos-Mercade’s study contests the idea of diffused responsibility: the “proportion of victims who are helped is 75% in the one-bystander treatment, 92.9% in the two-bystander treatment, and 98.2% in the four-bystander treatment” (2021, 654). More people mean more hands, the only exception being that the victim is surrounded by a group of selfish bystanders.

The degree of the bystander effect can also be subject to dispositional factors and explained by “(a) increased levels of [bystander] arousal that is experienced especially in high-danger situations, (b) reduced fear based on the expectation that additional bystanders can provide physical support in dangerous emergencies, and (c) the rational expectation that some emergencies can only be resolved by cooperation and coordination between several bystanders” (Fischer et al. 2011, 533). In addition, the helping rate is also affected by the location of the incident (rural or urban zones), platform (online or in-person), race and gender of bystanders and victims (black or white, male or female), and different levels of self-efficacy (trained and competent or untrained and incompetent). The bystander effect showcases what Kant calls “radical” evil: humans seldom prioritize their moral imperative in light of many personal, contextual concerns, and calculations.

Diabolical evil

Kant argues that human nature is weak and may have “the propensity to adopt evil maxims” ([1792] 1960, 24). However, he also argues against the existence of a “devilish being,” or diabolical evil, because no one in his view will do evil for evil’s sake. In his famous “apologue of gallows,” he declares that no man will sleep with a woman if he knows the act can jeopardize his life ([1781] 1993, 30). However, in “Kant avec Sade,” Jacques Lacan foregrounds the possible love of evil maxims due to wicked human nature. He argues that to certain individuals, the new imperative is not linked to the law of morality but to the law of the drive (oral, anal, sex, death). In the realm of the drive, it is “not impossible for a man to sleep with a woman knowing full well that he is to be bumped off on his way out, by the gallows or anything else…; it is not impossible that this man coolly accepts such an eventuality on his leaving—for the pleasure of cutting up the lady concerned in small pieces” (Lacan 1992, 109). Lacan notes that this subject simply succumbs to Id-evil, for “neither pleasure” nor the self-preserving “organizing, unifying, erotic instincts of life” suffice to stop the drive (1992, 104).

Id-Evil can make people become antisocial bystanders, doing too much (to gratify themselves) and too little (to help others) simultaneously. Instead of a helping hand, they prefer a wink, a smirk, a mean joke, or loud applause. Voyeurism and schadenfreude are classic examples of bystander diabolism. Voyeuristic bystanders feel no sympathy and prefer to enjoy the show. Ironically, modern subjects are conditioned by digital voyeurism to sideline intervention. When accidents happen, “bystanders often ignore road accident victims and only linger around to click photos or take videos and upload them instantly.” These are “[b]ad onlookers who just find pleasure in showing the world another person’s suffering” (“Help Accident Victims FIRST” 2017). Digital voyeurism can be contagious: netizens normalize the practice of sharing sensational posts and giving comments, ignoring the importance of giving help to those in need.

In 2022, Asher Flynn et al. published “Preventing Image-Based Abuse in Australia: The Role of Bystanders” to condemn perpetrators’ abusive behaviors such as “non-consensually taking/creating nude or sexual images, non-consensually sharing/distributing nude or sexual images, and threatening to share/distribute nude or sexual images” (vi). Their study further problematizes bystanders’ lack of helpfulness. ⁵ Bystanders enjoyed the pornographic content, discussed and showed the images to others, not caring about their own image-based abuse of the victim. While upstander intervention was not entirely absent, their actions were largely ineffective, including confronting the perpetrator (55.9%), informing friends, family members, or colleagues (50%), and supporting the victim (47.1%). Only a handful decided to use effective measures: some would report the perpetrator to the police (14.7%) or report the incident to a provider or online platform (7.4%). The bystander effect was at work because many said they “did not feel comfortable” intervening and did not see it as their responsibility to report the issue (ix). However, we should not ignore the power of bystander diabolism because they also contested the idea of intervention, citing “the normalized nature of image sharing, perceived differences between showing as opposed to distributing, non-consensual imagery, and perceptions that criminalization was too severe” (x). The authors therefore single out the importance of education in empowering people to understand the theme of “shared social responsibility” (xi).

Relatedly, the evil eye and the wicked shout can be another form of bystander diabolism. There are two broad types of onlookers exhibiting these traits, blurring the boundary between evildoers and bystanders. The first group foregrounds witches or sorcerers. The pleasure of their evil eye is to bring headaches, fever, misfortune, physical harm, or even death to the victim (Berger 2012, 1099). The second group consists of individuals with an “involuntary evil eye” intent on harming people, or the wicked shout meant to incite wrongdoers. Members of this group want to hurt others due to “anger, envy,” or “overadmiration” (Migliore 1977, 34). Their bystander schadenfreude is gratified by witnessing the victims’ suffering or failure.

