In addition, Kim is a writer whose bio states that she is a “former professor of languages” who was a Fulbright Scholar.

So I was quite curious when Kim let me know that she had written a new book dealing with the topic of narcissism and related themes about which we both feel strongly and was kind enough to send me a copy.

Things started off well very early on – in fact, before I even opened the envelope containing the book. Why? Check out this return address label that greeted me.

You can think and write about these issues for a long time before you come across something like that. It just reminded me all over again of how clever and insightful Kim’s work around these issues can be.

Then I opened the package to reveal the book and its title, The Sin of Omission.

This just continued the great start because this title reflects an aspect of ponerology that I have long felt it is important to emphasize. Those with reduced empathy can surely actively cause a great deal of harm. But, boy are they often also talented at strategically employing negligence to deviously enable suffering to arise while maintaining plausible deniability.

There are non-actions which, though most would deem them unethical, are nonetheless not illegal. Those who wish to do harm can engage – or, perhaps better said, willfully fail to engage – in them and rarely be held to account. They are the moral loopholes that empathy-reduced people masterfully and frequently exploit. Their existence is a problem that has long haunted me.

That haunting goes back even to my childhood. Agatha Christie’s famous novel Ten Little Indians tells the story of how a number of people who took advantage of these types of loopholes, causing suffering for which they had never been held responsible, were finally brought to a form of justice. I was assigned to read the book in middle school and, even at that young age, my life experience had already primed me in such a way that it hit me like a ton of bricks because I recognized so keenly and felt so strongly about this theme of people getting away with terribly unethical “sins of omission.”

Apparently many others also recognize and feel strongly about this theme because Ten Little Indians, which was first published under the title And Then There Were None, is one of the six best-selling single-volume books of all time, along with iconic works like A Tale of Two Cities, The Lord of the Rings, The Little Prince and The Hobbit.

Also, shortly before receiving Kim’s book in the mail, I had read Marcus Aurelius’ Meditations. I wasn’t a big fan of most of it, but there was one quote in it about which I felt strongly enough to copy it down. It was the one where the Roman Emperor says:

“Very often an unjust act is done by not doing something, not only by doing something.”

Then I looked at the print-out of a blog post regarding the book which Kim had included in the package. It said:

“There is another ‘N’ word that is often associated with hate and conflict. But this word is not about race or class. This word has no social or economic boundaries.”

What a brilliant way of making the point that the word “narcissism,” which should be a well-understood household term, viewed as quite important and relevant because of how much damage the trait can cause in a family or any other system, instead often goes barely noticed or discussed. One mention of the better-known “N word” can end relationships and careers (and, ironically, it may well be that narcissism itself drives some of the people that do hatefully utter it.) But a lifetime of actually living out this “N word” often goes unrecognized or even rewarded.

I have long been emphasizing that divisions based on race, class, gender and other more superficial categories serve to distract us terribly from focusing on the far more important division in humanity between those with and without a significant level of conscience.

I then checked out the back of the book itself, which describes it as “An eye opening portrayal of family conflict, based on the author’s personal experiences growing up in a dysfunctional family.” While many people interested in ponerology focus on the social and political levels, most of us first experience harmful behavior in our families. Some, unfortunately, experience it there to a significant degree. I suspect that if you surveyed the growing community of those who have been drawn to ponerologic topics, you would find that, for many, the threads of that attraction can be traced directly back to personal family dynamics.

So, basically, before opening her book, I had the idea that it would boil down to Taylor revealing, in a sense, how her interest in the impact of and optimal responses to the harmful influence of those with reduced empathy is rooted in her own childhood experience. Specifically, I expected that she would delve into the lessons she learned about how such people insidiously operate, harming others through “crimes of omission” that are much easier to keep hidden than “crimes of commission.”

Then, I glanced at the table of contents, which lists the titles of the book’s ten chapters. Every single one of the chapter titles was either curiosity-piquing, quirky or both. They all grabbed my attention and made me eager to delve into Taylor’s world.

And so I began reading.

Getting Personal

Those who write about ponerologic topics, even though I believe many, if not most, of us have both academic and personal interest in them, seem to fall into two rough categories:

1. Those who write very openly about their own personal experiences involving the influence of those with low empathy and conscience
2. Those who, even if they have been personally affected by the influence of those with low empathy and conscience, choose to keep their personal stories – especially the specific names and behaviors of other people they know – private, sticking with writing about ponerology from a more general perspective

The Sin of Omission proves Kim Taylor to fall decidedly in the former category. And how.

