In New English Review Dalrymple analyzes the definitions of evil, love and (below) psychopathy offered in the poems of Robert Graves (the author of I, Claudius who considered himself mostly a poet):
In other words, [the litterers] knew perfectly well that what they were doing was wrong, but chose to do it anyway.
The people who behave in this way, I suspect, are not at all the type of people I have described above. They are far too numerous for that, and if all the people who did it were true psychopaths the murder rate would be a hundred or a thousand times higher than it is. Having more of a choice, then, than those who suffer from congenital moral insanity, are they in fact worse people than the latter? Their crimes are less serious but more numerous. How many small crimes make a large one? If there is no common unit of badness, so that, for example, one murder without extenuation would equal a thousand Hitler units, while dropping a chocolate wrapper would equal one Hitler unit, such that a thousand dropped wrappers would equal one murder, how could one ever compare, at least scientifically, the badness of acts? If the answer is moral intuition, the door to relativism is opened: for my moral intuition is not the same as yours and may even be diametrically opposed to it. Whose intuition is to prevail? And yet, when we say that a certain action is bad, we are not merely saying I don’t approve of it: we believe, on the contrary, that we are making a judgment that corresponds to a reality independent of our mental state.