There are many reasons why bystander schadenfreude may be common. In a highly competitive environment, people’s zero-sum mentality may prompt them to note that others’ failure can improve their chance of survival (as in the movie Hunger Games). Bystander schadenfreude is particularly aroused in light of the “fall of the tall poppy” syndrome. First, the status of the tall poppy rouses discomfort. Second, the tall poppy is regarded as undeserving of its success. Third, the tall poppy happens to be a competitor in the same line of work. Fourth, cultural variables tend to play a part. One of Norman Feather’s studies observes that Japanese people are more prone to schadenfreude than, say, Australians (Feather 1989, 152-164; Feather and McKee 1993, 65-76). Fifth, people with low self-esteem are happy to witness the fall of tall poppies. Moreover, bystander schadenfreude can also create a cultural dynamic that encourages toxic behaviors. People know that help is hard to come by, and then everybody laughs at everybody.

Superego-Evil

Hannah Arendt coined the term “banal evil” to describe the toxic behavior of law-abiding subjects, noting that humans can be brainwashed into unthinking obedience to a “higher” order. Arendt observes that “just as the law in civilized countries assumes that the voice of conscience tells everybody “Thou shalt not kill” even though man’s natural desires and inclinations may at times be murderous, so the law in Hitler’s land demanded that the voice of conscience tell everybody, “Thou shalt kill,” even though the organizers of massacres knew full well that murder is against the normal desires and inclinations of most people” (1994, 150). According to Arendt, evil “has proved to be more radical than expected” because the new kind of criminal “commits his crimes under circumstances that make it well-nigh impossible for him to know or to feel that he is doing wrong” (276). At the same time, evil is “banal” because the perpetrator is simply “doing his job.” In some cases, participants may be asked to sign non-disclosure documents. The superego motivates people to hide behind a state-sanctioned legalism because “the law says so.” Ironically, the Kantian injunction justifies this kind of blind obedience when he argues that it is the citizen’s supreme duty to obey: “Argue as much as you will, and about what you will, but obey!” (Kant [1784] 2003, 58). In terms of political action, Kant refutes the plebeian “right to revolution.” ⁶

Bystander legalism prompts people to favor the moral high ground. Bystanders are unaware of their fanatical, obscene superego, approving the law as well as what Žižek calls the supplement of the Law, namely a clandestine “unwritten code.” For example, few show concern when they witness police brutality. When Nazi soldiers persecuted their victims, bystanders could further welcome “the obscene, publicly unacknowledged surplus-enjoyment” provided by the soldiers” executing orders, “manifested in the “unnecessary” excesses in violence (1994, 54). During China’s Cultural Revolution, bystanders actively condemned the “enemies of the state.” Their relational (or psychological) bullying of the victims was often achieved through exclusion, while their verbal bullying involved accusations, humiliation, name-calling, jokes, insults, gossip, and the spread of false information (Rosander and Nielsen 2023, 1434).

Bystander legalism is hard to avoid because prosocial people prefer to be on the safe side of the law. If a person is drowning in a swimming pool and the bystander is not a trained lifesaver, the bystander has no duty or obligation to stir a finger because the wrong kind of help may have detrimental consequences. Sarah Swan therefore stresses that legal norms endorse the “no-duty-to-rescue rule” and “support nonintervention, thus creating a “competing norms” problem “bystanders are likely to resolve with inaction” (1046-1047). To initiate change, Swan argues for new norms of bystander intervention, the expansion of Good Samaritan laws, more training programs, and a resilient network of communal support.

Institutional evil

Zimbardo notes that institutional dynamics can produce what he calls the “Lucifer effect.” His famous “Stanford Prison Experiment” lasted for only six days because institutions can spearhead groupthink, prompting people to internalize inhuman norms: students who were randomly assigned to play the part of prison guards all acted in “irrational, stupid, self-destructive, antisocial, and mindless” ways, while students who were assigned to be prisoners became “pathologically passive” victims, opting for submissiveness or disorganized helplessness (2007, 210-211). Julia Shaw summarizes the seven processes that grease the “slippery slope” of institutional evil: “1. mindlessly taking the first small step, 2. dehumanization of others, 3. deindividuation of self, 4. diffusion of personal responsibility, 5. blind obedience to authority, 6. uncritical conformity to group norms, and 7. passive tolerance of evil through inaction, or indifference” (2019, 183).

