Whenever a deadly shooting rampage occurs, the experts are asked to explain the mental makeup of the perpetrator. Everybody struggles to understand what could drive an ordinary-seeming, though perhaps reserved, young man (it’s almost always a shy young man) to commit such a horrific act. But although the personality profiles of these mass-murderers share a few common features—paranoia and social isolation, most typically—we can’t really know what has driven a particular individual to violence.
A few hours after the 2007 Virginia Tech shootings, I received a call from a local TV news station where I’d made regular appearances. They wanted to interview me about the tragedy. What could have motivated the twenty-three-year-old student, Seung Hui Cho, to kill two students in a dorm, then barricade a building and kill 30 more people before turning a gun on himself?
I declined to appear on-air because I couldn’t, in good conscience, render my professional opinion. I’m not an expert on violence. And even if I were, speculating about the psyche of a person I hadn’t met and knew nothing about would be unethical.
However, other professionals—including some forensic specialists—don’t seem to share my reservations. They freely offer up theories, often presenting their viewpoints as fact.
In a Washington Post article about the Colorado shootings, one forensic psychiatrist said, “Mass-shooting cases have the common motive of an attacker seeking immortality. Each of the attackers have [sic] different degrees of paranoia and resentment of the broader community. Some are so paranoid that they’re psychotic. Others are paranoid in a generally resentful way but have no significant psychiatric illness.” That makes sense (though I’d suggest that being a mass shooter is, ipso facto, indicative of significant psychiatric illness).
He goes on to add, “They’re people who are unfailingly unable to form satisfying sexual attachments.” Maybe that’s true. Still, I’d like to see more evidence.
But then he elaborates. “ . . . and their masculinity essentially gets replaced with their fascination for destruction. The overwhelming majority of folks who do this are male because of how, in our culture, masculine identity is so closely tied to the capacity to destroy.”
Really? Do most men derive their sense of identity from violence and destruction?
Fortunately, the Post article counters this histrionic gobbledygook with the more measured viewpoint of a psychiatric expert from Duke, who says, “They [mass killers] tend to be young and male and . . . sort of isolated. The problem with that is that there are tens of thousands of people who meet the same description and never do anything like this.”
In the wake of this latest Colorado tragedy, we’re sure to see many more speculative statements about the mind of James Holmes. And they will be beside the point. Because no matter how much we’d like to comprehend the inner workings of a madman, we’ll never be able to make sense of a senseless act.
If you’re like me, you have no shortage of ideas about how to improve yourself. Eat more vegetables. Cut down on sweets. Meditate. Get more sleep. Lift weights. Drink more water. Learn to cook Thai food. Practice the piano. Brush up on conversational French. [Insert your own favorites here.]
And if you’re like me, and many others, you also may have trouble following through with your plans.
Why is it so easy for us to think of all the ways we’d like to create newer, better versions of ourselves and so hard for us to make the changes happen?
I think it’s because we don’t just set out to develop healthier habits or find new creative outlets. We imagine no less than a total transformation and deem anything short of a complete makeover as insufficient—not worth the effort.
Take a writer I know. She lives alone. She works from home and can follow any schedule that suits her. She’s a night owl and has a surge of energy after 10 pm, often staying up until 2 or 3 in the morning when her creative juices are flowing. As a result, she usually sleeps until noon unless she’s scheduled a morning meeting. But she always sets her alarm for 8 because she views herself as lazy for spending half a conventional workday in bed. She starts every morning with the fantasy of getting up when she “should” and always winds up hitting Snooze five times before she turns off the alarm in disgust and goes back to sleep. When she finally does drag herself out of bed, never fully rested due to the interrupted sleep, she feels upset with herself. Not the best way to start the day.
Yet when I suggested she just face the fact that she’s not a morning person and set the alarm for a more realistic time (say, 11:30), when she actually might be able to get up, she looked aghast.
“I couldn’t possibly do that. That’s so late!”
Sure she’d like to bound out of bed at 8. But right now she’s not starting her day until noon. So why wouldn’t it make sense to try rising just a half hour earlier?
Because she’s letting the perfect be the enemy of the good.
Seems silly, doesn’t it? But when it comes to ourselves, we often can’t see as clearly how our visions of The Perfect keep us from even beginning to make a dent in the patterns we’d like to change.
