"Whoever fights monsters should see to it that in the process he does not
become a monster. And when you look into the abyss, the abyss also
looks into you."--Friedrich Nietzsche
South Dakota summers are hot, and humid, humid so thick you feel as if you can taste the heat through the heavy winds dampening your tongue as they bring with it the stench of fertilizer, corn and soy crops. But its not as bad as Kentucky, I have to say. Kentucky is sweltering, as if your inside a furnace.
Anyways, on one of these particular summer days in South Dakota, I took a drive. For an hour I drove amidst a land flattened by God's foot, stomped really, as the sun burned it dry and to a mix of yellow, red, and brown. There are a few hills between where I live and where I was headed, but when all you can see for miles is a flat line hiding behind a haze of hot air, you end up thinking, thinking about things you don't want to.
That particular Summer, I spent working at the state penitentiary in South Dakota, which, according to the inmates, was a walk in the park to some of the other penitentiaries they had been to before transferring here. I was nervous, I had to admit. I had spent some time shadowing in a supermax facility back in college, but this was different: I would spend more time talking with them, hearing their stories, being in rooms with the--alone. It was uncomfortable, but a wonderful experience. I was uncomfortable for more reasons that one: yes, being in a room full of killers is unsettling, but what was more unsettling is the amount of things I realized I had in common with them. It bothered me, bothered me to no end.
I don't like that quote--the one above; I never have. However, I do love it, and hate it. You see, Friedrich Nietzsche touched on something that later Freud himself used to base his tenets of psychoanalysis--we have demons; we have these instinctual desires that are out of conscious control, and for Nietzsche, I believe, we all have the propensity to become the thing of that which we strive against. And that was at the heart of my discomfort, of that gnawing inside of me, every time I talked to those inmates. I believe, subconsciously at least, I always asked myself if I could become like them, or if it was even possible. I asked myself that because, well, I find my own fascination with the field to be a mystery in and of itself. I'm drawn to it. I'm drawn to it for reasons that I can't explain--meaning, there is something inside me with which I can't begin to grasp yet. How disturbing don't you think?
But I think we all have something inside us that may not be out of conscious awareness, but may in fact, be something we are afraid to face--our own abyss, our own monsters. Monsters come in all forms; they shift and change the way shadows do behind a dancing flame, and they are hard to pin down. On that drive home, on that particular day, I had been
rattled--really rattled. That day at the penitentiary was a disturbing
one: I walked the rounds with one of the counselors, going cell to cell,
talking with the inmates; that day's section was in the maximum
security area, and when you place yourself in an area like that, you
rationalize; you tell yourself to bury certain questions that any other
time you wouldn't mind asking. I didn't want to know what they were in
for, what they had done; I knew if they were in the maximum security
area, then they had done something pretty horrible.
As
we made our rounds, I noticed a man sitting behind the cell, sitting
the way every other inmate sits except with a little more confidence, a
little more charm. I knew he was a psychopath, in my head I knew, but I
didn't want to believe it. We talked for a bit, nothing happened really
that stood out to me, but as we turned and walked away I looked at the
counselor and I just had to ask: "What did he do to get in here?" It's a
fault of mine: I have to know (a part of my obsessive personality). I push myself to the point of exhaustion by wanting to know, wanting to find the answer. It's not a pleasant aspect of who I am. And here's why. Apparently, the inmate and two of his friends had taken a 19-year-old boy and tortured him for a weekend while his parents were out of town and then killed him. I can't imagine that. I think to myself if there was an ounce of humanity within him, he wouldn't have done what he did. My brain starts rolling, pondering over how and why something like that can happen.
Lately, for fun mind you, I've been reading profiling of types of murders because I need to know how something like that starts inside a person's mind. Sadly, it isn't much different from what I do with my writing. Individuals that become sexual murderers, sadistic murderers, etc.. they daydream, they start early fantasizing about what they would like to do to someone. They have these fantasies usually due to sexual abuse that is quite persistent, social isolation, and parenting that is not abhorring the aggressive acts being exhibited by the family or the perpetrator himself. It is due to the significant social isolation and these horrific acts done to them that they begin to only relate to other individuals through their fantasy. Many of these people daydream on how to exact revenge upon what was done to them. Granted, most of these people are made that way. However, case in point, Dahmer was not abused and ended up doing god knows what to human beings.
I was disturbed by what was said to me that day. And all I could think of was Nietzsche and the propensity to become the thing that that which we abhor. As Hervey Cleckley titled his famous book "The Mask of Sanity"--a book first detailing the concept of a psychopath--I realized what he meant. You can read about psychopaths all you want, but if you don't see the face of one yourself--a face clothed in pure innocence--you can never know the true terror of what lies beneath it. Nietzsche took hold of the dark side of humanity, saying that it isn't passive, and if you engage it, it will engage you. It's an active agent. And frighteningly enough, we all have them, those demons, that abyss. There are parts of me that I abhor, that frighten me. Why do I enjoy studying the mind of killers? What about their twisted logic gets me lost in thought? And what is at the heart of it all is this: What truly separates me from that man behind the cell door? Think about it. Nietzsche wrote that book Beyond Good and Evil because he thought the moral laws created by man were false. In short, what we consider good and what we consider evil are two sides of the same coin: Good is finding more indirect, healthier ways of expressing oneself; evil is direct, instinctual (Don't quote me on this because I don't know if that is what he was specifically addressing but this is the gist of it).
I think to myself that if I had had one event different, or a mother not as amazing, would I have turned out different? What, if given the circumstances and events, am I capable of? Are we all capable of such horrific atrocities?
I don't know that answer, but to those that do have your own demons, I guess your best bet is to turn around and face them (cliche but whatever)--and make sure they blink first.
--Matt
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