Bystander groupthink refers to the fact that institutions demand that bystanders play their part, ignore what is right or wrong, and conduct “business as usual.” For example, hospital doctors are not likely to make a fuss when they witness fellow doctors turning away sick patients because they do not carry adequate medical insurance. Doctors habitually keep their counsel when their colleagues recommend that patients undergo unnecessary (and expensive) treatments, especially if they are over-insured. Bystanders turn a blind eye to workplace wrongdoing because the norm is to protect the image of the institution, avoid challenging the protocol, and upsetting the power hierarchy. For example, the National Security Agency (NSA) hired many contractors and analysts to handle different global surveillance programs. Different government officials or departments may have had suspicions, but the “don’t ask, don’t tell” protocol produced many bystanders, until Edward Snowden decided to go ahead and became a whistleblower (see Cassidy 2014).

Bystander groupthink also prompts people to heighten scapegoating. In Beyond Apathy, Elisabeth Vasko uses the Girardian framework to note that every group

subconsciously looks for a scapegoat upon whom to project its aggression…[T]he scapegoat detracts from the original conflict and becomes a new rival upon whom to focus. In death or expulsion, the surrogate victim becomes a means of unification, and conflict is temporarily dispersed within the community. (2015, 90)

As perpetrators attack the scapegoats, the privileged can “maintain a sense of moral innocence without relinquishing social dominance and the benefits they accrue” (Vasko 2015, 93). Institutionalized bystanders are likely to follow the leaders and sanction this scapegoating when they “dehumanize and blame the victims themselves. This can lead to an assimilation of bystanders into semi-active bystanders or even perpetrators” (Schillinger 2008, 69).

On a final note, the relationship between bystanders and perpetrators can become blurred because “internal and external bystanders are often complicit” (Staub 2013, 207). Internal bystanders are ingroup members, including family, friends, like-minders, or insiders with knowledge of plans being perpetrated. In case of terrorism, internal bystanders often choose not to betray their own kind. External bystanders are outgroup members, organizations, or nations. Bystander nations can receive information that evil events are about to take place and yet choose to do nothing. In turn, complicit non-intervention can create a vicious cycle, and the “passivity and complicity of bystanders affirms the perpetrators,” and can advance “the evolution of violence” (176, 196).

In the second section of this article, I examine well-known biblical stories. I chose the Book of Job and Anne Catherine Emmerich’s The Dolorous Passion of Our Lord Jesus Christ due to their dynamic characters, plot development, and artistic license rather than historical accuracy. For example, it is impossible to assess the source or reliability of dialogue between God and the Devil in the Book of Job, just as it is hard to evaluate the objectivity of a German mystic’s visions. ⁷ In addition, it is even harder to measure the authorial credibility of The Dolorous Passion due to multiple authorship: Emmerich reconstructed her vision as she narrated the story, and her tale was recorded, edited, and retold by Romantic writer Clemens Brentano, while The Dolorous Passion was published nine years after her death. Regardless, the stories of Job and Jesus foreground different aspects of bystander evil and bystander behaviors.

The Book of Job: From apathy to accusation

The story of Job is not only a fidelity test but also a bystander experiment, showcasing the power of the bystander effect, diabolical schadenfreude, and the obscene superego. Job was being tested because the Devil related fidelity to the principle of reciprocity—quid pro quo, or “skin for skin” (Job 2:4). The argument is that no one will stay in a relationship unless there is some kind of return. Job passed this test because even though he complained loudly, he remained committed to his relationship with God. However, Job suffered greatly because the moment he lost his health, his children, and his fortune, no one lifted a finger to help him.

The bystander effect is at work because his “brothers have been fickle as a torrent” (Job 6:15). Owing to a diffused sense of responsibility, no one in his family felt the need to change his downtrodden status. When his kingroup chose to be apathetic bystanders, Job also felt the sting of bystander diabolism and neighborly schadenfreude. He was verbally attacked and bullied by his neighbors, became the “butt of mockers,” and the “laughing stock” of his “juniors” and “young people.” Children made him “the talk of the town” and considered him “loathsome.” They stood aloof from him, and did “not scruple to spit in [his] face” (17:2, 30:1, 10). His “enemies [whetted] their eyes” on him and their insults struck “like slaps in the face” (16:10).