The book tells the story of her narcissistic brother, Tim, her enabling father and family system and the damage and pain that emerges from this mix. But it doesn’t just tell the story. It airs the family’s dirty laundry in the most open way. In this book, Taylor vents to the world the kind of frustration that most people in these situations save for their diaries or their close friends.

Just as one example of how personal the book gets:

There is one point at which Taylor explains that there is a letter she has wanted to send to her mother-in-law regarding her brother and his wife, but that she has not sent it because she feels too uncomfortable. So what has she done? Instead, she has published the letter in the book.

This level of openness led to mixed feelings for me.

On one hand, I felt almost uncomfortable with it. The book is so revealing that I wondered if the motive behind its writing might be something like revenge through exposure. And, as we’ll discuss at the end of this piece, there is some reason to consider that – perhaps even justly – it is.

On the other hand, I was also able to view her openness as an attempt at several worthwhile goals:

• Catharsis – Short of any effective way to find justice, and realizing that we are “only as sick as our secrets,” the book may serve as a way to at least express mourning, convey a visceral sense of how dramatic, chaotic and painful the drama of a dysfunctional family touched by personality disorders can be, and have her story actually witnessed. I imagine embodying her experiences and putting them out into the world in this book is a weight off Taylor’s chest.
• Understanding – The writing of the book may be part of Kim’s process of seeking answers. As I read, I could just feel her struggling with the painful questions that gnaw at many people of healthy conscience who find themselves in such a system.
  • Why does the narcissist act this way?
  • Why are others enabling the narcissist and suppressing attempts to restrain their abuses rather than aiding and comforting their victims?
  • How did these people become the type of people who would be willing and able to play these roles?
• Helping Others – The book is a cautionary tale.

Exploring the Dynamics of Reduced Empathy and Affected Family Systems

In The Sin of Omission, Kim Taylor touches on or delves into a number of aspects of conditions of reduced empathy and the workings of families in which a member has one. Those who have been in such a situation may relate to many of them.

Manipulative Tactics & Con Artistry

Kim explains some of the “tricks of the trade” that the empathy-reduced person uses to manipulate those around them. One entire chapter is devoted to talking about the time her brother fell victim to an even more skilled scammer than himself. She uses that story to branch out into a broader discussion of con artistry in general.

This discussion is based on her own research on the subject. I found this to exemplify a pattern I’ve noticed. It seems like often, once a victim of a pathological person or system comes to see through the veil of ponerologic conditions, they work to become expert on subjects related to con artistry so as to be able to protect themselves from being duped again. They may even take great pride in their newfound savvy and ability to detect deception and teach others to do so.

Jekyll and Hyde

Taylor offers the phrase “street angel, house devil,” one that her mother used, as a way of conveying how those with pathologies of conscience can charm so many people in the outside world who never see the abusive, cruel sides of them that they so openly display at home.

Vulnerabilities of the Codependent

She discusses the kinds of wounds and defense mechanisms that those with reduced empathy exploit in vulnerable codependent types of people.

The Generational Ripple Effect of Abuse & Neglect

One of the main themes of this book is how one sin – even a sin of omission – can have a deep impact, setting the stage for dysfunction to flourish for generations to come.

We often hear about how personality disorders themselves result from this generational process. But here Taylor focuses on how the aforementioned wounds and defense mechanisms that underlie the enabling behaviors of the other people around the personality-disordered person also result from this same process.

Early in the book, she tells the tale of her widower grandfather’s abandonment of his children – including her father – during the Great Depression. She goes on to reveal how this first sin facilitated a chain reaction of others, like the one carried out by a priest at the orphanage to which her abandoned father was relegated – a supposedly highly moral man – that shattered her father’s self-esteem forever. She speculates on how these early experiences of loss, abuse and neglect led her father to project his own need for care, driving him to compensate by fervently caring for others, especially the very types of people who would take advantage of him – people like his own exploitative brother and Kim’s narcissistic brother, his son.

Kim asks:

“Was it his experience at the orphanage of overdiscipline and physical abuse that made him too tolerant of a son whose behavior throughout life would be far too risk-taking for his own good? If there is a tragic flaw in all of this, that is certainly it. The orphanage might be the reason behind dad’s inability to correct a son whose narcissism ruled him.”

She contrasts her own early experience learning about the concept of reciprocity with her father’s lack of insight into its importance and compliance to those who manipulated him as a result.

