There is a kind of moral ugliness that, without being quite evil, may be even more repellant than evil because evil — genuine evil — has, sometimes, a certain romantic appeal. You can admire the villain's strength, or courage, or dash, or reckless defiance of that which we all, sometimes, wish we could defy — the smug, complacent society that bears down on the individual with all its stifling weight and ruthless indifference.
More repugnant than evil is a quality aptly named vileness. Individuals who embody its most insidious form are guilty of no crime, are respectable and respected members of society, support their families, work diligently for their employers, are promoted, honored, esteemed — and hateful.
Novelist Futabatei Shimei (1864-1909) captures their essence in the opening paragraph of "Ukigumo" ("Drifting Cloud"). Published in 1889, it is considered Japan's first "modern" novel. "A swirling mass of men," the narrator observes, "stream out of (Tokyo's) Kanda gate, marching first in ant-like formation, then scuttling busily off in every direction. Each and every one of these fine gentlemen is primarily interested in getting enough to eat."