The text dwells on Job’s anguish due to his friends’ bystander legalism and obscene superego. Instead of offering him shelter, Eliphaz, Bildad, and Zohar chose to sit “on the ground beside him for seven days and seven nights” (2:13). Given that the law dictated that God is just, their obscene superego made them condemn Job’s anger, and their speeches bordered on moral sadism: “See how passion carries you away! How evil you look, when you thus lose your anger on God” (15:12-3). A young man soon joined the group: Elihu praised God but commented that Job’s arguments were “the same as those that the wicked make” (34:36). Their “consolation” maddened Job so much that the severely depressed man said that “every fiber” of his “heart is broken.” “What use is life to me?” “I know what is in your mind, the spiteful thoughts you entertain about me.” “Ten times, no less, you have insulted me” (17: 11, 6:11, 21:27, 19:3). It is little wonder that God later told Eliphaz: “I burn with anger against you and your two friends” (42:7). Their obscene “holier-than-thou” attitude was mere “folly,” and they had to offer seven bullocks and seven rams to Job to compensate for their unhelpfulness (42:8).

The Dolorous Passion and Diabolical evil

The story of Jesus differentiates between supernatural and human bystanders. Mel Gibson’s 2004 film foregrounds the Devil’s evil eye. In The Dolorous Passion, the Devil is “a frightful little figure,” a bystander seated at Judas’s feet at the Last Supper, enticing him to become a traitor (Emmerich 2003, 29). Diabolical evil motivates human bystanders differently. When Jesus is on trial, Emmerich envisions that a “number of little black objects” and “horrible phantoms enter[ed] into the bodies of the greatest part of the bystanders” (87, 92). The fall of the tall poppy syndrome can explain why those in power were determined to eliminate Jesus, their competitor. Many bystanders—with low status and self-esteem—were happy to torture Jesus, the “unworthy” troublemaker. In effect, Jesus had become what Gordon Young calls “a serious threat to the existing order” (2005, 77).

[Jesus] was not wealthy enough to be either Pharisees, whose life required time for serious study…, or Sadducees, the wealthy elite. The message of Jesus was neither confrontational nor pro-Roman. He could compete with Pharisees on Biblical interpretation, he could offer an alternative to life as an Essene, and he didn’t need the temple of the Sadducees. In short, he offered an alternative to almost everything the establishments had to offer. Further, he ridiculed them. (77)

Though Herod, Caiphas, Annas, and Pilate were key players whose actions led to the death of Jesus, bystanders played an important part in increasing Jesus’s suffering. Members of the Sanhedrin addressed Jesus in “reproachful and abusive language. Every countenance looked diabolical and enraged” (Emmerich 2003, 96). The guards gleefully witnessed the downfall of an important figure; they “blindfolded [Jesus] and questioned him. “Play the prophet!” (Luke 22:63-4). When Jesus gave an indirect answer to Annas’ question on his teaching (You should “ask my hearers what I taught”), a bystander soldier immediately “gave Jesus a slap in the face, saying, ‘Is that the way to answer the high priest?’” (John 18:21-2).

External bystanders displayed diabolical evil when they approved of the soldiers’ brutal behavior. The soldiers adorned Jesus’s head with a crown of thorns, dressed him up in purple, stripped him of his garments, hit, and spat upon the victim. Nobody intervened when the soldiers made fun of Jesus—“Hail, King of the Jews!” (Mark 15:19). Pilate uttered “Ecce homo! Behold the man!” The “excited throng” gave an “exclamation of horror” followed by “a dead silence.” The mob further weaponized their voyeuristic gaze: bystanders were happy to “feast their cruel eyes on [Jesus] in the state of degradation to which he was reduced” (Emmerich 2003, 147). Jesus’s road to Calvary was made even more difficult due to bystander schadenfreude. He was exhausted, but his “enemies rejoiced in his sufferings, and mocked his moans, and not one among the whole assembly showed the slightest degree of compassion” (2003, 129). Prior to the nailing of Jesus to the cross, Veronica prepared some wine, and some women bribed the archers to give it to Jesus. However, “the cruel executioners, instead of giving it to Jesus, drank it themselves” (2003, 170).

Institutional groupthink

Jesus’s fate highlights the power of institutional evil due to colonial politics. His death was attributed to his claim to “kingship.” But who should be the king? Given the unresolved intergroup conflicts between the colonizers and the colonized and the ingroup conflicts between pro-Roman and anti-Roman Jews, political scapegoating had the potential to have a diversion and deterrence effect. Jesus thus became a convenient scapegoat: he had a large number of followers but failed to secure any alliance with the imperial colonizers, the pro-Roman ruling elites, or the anti-colonial dissenters. Few were likely to offer him protection, and his death may even deter future troublemakers.