How Systemic Enabling Amplifies Consequences

Kim mentions that not only did her father’s projection lead him to be compliant, but it led him to expect others to be so, as well. As a result of such a dynamic, much of the rest of the family joins in with the enabling. In her case, her mother discouraged any criticism, preferring to “keep the peace.” One of her younger brothers, who also had a vulnerable personality, became prey, at times, to the con artistry.

Eventually, any healthy limits keeping the personality-disordered person in check are discouraged and shut down. For example, Kim’s maternal grandfather tried to step in and correct Tim’s behavior for his own good and that of society. But rather than gratitude, her family responded by undermining his efforts.

It is at this point that the disordered behavior can really go off the rails.

Blocking of Family Intimacy

When some family members deny and refuse to address another family member’s personality disorder, this creates an inevitable tension and distance between them and the ones who are conscious about it. Kim talks about how the atmosphere surrounding her disordered brother prevented her from having a closer relationship with her father and, worse, how she blamed herself for that. She explains that “When one party shuts down or shuts a door because that person is not able to deal with truth and openness, it is frustrating for the other.” And in the letter to her mother-in-law she says, “It is a shame…when families end up fragmented because of one person’s disorders.”

The Extra Pain of Family Crises

Kim talks about the terrible experience of having to handle her father’s death and the decisions associated with it and its aftermath while dealing with such a difficult family system.

“Water to a Fish”

Taylor describes a key phenomenon – that, no matter how extreme, the dysfunction of our family systems often remains invisible to us when we are young since it is all we know. It is only later that life may somehow help us gain perspective and, when it does, it comes as an epiphany.

The Sickly Intriguing Nature of These Patterns

The book discusses, and, indeed, exhibits, how narcissistic-codependent types of relationships play out in toxic, yet fascinating, patterns. Once one finally does recognize them, it can become almost an obsession to study them, and it can prove difficult to look away.

Connection to Similar Patterns on Higher Social Levels

In Political Ponerology, Andrew M. Lobaczewski starts by explaining how those with pathologies of conscience can take over nations. He then goes on to show how similar, mutually reinforcing patterns play out as families and communities are corrupted, as well.

In The Sin of Omission, Taylor works in the other direction. After focusing on the patterns within her family in depth, she touches on how these mirror patterns of dependency and unsustainability at higher levels.  For instance, on page 18, she states:

“It is much like the ongoing bail-out situation related to economic crisis in the U.S. and elsewhere.”

Comparison to the Work of Barbara Oakley

Given the topic and approach of the book, I couldn’t help but compare The Sin of Omission to the work of another author that is very significant to me.

One of the most important books I’ve ever read is Evil Genes: Why Rome Fell, Hitler Rose, Enron Failed, and My Sister Stole My Mother’s Boyfriend by Barbara Oakley. Oakley, like Taylor, is a writer on the topic of pathologies of conscience who, as the full title of that book suggests, also opens up in her writing in a very personal way about her own family issues. In Evil Genes, she share stories of and examines her experience in a family that included a sister who she describes as exhibiting a combination of Borderline Personality Disorder (BPD) and psychopathy as a means by which to consider these and related conditions. The Sin of Omission, full of stories about Taylor’s brother’s behavior and how the rest of the family responded and was affected, is in this tradition to some extent.

Oakley’s next work – Cold-Blooded Kindness: Neuroquirks of a Codependent Killer, or Just Give Me a Shot at Loving You, Dear, and Other Reflections on Helping That Hurts – focused on the flip side of the exploitative relationship, what she calls pathological altruism. (She also edited this well-received scholarly book explicitly about that subject.) And The Sin of Omission, as much as it is about narcissists themselves, is also a book about this crucial complementary aspect of the dysfunctional cycle. For, though she never uses and may not even be familiar with the term, Taylor’s thesis is that her father’s treatment in the orphanage transformed him into a pathological altruist, all too eager to extend himself in support of narcissistic manipulators and exploiters. She also explains how her own husband has kept her from falling into what she calls the “trap of ‘empathy’” of which narcissists take advantage.

However, while they share much in these ways, there are also some differences between Taylor’s work in this book and Oakley’s.

1. Oakley uses her personal family stories as jumping off points from which to delve very deeply into the hard science behind conditions of reduced empathy and conscience. Taylor doesn’t delve into the science very much at all, sticking primarily with the personal perspective. When she does veer off a bit, it’s to discuss something more humanities-oriented, like how narcissism has served as an archetype of evil in religious and historical representations, not to consider the relevant scientific evidence and research.
2. That first difference has implications for the philosophical angle taken. The scientific emphasis leads Oakley to focus more on the genetic, neurological and other biological aspects of these disorders. The Sin of Omission focuses more on the influence of childrearing. I have little doubt that both authors realize the importance of both of these angles and their interconnection. But, nonetheless, they come at this subject matter differently.
3. Oakley’s books are quite long and dense. The Sin of Omission is a short 67 pages and can easily be read in one sitting.
4. Oakley’s writing is of extremely high quality. The Sin of Omission is not nearly as eloquent in style.
5. Oakley’s writing is highly-structured and well-organized. The Sin of Omission is rambling and sometimes even chaotic.

