EPISODE: #04-25 TIME: 00:15:00
DATE: 3/1/2025
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Transcript Words: 1,214
Perhaps it’s less about listening with an open mind, and more about listening with an inquisitive conscience.
There’s an old rule of the Internet called Godwin’s Law. It says that as any argument goes on long enough, someone will eventually bring up Adolph Hitler — and when they do, the debate usually ends. It’s meant half in jest, but there’s truth in it. Because invoking Hitler is like slamming down the moral gavel. The discussion’s over.
Tonight, I want to look at that idea — not because I want to re-litigate evil, but because I think it says something about how we process morality itself.
We live in a time when leaders are worshiped or despised with almost religious conviction. And yet, history reminds us that even the most villainous figures have occasionally done things that history can’t deny were… useful. Example (this sounds erily familiar), 1930’s. The Autobahn. Industrial reform. A temporary peace deal. Even a broken clock, as the saying goes, is right twice a day.
Headline – The Law of the Argument
Back in 1990, long before social media turned every argument into a brawl, attorney Mike Godwin noticed something in online forums. He said, “As an online discussion grows longer, the probability of a comparison involving Nazis or Hitler approaches one.” It started as a tongue-in-cheek observation, but it caught on because it was painfully accurate. The longer people debate — about politics, morality, or even movie casting — the closer they get to saying, “That’s what Hitler would do.” And when that happens, the conversation usually dies. Because there’s no moral space left after Hitler enters the room. You can’t “out-evil” the benchmark of modern evil.
But here’s the irony: Godwin himself later said he didn’t mean for people to stop those comparisons altogether. He meant for them to think harder before making them. Some comparisons are legitimate. Others are emotional shortcuts.
And when we rely on moral shortcuts, we stop thinking.
Headline – The Paradox of “Good from Evil”
Let’s rewind to 1933. Germany was humiliated by the Treaty of Versailles, crushed by the Depression, and desperate for stability. Then along came Adolf Hitler — the self-styled savior — promising jobs, unity, and renewal. One of his earliest public projects was the Reichsautobahn, a sprawling network of highways that became both symbol and spectacle of Nazi ambition. It wasn’t prison labor at first — it was marketed as honest, patriotic work for ordinary men. A massive public-works program meant to pull the nation out of despair.
And in a narrow, literal sense, it worked. Unemployment dropped. The economy showed signs of life. Germany looked… busy again. Of course, it was a carefully constructed illusion. The economic miracle was fueled by debt, propaganda, and the looming machinery of war. But the roads themselves were real — and useful.
A decade later, when Eisenhower’s army rolled across Europe, he took note of those roads — their durability, their efficiency, the way they allowed rapid movement of troops and supplies. When he became President, he drew on that lesson to build the Interstate Highway System — one of the most successful infrastructure programs in human history.
So yes, the Autobahn — born under tyranny — became the model for American mobility. That’s the paradox. A good thing can come from a bad place, even when the hands that built it were unclean.
Headline – The Modern Parallel
Now, jump to the present day. Donald Trump — a man loved and loathed in equal measure — is being hailed by some as the architect of a breakthrough peace deal between Israel and Hamas in Gaza. At least for now, the guns are quiet (albeit intermittantly), the hostages are being released (albeit slowly), and the two sides are talking… albeit, sort of.
Supporters call it divine intervention. Some even speak of “God’s hand” guiding it. Opponents roll their eyes, calling it political theater with a good PR team. But strip away the noise, and something undeniable remains: a result. And that’s where our broken clock metaphor comes back around.
History is full of men and women whose motives were suspect, whose egos were vast, but whose outcomes occasionally landed on the right side of humanity — even if by accident. Trump may not be a saint. Hitler certainly wasn’t. But both remind us of something uncomfortable: morality and utility don’t always travel in the same lane. The danger is when we mistake a useful outcome for moral virtue — when we start confusing results with redemption.
Headline – Patterns in Power
If we look at history, we see this same duality everywhere. Stalin industrialized the Soviet Union — while starving millions. Mao Zedong unified China — but killed more of his own people than any foreign army ever could. Mussolini drained swamps, built railways — and silenced a generation. Napoleon reformed law and education — while laying Europe in ruins. Even the American Founders, often lionized as moral visionaries, owned slaves.
So what do we make of all that? Do we erase the good because of the evil — or the evil because of the good? The answer is: we don’t erase anything. We hold both truths at once. That’s what maturity demands — and what Godwin’s Law reminds us we often fail to do.
Headline – The Nature of the Broken Clock
A broken clock doesn’t deserve credit for being right. It just happens to align with reality by accident. When we say, “Even a broken clock is right twice a day,” what we’re really saying is: truth doesn’t depend on virtue.An immoral person can make a moral point. A corrupt leader can broker a moment of peace. A demagogue can build a road that still serves millions.
But we shouldn’t confuse correctness with character. The moral weight of a life, or a legacy, is measured not by isolated moments of success but by the sum of its intentions and consequences. History’s monsters occasionally built something worthwhile — but it was never the building that redeemed them.
Headline – The Mirror and the Moral
Godwin’s Law isn’t just about Hitler. It’s about us. It’s about our habit of dividing the world into saints and villains so we can stop thinking. When we compare a modern leader to Hitler, we’re not always wrong — but we’re often lazy. We’re using the biggest word we have because we’ve run out of smaller, more precise ones.
Sometimes, though, the comparison is fair — because authoritarian instincts, propaganda, and cults of personality don’t belong to one century or one ideology. But when we remember that even the worst can do a momentary good, it reminds us of something even deeper: that we too are capable of both. That’s the humbling truth — and the hopeful one. Because if even a broken clock can be right, maybe there’s hope for all our imperfect instruments — ourselves included.
Up until this point I’ve avoided directly mentioning who our current “broken clock” is, although I am sure the subject is obvious. But… not so fast. Even a broken clock can have supporters who likely think their clock is right on time. It was the other clock that was broken! Well, maybe then it’s up to history to decide.
I‘m Douglas Knight and this is The Knight Watch.
Reminding you that history isn’t written in black and white, but in the long gray shadows between them. In places where the broken clocks still tick, and sometimes, even tell the truth, at least twice a day.
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