Imagining an encounter with Adolf Hitler at the height of his power is not an exercise in morbid curiosity, but rather an opportunity to reflect on the nature of evil, the fragility of societies, and individual responsibility in the face of history. Asking Hitler questions is not about seeking emotional understanding, but about trying to decipher the mechanisms that allow a human being to become a symbol of destruction.
The first question might be: "At what moment did you decide that your vision of the world was worth more than the lives of millions of people?"
He would likely answer with a mix of ideology and self-justification, speaking of destiny, historical mission, or racial purity. His response would reveal something essential: humanity's greatest crimes are not born of spontaneous madness, but of fanatical conviction. Hitler did not see himself as a villain, but as a savior. And therein lies the danger: when someone believes their truth is absolute, the lives of others become dispensable. This question reminds us that fanaticism always begins with the inability to accept human diversity.
The second question would be: "What do you truly fear?"
Because behind every excessive exercise of power lies a deep fear. Hitler feared weakness, mixing, loss of control, the freedom of others. His answer, though disguised as strength, would reveal insecurity. Hatred is often a defense mechanism: those who cannot tolerate themselves need external enemies to sustain their identity. This question invites us to look inward: how often do our harsh reactions arise from fear rather than conviction? How often is our rejection of the other a mirror of our own shadows?
The third question would be: "What do you think will remain of you when you are gone?"
Hitler would likely speak of glory, of an eternal Reich, of a historical legacy. But history has reduced him to what he truly was: a reminder of how far humanity can fall when hatred becomes institutionalized. This question is an act of moral justice: no tyrant controls his own legacy. Time strips bare, reveals, corrects. And it teaches us that power based on fear is always ephemeral.
Reflecting on these questions is not an isolated intellectual exercise. It is a warning. Hitler did not emerge from nowhere: he was the product of economic crises, social resentments, normalized hate speech, and the indifference of many. Asking him questions is, in reality, asking ourselves: what are we doing today to ensure nothing like it happens again?
Because evil does not repeat itself when we remember it repeats itself when we stop doing so.
Note: I used the DeepL Translate translator.
The photos are my own property.