I make this last point not simply to put down Taylor’s book. For the rambling, perhaps, is appropriate here, serving, intentionally or not, a purpose. It matches the emotional tone of that the book conveys.

While Oakley examines her family history in Evil Genes, Taylor, in this book, expresses the frustration and anger of being stuck in her family in a more visceral way. Oakley explains, seeming, for the most part, to have come to terms with her experience and to be writing as she looks back at it with perspective. Taylor rants, pouring out the exasperation generated by a seemingly never-ending ordeal of having to put up with what she aptly calls an “upside down relationship.” It is not always coherent, not always linear, not always structured or organized. But this is because it is not just a writing, but a release of grief. For she appears, as she writes, to still be in the throes of that grief and it comes across as anger and depression in search of acceptance.

So while The Sin of Omission will not win a Nobel Prize in Literature, if you have any experience with situations like Taylor’s or want to gain some insight into how devastating such situations can be, you can get a sense of it through her writing.

Both Oakley’s and Taylor’s perspectives, though different, offer something valuable that can help others.

Broadening the Perspective

Another interesting thing about Taylor’s version of her story is that it shows how the particular way that we come into contact with and are affected by certain issues can color how we view them and shape the conclusions we draw about them. As a result of her specific experiences, Taylor expresses a couple of conclusions that she has reached that I’d like to put into a broader perspective.

Parent/Child Personality-Disordered/Enabler Orientations

It’s clear that Taylor recognizes the ethical loophole upon which Ten Little Indians was based and that has haunted me for so many years. At one point she says:

“There are crimes that occur that are punishable by law and then there are crimes on a smaller scale not punishable by law but nonetheless unethical. They are committed against our families, our friends, our neighbors, our colleagues, our brothers and sisters…”

But then she finishes that quote with…

“…and especially grievous from a standpoint of moral values are those that dishonor our mothers and our fathers.”

I found it striking that she never so explicitly addressed the case that many other people experience in which a disordered parent abuses, exploits or neglects the children. I think many would say that that case is even more grievous than when a disordered child dishonors the parents, who are at least adults and better equipped to protect themselves from and withstand such behavior.

In fact, when I first heard about her book, I simply assumed the story would be about a narcissistic parent that hurt her. I was actually surprised to find that it was primarily about a narcissistic sibling who hurt her parents. This is also a worthwhile story to tell. But Taylor seems to believe the latter is the more archetypal story from which to draw lessons.

Each of our experiences colors what we see as most grievous. Taylor watched painfully as her parents were manipulated and she generalized from that experience. But it can be just as painful and damaging, if not worse, when the parent is the disordered person rather than the enabler.

The Range of Empathy-Reducing Conditions

Often, people are first affected by or learn about one particular empathy-reducing condition and then, since the various conditions with this effect can look alike, begin labeling all empathy-reduced people with that one condition. I wonder if this happened to Taylor. Perhaps, having first become familiar with narcissism and narcissistic personality disorder (NPD), and not having necessarily studied related conditions, she conflates all empathy-reducing conditions under the rubric of narcissism.

As I read, I frequently wondered if the brother being described as a narcissist is actually a psychopath. There are a number of signs that point to this possibility, including the stark terms in which Taylor describes her brother’s “evil,” not the least part of which is his markedly parasitic lifestyle, one of the hallmarks of psychopathy tested for as part of Factor 2 of the Hare Psychopathy Checklist. At one point, she compares him to Bernie Madoff, claiming that Madoff represents the epitome of narcissism. But many actually believe that Madoff, while certainly a narcissistic person, is actually a prime example of white-collar psychopathy.

We obviously cannot diagnose her brother on the basis of just the stories in this book. But it is worth considering that not all people of low conscience have NPD. Some have Borderline Personality Disorder. Some are psychopaths. A proper diagnosis is important because these disorders, while overlapping in some ways, are also, in other ways, quite different.

There is actually one place in which Taylor does consider another diagnosis for her brother. In the letter to her mother-in-law she speculates that he may be bipolar. But she never mentions the possibility of him having one of the other empathy-reducing conditions besides narcissism. And she never really mentions psychopathy at all.