The citizens of Jerusalem were thus mobilized to welcome and then refuted Jesus’s kingship, and institutionalized bystanders played the part of agents provocateurs. In Civil Resistance, Erica Chenoweth argues that though agents provocateurs pose as radical supporters of a cause, their aim is “to banish public sympathy and support for the movement while giving the government justification for heavy-handed tactics such as beatings, mass arrests, or lethal coercion” (2021, 170). When Jesus entered Jerusalem, many cried out: “Blessings on the King who comes in the name of the Lord” (Luke 19:28), thus deliberately hailing Jesus as “King” in public—an extremely sensitive term with the potential to trigger many confrontations.

The supportive mob soon became hostile bystanders and provoked perpetrators into generating cycles of aggression in order to eliminate Jesus and his followers. Emmerich mentions that some took bribes, but many simply sided with the pro-colonial “members of the Sanhedrin, who were regarded in Jerusalem with the greatest veneration” (2003, 112). Bystanders kept on shouting “Crucify him!” (Luke 22:23), thus further coercing Pilate into cooperation: “If you set him free, you are no friend of Caesar’s; anyone who makes himself king is defying Caesar” (John 19:13). Pilate counter-proposed a punitive measure: flagellation. This punishment should be “sufficient to deprive [Jesus] of all desire of making himself king” (Emmerich 2003, 147). Yet the mob’s response remained “Crucify him!” When Pilate made his counterproposal a second time in an attempt to release Jesus, friends of murderer Barabbas and Jesus’s enemies all wanted to set the murderer free. Public demand pushed Pilate into scapegoating Jesus to signal his political correctness—both his loyalty to Caesar and his accountability to the local people. He also deliberately had an inscription written in Hebrew, Greek, and Latin, showcasing plainly that Jesus—“The King of the Jews”—could not compete with the Roman Empire and the Roman law (John 19:21).

The moment Jesus was labeled “the greatest of the criminals,” his friends (internal bystanders) changed their mind. When Jesus was arrested, “the poor women and children ran backwards and forwards, weeping and wringing their hands; and calling to mind all the benefits they had received from” him (Emmerich 2003, 74). However, people in Ophel soon aligned with the official view and blamed Jesus (2003, 101). Once they received news about Jesus’s downfall, they returned to the house, and the “bolting and barricading of doors might be plainly heard” (2003, 79). Many favored the official version in judging Jesus’s followers: “Those hypocrites who pretended to be so much better than other persons will receive their deserts, for they are all implicated with the Galilean” (2003, 79). In Jerusalem, when Jesus was en route to Calvary, some chased him by going down backstreets, while others turned to hurtful actions. People

stood on the roofs of the houses, and at the windows, and insulted [Jesus] with opprobrious language; the slaves who were working in the streets threw filth and mud at him; even the children, incited by his enemies, had filled their pinafores with sharp stones, which they threw down before their doors as he passed, that he might be obliged to walk over them. (Emmerich 2003, 158)

Due to their moral high ground, people did not realize they were in fact bullies or that their physical or verbal attacks on Jesus were a hallmark of bystander evil.

This is perhaps the reason why Jesus said, “Daughters of Jerusalem, weep not over me, but weep for yourselves and for your children” (Luke 23:28). As Jesus carried the cross, he encountered different kinds of weeping women. He took the cloth proffered by Veronica and wiped his face, leaving a permanent mark of gratitude on the cloth. But to the weeping women of Jerusalem, his behavior was very different. These women assumed that Jesus was a major wrongdoer, and they felt sorry for the (alleged) offender’s unrepentant evil deeds and the tragic consequences. However, Jesus did not accept their sympathy and counter-argued that it was they and their descendants who will need pity in the future.

From bystanders to upstanders: attachment patterns and coping methods

Once the shepherd was arrested, Jesus’s friends lacked readiness and scattered like sheep. The Apostles’ behavior signals the problem of bystander evil due to human weaknesses, cost and reward calculations, and risk aversion. As pointed out by Peter Fischer and his colleagues, the bystander effect is “attenuated when situational attributes [refer] to increased danger, that is, (a) when focal individuals [expect] increased physical costs for helping (as opposed to time or financial costs), (b) when a perpetrator [is] present (vs. absent), and (c) when the critical situation [is] recognized as a clear-cut emergency (compared with a non-emergency)” (2011, 533). At the last supper, all the disciples vowed to follow Jesus to the death. However, when a threatening situation became emergent, rational calculations led to bystander inhibition. In the Garden of Gethsemane, the Apostles turned to cost-benefit analysis and asked one another, “What shall we do when they have put him to death? We have left all to follow him…, and now…he can afford us no consolation” (Emmerich 2003, 59). Peter noticed the arrival of a small number of men and “wounded the high priest’s servant, cutting off his right ear” (John 18:10). But they all changed their behavior the moment they realized the extent of the military presence. Emmerich mentions an additional “fifty soldiers” approaching and being but a “detachment from a company of three hundred men posted to guard the gates and environs” of Ophel, all of them ready to arrest Jesus (2003, 73). As humans are wont to display the classic “fight, flee, or freeze” response before a threat, flight soon became the Apostles’ preferred choice in this high-risk, high-cost, high-danger situation.