Think about one of those self-improvement ideas you’ve had for a while but never seem to carry out. If the undertaking seems overwhelming, you might just be letting your vision of the perfect you block your path forward. So instead of focusing on where you want to be (which may seem impossibly distant), look at where you are right now, and start by taking just one ridiculously small step in the right direction.
As a specialist in anxiety, I’ve seen countless people after they’ve gone through months—years, even—of ineffectual psychotherapy. Yet I’m surprised time and again by the inaccurate beliefs guiding the practices of so many mental health professionals. Some of their methods, which derive from unsubstantiated theories, can interfere with progress or even make anxiety symptoms much worse.
A psychoanalyst once told me how frustrating she found treating people with Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder (OCD). “They never get better,” she said.
Unlike her, I really enjoy working with people who have OCD, in large part because they often do make dramatic strides in treatment, and in a relatively short time. But I don’t doubt she didn’t see much progress.
A psychoanalytic therapist would encourage her patient to explore childhood experiences to uncover the allegedly unconscious forces behind symptoms. In theory, once a person figures out the deep-seated reasons for feelings of anxiety or for intrusive thoughts, distress will dissipate. In practice, however, this solution frequently becomes part of the problem.
People with anxiety strive above all to maintain control—over their physical sensations, their thoughts, and the outcome of events. Paradoxically, when they avoid upsetting situations, analyze every last detail of a thought, or try to figure out the reason for their worries—all common but counterproductive tactics—they become more anxious. These efforts backfire because they prevent the anxious person from learning to tolerate uncertainty and handle uncomfortable feelings. From a cognitive-behavioral perspective, developing a tolerance for uncertainty and acquiring the skills for coping with emotional distress are the primary goals of therapy.
Focusing on the whys can be problematic for two additional reasons. First, trying to figure out the origin of a worry can serve as an avoidance tactic, encouraging rumination (something people with anxiety already do too much of) over action. Second, emphasizing the need to understand where an anxiety issue originated gives undo credence to the thoughts.
Many people I treat have a type of OCD characterized by repugnant mental obsessions (such as the fear of being a child-molester or of committing a violent crime). They’ve become trapped by their thoughts precisely because they’ve attributed too much significance to them. We all have strange and sometimes disturbing ideas from time to time. If we don’t make too much of them, they usually just come and go. Not so if you have OCD.
Obsessive worrying starts with ordinary random thoughts. Say you’ve just read an article about the Sandusky trial. You’re appalled by the witness testimonies. You think, “How could anyone do that? I could never imagine doing that!” But then you start to wonder. “Why am I so interested in this case? Does that mean I unconsciously want to molest children?” The more you think about it, the more anxious you get. You try to push the thoughts out of your mind but they keep coming back. Thus are the seeds of a full-blown obsession planted.
In the interest of fairness, I should point out that psychoanalysts aren’t the only therapists who can make a problem worse by using counterproductive approaches. I’ve heard of cognitive-behaviorists who, apparently not having kept up with the current literature, advise patients to practice “thought-stopping”—visualizing a large stop sign or snapping a rubberband on the wrist whenever unwanted thoughts occur-—to short circuit disturbing cognitions.
This technique gained a fair amount of traction twenty or so years ago. I’m embarrassed to admit I myself recommended it to more than a few people back in the day. But we now know from the social psychology research on thought suppression that trying to push thoughts out of our minds only intensifies them. So it’s more helpful to make peace with unwanted mental intrusions than to engage in efforts to banish them.
Another misapplied behavioral method, one commonly recommended for managing panic attacks, is relaxation training. Sometimes practicing deep-breathing can be helpful, especially for controlling hyperventilation. But trying to relax often can lead to more tension in a person who fears the sensations caused by extreme anxiety. So learning to ride out a panic attack using “interoceptive exposure”—invoking symptoms such as dizziness or a rapid heart rate to practice allowing them to pass without trying to control them—is much more effective in the long run than trying to head off the feelings by attempting to relax.
If you’re not sure you’re benefitting from therapy, tell your therapist. Discuss the treatment plan and the rationale behind it. Gather information from the websites of credible organizations (no message boards, please) and don’t hesitate to inquire about the latest research. The process of psychotherapy is often more an art than a science. But if you think you’re making no progress or find yourself feeling worse, an unscientific approach may be the reason.