up in an environment devoid of love and filled with enmity. But I didn’t suffer the kind of outrageous abuses that so many people do. Mine were of the ordinary variety, maybe some benign neglect. When people ask me whether I had a bad childhood, I tell them that it was relatively unremarkable. We know fromtwin studies that there is a strong genetic component to sociopathic traits, and we also know that sociopaths have different brains from most people. But just because they have different brains does not mean that their unusual brains are what makes them act differently. The fact that they act differently could actually be affecting their brain circuitry. Similarly, just because a sociopath’s brain is different does not mean that is what is causing the sociopathy—that could be, according to Hare, a “by-product of some other environmental or genetic factor commonly found among psychopaths.”
We don’t know the root cause, but we also know there isn’t a cure for this disorder, not that we would necessarily want one, for reasons that I hope will be clear upon finishing this book. Dr. Cleckley observed and counseled sociopaths as a psychologist and professor at the Medical College of Georgia. He wrestled with how to treat sociopathic patients and criminals, whom he believed to be deeply disturbed but essentially intractable. In the preface to his final revision of
The Mask of Sanity
, which he wrote at the very end of his life, Cleckley explained that he had been unable to discover an effective treatment but was heartened by the belief that he had contributed to the understanding of sociopathy—and especially that the relatives and loved ones of sociopaths could have some explanation for the unusual behavior of their beloveds. Indeed, he cited at length instances of incurable patients—individuals who had all the resources and support in the world to get better but ended up maiming significant others and committing other manner of misdeeds. To him we were a lost cause.
Cleckley was not alone in this belief. Recent estimates of the criminal recidivism rate for sociopaths is approximately double that of nonsociopathic criminals, and it is triple for violent crimes. Even the Yoruba and the Inuit tribes believedthat these antisocial individuals could not be changed. The only solution was to neutralize or marginalize them, or as one Inuit purportedly told Murphy, the anthropologist, “Somebody would have pushed him off the ice when nobody else was looking.”
Today psychologists and criminologists are occupied with the same conundrum with which the Inuit and Yoruba dealt through discreet homicide—what to do with sociopaths who simply cannot be trusted and who do not belong. In Great Britain, authorities have given sociopathic criminals life sentences solely on the basis of their sociopathy. In America, diagnosed sociopaths have been committed indefinitely in psychiatric facilities with no hope of release, since their doctors assume they cannot be cured. Take the story of Robert Dixon, who received a fifteen-years-to-life sentence for accessory to murder as the getaway driver to an armed robbery gone wrong. Twenty-six years into his sentence, he was up for parole. As part of the assessment of whether he was likely to reoffend, he was given a test that indicated that he was a sociopath. “I remember reading the report and feeling heartbroken,” Dixon’s lawyer recalls, “because I knew no matter how hard I worked from that day forward, that when I brought him back to the board, we were going to get denied.”
While in his first edition Cleckley asserted that sociopaths should be considered psychotics due to their deep inability to function in society, he revised his position in later editions when he realized that this characterization stood in the way of making them responsible for their criminal acts. He faced a crisis; he never believed that sociopaths were crazy, or “manic,” in the sense that others of
We don’t know the root cause, but we also know there isn’t a cure for this disorder, not that we would necessarily want one, for reasons that I hope will be clear upon finishing this book. Dr. Cleckley observed and counseled sociopaths as a psychologist and professor at the Medical College of Georgia. He wrestled with how to treat sociopathic patients and criminals, whom he believed to be deeply disturbed but essentially intractable. In the preface to his final revision of
The Mask of Sanity
, which he wrote at the very end of his life, Cleckley explained that he had been unable to discover an effective treatment but was heartened by the belief that he had contributed to the understanding of sociopathy—and especially that the relatives and loved ones of sociopaths could have some explanation for the unusual behavior of their beloveds. Indeed, he cited at length instances of incurable patients—individuals who had all the resources and support in the world to get better but ended up maiming significant others and committing other manner of misdeeds. To him we were a lost cause.
Cleckley was not alone in this belief. Recent estimates of the criminal recidivism rate for sociopaths is approximately double that of nonsociopathic criminals, and it is triple for violent crimes. Even the Yoruba and the Inuit tribes believedthat these antisocial individuals could not be changed. The only solution was to neutralize or marginalize them, or as one Inuit purportedly told Murphy, the anthropologist, “Somebody would have pushed him off the ice when nobody else was looking.”
Today psychologists and criminologists are occupied with the same conundrum with which the Inuit and Yoruba dealt through discreet homicide—what to do with sociopaths who simply cannot be trusted and who do not belong. In Great Britain, authorities have given sociopathic criminals life sentences solely on the basis of their sociopathy. In America, diagnosed sociopaths have been committed indefinitely in psychiatric facilities with no hope of release, since their doctors assume they cannot be cured. Take the story of Robert Dixon, who received a fifteen-years-to-life sentence for accessory to murder as the getaway driver to an armed robbery gone wrong. Twenty-six years into his sentence, he was up for parole. As part of the assessment of whether he was likely to reoffend, he was given a test that indicated that he was a sociopath. “I remember reading the report and feeling heartbroken,” Dixon’s lawyer recalls, “because I knew no matter how hard I worked from that day forward, that when I brought him back to the board, we were going to get denied.”
While in his first edition Cleckley asserted that sociopaths should be considered psychotics due to their deep inability to function in society, he revised his position in later editions when he realized that this characterization stood in the way of making them responsible for their criminal acts. He faced a crisis; he never believed that sociopaths were crazy, or “manic,” in the sense that others of
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