Nevertheless, Jesus’s followers ultimately exhibited different behaviors due to their different attachment patterns. In their work, John Bowlby and Mary Ainsworth highlighted different attachment styles: secure and insecure (Ainsworth et al. 1978; Bowlby 1969, 1973, 1980). ⁸ More recently, scholars further linked the psychology of religion to different attachment orientations and foregrounded two pathways (Hood et al. 2009; Kirkpatrick and Shaver 1990, 1992). First, the corresponding pathway highlights those who have a secure attachment to their family are likely to develop a secure attachment to God. The conversion process is early and gradual. In the face of stressors (separation, illness, injury, breakup, death), God remains their safe haven, a secure base, even though they face the “dark night of the soul” or a “wilderness experience” (Granqvist and Kirkpatrick 2016, 859), with their faith creating a “buffering effect” to ease their suffering (Bradshaw et al. 2010, 135).

In contrast, the compensation pathway singles out those who have insecure, anxious, ambivalent, avoidant, or dismissive attachment to family members. Their conversion is often sudden, leading to a dramatic “sick soul” awakening or “second birth” phenomenon. However, life stressors will challenge such persons’ relationship with God as those with anxious attachment orientation will find God inconsistent and unpredictable. Meanwhile, those who display avoidant traits will find God impersonal, disagreeable, and unresponsive (Rowatt and Kirkpatrick 2002, 639). Their faith will have an “exacerbating effect” on their unhappiness (Bradshaw et al. 2010, 140).

Kenneth Pargament (1997) further correlates attachment strategies to three types of coping methods (self-directing, collaborative, or deferring), noting that people often place different levels of “activity and responsibility” on God and on themselves (Pargament et al. 1988, 91-92). The result is the rise of three categories of spirituality: God-oriented, world-oriented, and people-oriented (Hood et al. 2009, 30). Those who prefer the self-directed style, though not anti-religious, prioritize self-help and individual resourcefulness. They see that God plays a passive role in human affairs, and people have the freedom to choose for themselves. According to Belavich and Pargament (2002), people with avoidant (dismissing and fearful) attachment styles are likely to favor self-reliance but unlikely to rely on a religious community network. In contrast, anxious or preoccupied individuals tend to champion the “deferring” coping style. They grant God an active role and rely on prayers. Finally, securely attached individuals opt for the “collaborative” coping style, emphasizing both divine and human agency. However, Hood et al. (2009) also emphasize that contextual factors can be a contributing factor, and individuals’ coping styles can vary and may not be mutually exclusive.

Attachment-related coping methods can provide a useful way to analyze the behaviors of Jesus’s followers and the Apostles. The moment Jesus fell from grace, the dismissive ones among his followers simply renounced their faith and returned to a world-oriented outlook. Once Jesus was arrested, they relied on their own efforts, “wandered about, sighing, and listening to every different opinion…. Many well-meaning but weak and undecided characters yielded to temptation, were scandalized and lost their faith” (Emmerich 2003, 78).

On the other hand, the anxious ones opted to become distant and preoccupied bystanders. They “concealed themselves in one cave and then in another, next they endeavored to return to the town, while some of their number climbed to the top of Mount Olivet.” They “listened to every distant sound, made a thousand different conjectures, and then returned to the valley, in hopes of getting some certain intelligence” (Emmerich 2003, 81). In doing so, they adopted the deferring coping method, counting on others to take action. They did not give up their faith or choose worldliness; rather, they were content to become uncommitted lookers-on.

The Bible also mentions two anxious disciples who aspired to go to Emmaus. They were worried about Jesus, but they ultimately preferred the self-directing coping approach and left the group. Even though they heard the happy news about Jesus’s resurrection, their faces remained “downcast.” They did not give up religion, nor did they believe the good news. They neither went to the tomb to see for themselves, nor did they distrust the women’s testimony of having seen the risen Jesus. Instead, they remained worried and confused, talking “about all that had happened” in Jerusalem among themselves (Luke 24:17, 14). Jesus’s sudden appearance put an end to their anxiety, and they returned to Jerusalem and later rejoined the community.