Conclusion

Millions of families struggle with the types of issues that arise when members with certain empathy-reducing personality disorders generate destructive drama and other family members, or the family system overall, consistently enable them. Each has its own tale. But most of these tales will never be told, at least not publicly.

There is enormous discouraging pressure and stigma associated with exposing such family secrets. Derrick Jensen, another writer who very openly and powerfully exposes family secrets in his work, often quotes famed psychiatrist R.D. Laing’s three rule of a dysfunctional family:

• Rule A is Don’t.
• Rule A.1 is Rule A does not exist.
• Rule A.2 is Never discuss the existence or nonexistence of Rules A, A.1, or A.2.

For better or worse, Kim Taylor decided to break these rules and “spill the beans” to the world. Her personal frustrations, born of being the caring person – one whose very life has become committed to Fair Play – in a family affected by a highly-enabled narcissist have been published.

It is unnerving. The Sin of Omission reveals the kinds of family conversations that most people dwell on privately and never share with everybody else. The eighth chapter of the book is entitled “Those are the Sacrifices You Make for Family.” Often, secrecy is one of the ultimate sacrifices made in dysfunctional families.

But Taylor has refused to make that sacrifice anymore. She waited until her parents were gone to do so. But her brother, Tim, is still alive.

Yet, if we are ever to really see clearly what is happening in our culture and our systems, conversations like these will have to be exposed to disinfecting sunlight. We see it happening with leaks at other levels of human systems. And Taylor’s book is, in a sense, a whistleblower leak of her family secrets.

It is hard to know for sure what the truth is in situations like this. Family dynamics are complex and one is hesitant to make a final judgment without hearing everyone’s story. But, at the same time, this careful deliberative approach, if it leads to too great a hesitancy to make decisions, is something empathy-reduced people can sometimes exploit.

I cannot definitively say exactly what really happened in Taylor’s family. But I can confidently say that what she describes happens in families every day causing untold pain and suffering, often with the most undeserving suffering the most.

I loved the idea of Narcissist cologne and a company based on the concept of Fair Play. Having read Taylor’s book and been granted a view into her experience of her family, I now have a much better insight regarding why she became so personally passionate about these endeavors and the issues that they involve in the first place.

The motive behind this book, and perhaps much of Taylor’s life and work, became most clear to me when she explained:

“Tim’s anger was always turned outward rather than inward. He chose from among those closest to him as a target for this anger. More often than not, he chose to target me both verbally and physically. He saw me as a competitor. I was a threat to him because of my abilities and accomplishments.”

It is in light of a comment like this that the book could be interpreted as an attempt at revenge. But, if you really consider this statement, it is a deeply tragic one. You can empathize with Taylor’s agony at being a good kid, doing her best to be a caring person and, nonetheless, being abused by an envious Machiavellian sibling.

And, worse, hidden in those words, is the pain that inheres in the question “Why didn’t my parents protect me from him?” Her parents’ indulgence of their empathy-reduced son left their daughter vulnerable. This is the central recent sin of omission that we can trace all the way back to her grandfather’s original sin of abandoning his children. It is an archetypal example of how those of healthy conscience so often pay the price when those with pathologies of conscience are not held accountable or even identified as such. That rank injustice is what is so unconscionable to those who have a conscience to care.

As Kim says, “There is nothing like paying for others’ mistakes.”

The ultimate lesson of The Sin of Omission might be summed up when Taylor points out that children need a healthy balance of discipline and freedom and that that healthy balance must be determined not in a formulaic way, but taking into account a particular child’s ability to self-monitor. We must incorporate individual differences in these assessments. But, whether because an empathy-reduced parent cannot read and reflect back to a child properly or because an empathy-reduced child is not recognized and appropriately adjusted to by a misguided or naïve parent, this process too often fails. And, when it does, as Taylor’s book shows – cries out about, in fact – the ripple effect of suffering can be tremendous.

It said the film is about corporate corruption and the role that psychopathy may have played in it.

The title, supposedly, refers to a Chinese saying that a “fish stinks from the head,” implying that this movie might be an exploration of how the dysfunction of our hierarchical society originates from those at the top of the pyramid.

Well, of course, I was very intrigued as I have not only dedicated a great deal of time and energy to learning about this topic, but specifically to advocating for more – and more forms of – education of the public about it.

My interest grew even stronger since I related to the background of co-director/co-producer of the film, Misha Votruba, a former psychiatrist who moved on from that career to more creative endeavors, eventually circling back to focus on a psychiatric topic – psychopathy – from a more activist perspective as a filmmaker.