Those who were securely attached to Jesus favored the collaborative coping method and God-oriented outlook. Peter and John fled but promptly returned to be near Jesus or his mother—their secure base. In the Bible, Peter and “another disciple” followed Jesus at a distance and pretended to be bystanders in the high priest’s palace (John 18:15). Emmerich believes this other disciple to be John. After Caiaphas declared that Jesus should be put to death, John decided to leave Jesus due to his “bitter affliction” and his fear of “the dreadful news of the condemnation of her Son might be communicated to her suddenly, or that perhaps some enemy might give the information in a heartless manner” (Emmerich 2003, 94). John left Jesus to stay with Mary, and he was with her at the foot of the cross to witness Jesus’s death.

Peter’s three denials reveal the flaw of self-directing coping in the face of great dangers. He thought that his attachment to Jesus was secure, not knowing that great dangers could arouse his deepest survival instincts. Peter loved Jesus and wanted to follow Him, but his troubled countenance drew the attention of other onlookers. When he found himself at risk, his vehement denials—“I do not know the man” (Mark 14:72)—emphasized his distancing technique to allow him to pose as an external bystander. However, the cock’s crow reminded how Peter overrated his attachment, and he quickly repented and wept, turning to Mary and others for understanding and forgiveness (Matthew 26:75). In fact, the Apostles were totally crippled by safety concerns until they received the gift of the Holy Spirit at Pentecost. Emboldened by their new spirit, they then went out and spread the good news to the world.

Upstander intervention

Latané and Darley’s bystander intervention model singles out five steps: people should: 1) notice the event, 2) interpret it as an emergency, 3) take responsibility for intervening action, 4) know how to help, and 5) execute intervention decisions (1970, 43). In The Dolorous Passion, bystander intervention was largely unsuccessful because Jesus’s friends lacked the readiness to take responsibility as well as the knowledge, leadership, and network needed to provide effective support. Instead, they made unstructured attempts to dole out helping efforts. Veronica relied on a surprise tactic to achieve her goal. She appeared from nowhere and presented Jesus with a cloth with which to wipe his face. Her effort offered Jesus some comfort, but she could not do more because she was soon driven back into the crowd.

It was a quirk of fate that an outgroup bystander would become an important but involuntary upstander. Simon of Cyrene was dragged from the crowd to help Jesus carry the cross. He “expressed the greatest vexation” at first, but had a change of heart when Jesus appeals to his compassion. His conversion was sudden, and he “felt his heart deeply touched by grace” (Emmerich 2003, 162). Once they reached Calvary, Simon wanted to stay beside Jesus, but he was kicked away by the soldiers. Emmerich’s book indicates that Simon’s “second birth” conversion experience remains unchanged, and his children later joined the disciples.

In The Dolorous Passion, upstander intervention was most effective in favorable conditions, such as the removal of adversarial forces and the increase in community support. Jesus’s death was followed by tempestuous weather, earthquakes, and apparitions of the dead (191). These conditions subdued Jesus’s enemies, and upstander intervention became easier due to new group dynamics. “All ill-disposed persons were gone back to the city” (Emmerich 2003, 206). Abenadar the centurion was deeply touched by Jesus’s suffering and quickly became a new man when “his horse trembled under him” at the sight of Jesus’s death. His sudden conversion compensated his former lack of belief, and his proclamation that “[i]n truth this man is a son of God” (Mark 15:39) also led many Roman soldiers to have a change of heart.

Cassius, another Roman soldier, had a “sick soul” conversion. Due to his “weak squinting eyes and nervous manner,” he was often the laughingstock among his fellow soldiers. To prove that Jesus was dead, he pieced Jesus’s heart with his lance. As water and blood flew from the wound and over his face and body, “baptism grace and salvation at once entered his soul,” and his “sight was perfectly restored” (Emmerich 2003, 198). Tradition has it that he was baptized Longinus and later became a deacon. His compensating conversion experience also led many to convert likewise.

From that point onwards, Jesus’s friends turned active and collaborative. In the past, Mary, John, Magdalen, Mary of Cleophas, and Salome had stood round the cross and “wept” (197). Once his enemies left, Jesus’s friends become busy (Luke 23:56). In all fairness, competence is not enough if individuals lack self-efficacy in executing tasks, a quality determined by a combination of personal aptitude, vicarious experiences (e.g., knowledge of how others act in similar situations), social status, and level of empathetic arousal during the event (Bandura 1997). In Emmerich’s story, Nicodemus and Joseph of Arimathea had power and resources, but feared the Council members. They largely posed as bystanders even though they also questioned the legitimacy of a Council meeting at midnight. However, the abuse and death of Jesus aroused their empathy: they became bolder and made coordinated efforts to bury Jesus. Joseph went directly to Pilate and asked for Jesus’s body. Nicodemus purchased embalming materials such as “myrrh and aloes” (John 19:39). As a rich man, Joseph had the resources to place Jesus’s body “in his own new tomb” (Matthew 27:60). It was a hasty burial, but they managed the task in a few hours. ⁹

When circumstances are highly unfavorable, The Dolorous Passion emphasizes that even though the intervention component is low, positive bystandership is still possible due to compassionate fellowship. A compassionate bystander is not simply an onlooker but a participant. In the words of Vasko, privileged fellowship is “rooted in a praxis that: 1) is marked by vigilance and uncertainty, and 2) embraces vulnerability” (2015, 25). In that regard, even though Mary and the holy women had no power of intervention to change Jesus’s fate, they acted as a bulwark, backing his mission to the end.

Compassionate bystandership can boost the spirit of the sufferer. In the final stage of his life, Jesus was flanked by two thieves and surrounded by scornful executioners and indifferent soldiers. In such circumstances, Mary’s companionship inspired “ineffable tenderness” in the darkest moment of his life (Emmerich 2003, 182). Unlike Peter, Mary remained spiritually united with her son, sharing his divine life and vision. She did not flinch when people point the finger at her: “Is not that the Mother of the Galilean? Her son…is the greatest of criminals” (2003, 101). At the foot of the cross, the executioners gave her “insolent and triumphant looks.” She did not cower when one of them accused her of bad motherhood: “What hast thou to do here, woman? He would not have been in our hands if he had been better brought up” (2003, 160). She may have forgotten his thirst and given him no water, but she cleaned his corpse with “indefatigable earnestness” and was determined to remove all “traces of the outrages” (2003, 207). While people avoid trauma at all costs, Mary’s coping mechanism typifies the exposure therapy needed to “face her fear” in order to heal, mourn, and overcome her sorrow, knowing that better days are at hand. Emmerich writes that Mary made the first devotion to the Way of the Cross. She “suffered with Jesus, sharing with him not only the sufferings of his bitter Passion, but likewise that ardent desire of redeeming fallen man” with his resurrection (2003, 121).

In contrast, the holy women were faithful and vulnerable bystanders, with little knowledge of Jesus’s plan. ¹⁰ Group cohesiveness and collaborative coping sustained their fellowship. When Jesus began his ministry, they “supplied his temporal wants, and had publicly and fearlessly expressed their veneration for his doctrines” (2003, 80). Jesus’s arrest did not change their minds, but it definitely changed their behavior. They were simultaneously afraid and brave: “Magdalen and some of the other holy women begged to be taken to the place where Jesus was suffering” (2003, 99). But they also felt “obliged to hide in corners and under door-ways for fear of being seen by the enemies of Jesus” (2003, 81). After the death of Jesus, these women redirected their effort to keep various memorabilia, including linen, blood, and nails from the cross. Because they did not share Mary’s conviction, they did not expect Jesus to return. However, it was their faith that prompted them to have a surprising encounter with the risen Jesus, and they refused to change their narrative even though the Apostles did not believe them.

To conclude, classic bystander research hinges on negative bystandership, reducing “the probability of prosocial intervention.” Contemporary studies note that while “bystanders can act as a positive source,” bystander agency also depends on variables such as personal factors, practical concerns, and socio-political contexts. I argue that the bystander effect is linked to radical evil; at the same time, bystander evil can open up important questions about human wickedness, superegoic law, and institutional influence. Dorothee Solle argues that apathy can lead to “an unconcern” and that “toleration of exploitation, oppression, and injustice” can affect the whole of society (1975, 3). Vasko likewise argues that “to be apathetic is to lack compassion,” the opposite to “passion or suffering” since the Latin root passio means “to bear, to withstand, to hold up” (2015, 10, 113). In times of increasing domestic and global conflicts, it takes a great deal of wisdom for people to switch from apathy to empathy, to know how to be good bystanders and upstanders and know what to do, when to take action, and how to initiate intervention (or non-intervention), making sure that they will not become the observers, “defenders,” “reinforcers,” and “assistants” of evil (Danielson 2019, 20).