The other co-director/co-producer of I Am Fishead is Vaclav Dejcmar, an economist and businessman with a lot of experience in investing and the financial markets. This background makes him an ideal complement to Misha Votruba in making this film that includes a focus on the overlap of psychiatry and our economic systems.

I finally got around to watching the film and I have quite a bit to say about it. This piece is going to get quite into depth about the film so if you’d prefer to see it first before knowing too much about what happens, you might want to watch it (I’ve embedded it below) and then continue reading this afterwards. If you don’t plan to watch it or don’t mind going into it knowing a lot of what happens, then feel free to read on.

The titles of Part 1, Part 2 and Part 3 in the sections immediately below are those from the actual film, but names given to other segments in this synopsis/review are my own.

Opening Sequence

I originally expected I Am Fishead to spend a good 45 minutes demonstrating various problems in our world and hinting at the sinister machinations hidden behind them before suddenly thrusting upon the viewer its ultimate conclusion – that psychopathic leaders are to blame.

But this is not that kind of movie.

Instead, I Am Fishead gets right to the point.

Our guide, prodigious actor and narrator Peter Coyote, starts by evoking for the viewer the visceral connection forged by psychopaths when you meet them but remain unaware of their true nature.

Then, within the first two minutes, he raises two extremely important issues at the heart of the matter – both of which are not often enough realistically discussed or recognized as possibly related.

1. He asks “What are psychopaths? Do you know any personally?”
2. He reminisces about the horrible pain and loss many experienced in the financial crisis of 2008.

He points out regarding the crisis:

“Did you make the mess? I didn’t. So who did? I think it makes sense to look for some explanation from the people who were in charge, at least for somebody to blame.”

So, considering those in positions of power, he asks quite directly, in a way that hits home and encapsulates what should be the focus of the film:

“What do we really know about people in power? We trust our lives to them. Their decisions affect millions. We know that some of them at least are not the nicest people on the planet. Could they be psychopaths?”

At moments during this opening sequence, the “I Am Fishead” logo quickly flashes in between images of despair and of people in power, a sort of visual tie linking everything together and to the underlying pathology in question.

All of this takes place within the first five minutes. So, as I said, this is not a movie that slowly leads up to the conclusion that those in power are psychopaths. It very openly confronts the viewer with that possibility before the movie’s formal “Part 1” even begins.

Part 1 – Psychopath

Part 1 of I Am Fishead does what I thought the whole film was going to do and does it well.

Corporate (and Other) Psychopaths

It starts with mention of Snakes in Suits and the coining of the term “corporate psychopath.”

People on the street are interviewed about what “psychopath” means, providing a nice representation of how large a segment of the public is aware of the term, but has only a vague idea of it as referring to someone “crazy” or a killer like in the movies or on the news.

Paul Babiak and Robert Hare, the authors of Snakes in Suits, explain what psychopaths really are and how they function and rise in the business world.

The differences between brain function during emotional processing in psychopaths vs. normals are not only discussed, but shown in brain images.

The Mask

We then explore how psychopaths fool us, a crucial skill that enables them to get away with the devious things they do and the damage they cause.

Matthew Logan, a psychologist and detective who has assessed over 160 psychopaths, talks about how charming and likeable they are.

Babiak explains how they wear a metaphorical mask that hides their dark side when we talk to them. The consequence of this, he says, is that when we go looking for the kind of overt darkness we expect to see from psychopaths based on their portrayal in the movies or in the headlines and don’t find it, we conclude that psychopaths don’t really exist or that we haven’t met one, even though we almost certainly have met one and were simply fooled by their mask.

Hare talks about our false assumptions that everyone reacts to the world as we do and how the psychopath mimics outer signs of emotion without actual feeling.

Hare illustrates the latter by describing a scene he created while consulting to Nicole Kidman, who was preparing to play a psychopath in Malice. She needed some way to get across to the audience that behind her character’s mask of a sweet woman was really something entirely darker. So Hare had her show the audience how, during a tragic event, she studied the agonized expressions of the victim’s mother, only to return home and practice them unfeelingly in the mirror.

Sociopaths

Coyote then says “OK. I get psychopath. What’s a sociopath?”

For this, Hare refers to Reservoir Dogs.

Duping Delight

Logan demonstrates how psychopaths react almost gleefully when presented with a challenge to get something they want from another person.

Prevalence, Influence and Difficulty of Detection

Hare and Babiak explain how prevalent, how disproportionately influential and how inescapable psychopaths are to us. We will all, at some time, be affected. We’re then shown a crowd and watch as a sort of “find the psychopath” simulation is run, causing us to wonder “which one is it?”

Hare admits that even he can’t identify the psychopath just by looking or sometimes even after months of talking to one.

The Psychopathic Bond

The way that psychopaths create the illusion of deep connection is crucial to their entire mode of operating.

Hare and Babiak explain how our tendencies to judge people on appearance and believe in people too much work against us when interacting with psychopaths.

Babiak:

“We tend to be very forgiving in our interpersonal relationships with people. We’re often open to their explanations and their rationalizations and we give forgiveness. We also, when building a relationship with people, believe that they are real. What a psychopath does is they weave a picture of a person that’s really a dream. It’s a spirit. It’s not real.”

Coyote follows up, discussing the “soulmate” feeling they evoke.

“And you feel like you’ve discovered a soulmate. A deep intimacy. And you’re experiencing one of those rare, fleeting moments that makes life worth living. And before you know it you’re involved in a deep personal bond with a psychopath.”

Babiak talks about how those around the victim looking in can’t understand this intense bond, especially since it is only an illusion, a form of psychological and emotional abuse, and the psychopath will soon simply stop playing the game and seek a new victim. We see a bug trying to escape a bottle, indicative of such a trap.

How Psychopaths Succeed

Babiak and Hare explain how corporate psychopaths, in contrast with the stereotypical serial killer image of a psychopath, can use education and the “corporate look and language” to fit in and impress people, ascend the ranks and attain a very comfortable lifestyle. They are able to do this more successfully than ever in the last few decades.

The Decision Making Behind the Financial Crisis

We are reminded that the financial crisis involved decisions by actual people and asked to consider who these people were.

We’re told that the psychopath’s decision process leads them to fearlessly take huge risks on a whim that others would not take.

The Pyramid

The extreme concentration of wealth and power at the top of our social hierarchy is demonstrated, with a Monopoly game metaphor to back it up.

Then Hare talks about Bernard Madoff, the ultimate pyramid scheme operator.

Studying Corporate Psychopaths

Hare then describes his study, the first empirical one using a well-validated measure, he says, investigating corporate psychopathy in high level management – VP’s, directors, supervisors – at Fortune 100 companies. He reveals findings of several individuals – more than would be expected based on rates in the general population – with very high scores on psychopathy measures, who, despite their dangerous traits and even poor performance were, nonetheless, viewed as commendable employees and being considered for promotion.

Being a Psychopath

Coyote explores what it’s like to be a psychopath, talking about how liberating it is since, with no inner restraints and nobody outside who can know what you’re thinking, you can get away with anything you want.

True Corporate High Performers vs. Mimics

Babiak then describes how psychopaths mimic high performers within organizations, so they access the trappings of success, and then go about manipulating and forcing out their rivals behind the scenes. Without a way to differentiate between the genuine performer and the devious mimic, these organizations both become saddled with dangerous people and lose the truly beneficial people.

The World Scale

Hare gets into the kind of material Andrew M. Lobaczewski focused on in Political Ponerology – the widespread suffering that has resulted from the influence of psychopaths in politics and government.

Conclusion of Part 1

Part 1 ends with Coyote saying:

“OK. So what you already subconsciously knew has been proven. That the world, to some degree or another, is run by psychopaths. So what do we do with that?”

At this point I thought the movie was going relatively well. It was a little scattered, but it had reinforced many of the most important facts about psychopathy and its influence so I was generally pleased. At the same time I was curious where they would take things next, since, after only the first part, Coyote’s closing lines not only said that we’ve already “proven” what I thought would be the ultimate conclusion of the film, but that the viewer really already knew it on some level.

What was coming next? I had some ideas and there were some great places it could have gone. But that’s not where it went.

Part 2 – Happy Pills

This is where I thought the movie went off the track somewhat in a number of ways.

1. Part 2 deals with the role of overmedication with psychiatric drugs. While this certainly is a topic worth investigating, and few people agree more that we have a problem with overmedication (or have made life decisions more central because of that belief), I found it out of proportion to devote the entire segment to it. The manipulation of emotions and suppression and repression of authentic feedback on the whole would be a worthy subject. But overmedication is just one part of that larger issue and more a symptom than a cause, at that. I didn’t expect this to be where they took the film next and, when they did, I was rather disappointed because it seems too narrow a focus.
2. I felt a big dropoff in the gravitas of most of the people featured in this part as opposed to the first part. After hearing from weighty, big name experts like Hare and Babiak in Part 1, I found the people featured in Part 2, other than the Philip Zimabardo, who is introduced here, disappointing. In fact, while I’ve heard at least one of the people besides Zimbardo in Part 2 has a high profile, I had never even heard of them.

   That wouldn’t be so bad in itself if not for the fact that the message they are brought in to communicate is not really one I’d have found most worthwhile. I don’t mean to impugn these people at all. They may do great work and I might agree with much of it. And if you are going to zero in on the subject of overmedication, they are certainly people who have put in the work to be worth hearing from on the topic. But I found their appearances a stark contrast to those in the first part.

   I think this dropoff in the gravitas of the interviewees may simply mirror the transition from Part 1’s focus on psychopathy, which draws the interest of people the caliber of Hare and Babiak because it is a truly root causal factor in our social systems’ dysfunction, to Part 2’s focus on overmedication, which genuinely systemic thinkers recognize is likely not a root causal factor.

Part 2 basically aims not so much to claim as to hint and speculate that possibly, just maybe, the influence of actual psychopaths and sociopaths is being reinforced by the overuse of psychiatric medications, which, kind of, sort of, might be turning non-pathological people into less extreme versions of psychopaths and sociopaths – as represented in an animation where figures are shown gobbling cartoon pills, causing one to suddenly transform into a devil, one of the film’s symbols of the psychopath.

It starts with Zimbardo telling a story of how a relative at his mother’s funeral was passing around valium to help people inappropriately drown out their grief. The story is a metaphor for what the filmmakers seem to believe is happening in society at large.

Much of Part 2 then consists of interviews with:

• Christopher Lane – Author of Shyness: How Normal Behavior Became a Sickness
• Gary Greenberg – Author of Manufacturing Depression: The Secret History of a Modern Disease
• Charles Barber – Author of Comfortably Numb: How Psychiatry is Medicating a Nation

The three take turns telling us about:

• The prevalence of antidepressant use in the United states
• The history of using medication to manage moods
• Our past ignorance of side effects
• The impact of the legalization in the 1990’s of television marketing of drugs
• The assignment of previously normal challenges to diagnostic categories
• How it has become “cool” to be depressed and use antidepressants
• The absurdity of using drugs with potentially serious side effects to “treat” somewhat unpleasant moods

All of this leads up to the message that many of these psychiatric medications “attenuate emotional life” so that people in situations where they should feel something cannot access their deeper emotions, instead remaining numb and indifferent to the larger world around them and unable to deeply empathize.

The link is then made that it is just this kind of person who would stand back and watch as economic bubbles grow and then burst, saying and doing nothing to stop it. We are told that people in financial markets taking antidepressants would lack gut feedback on the consequences of their decisions while trading billions on transactions. At the same time, we see an image seeming to imply that possibly maybe (isn’t that how everything is in this part of the film?) their PCL-R scores would be rising.

Now, there is no specific claim made that the medications are directly linked to the economic catastrophe. Just insinuation. The weakness of this statement is summed up in the fact that the quote, by Gary Greenberg, which is meant to bring it all together is:

“It’s possible to assemble a picture where it at least bears investigation what these two phenomena have to do with each other.”

Yes, it’s true that it does bear more investigation. And if the film had simply taken a few minutes to point this out and call for more investigation, I’d have been fine with that. But instead it spends the entire second part of the movie on this supposed relationship only for it to culminate in such a weak, speculative non-conclusion.

Greenberg, in continuing, even explicitly admits how weak this is.

He first says that the Golden Rule and similar ethical philosophies are supposed to underlie Western civilization and are based on resonating with other people. Nevermind that Western civilization has such a long and sordid history of violence and conquest that it led me to consider whether psychopaths actually were at the root of it from the start. But even if we grant him his premise, his next line is:

“I think we need access to our full range of emotional experience in order to do that [basically behave based on an ability to empathize with others]. So it’s a leap from saying that to saying the drug amplifies or even causes sociopathy. But it’s a very suggestive link because I just don’t know what else is gonna guarantee that we don’t just cream each other all the time.”

All of this talk with all of these interviewees just to come to a “suggestive link.”

Ponerology is by definition a science of “evil.” And the claims made in part 2 are, even the film itself admits, highly non-scientific

Oddly, immediately after Greenberg finishes talking about how Western civilization is supposedly based on the Golden Rule and the film implies the explosion of overmedication is throwing us off the track of this previously ethical way of life, we are shown historical images of destruction. Is the obvious implication that civilization has been plagued by aggression and indifference to the suffering of others on a massive scale since long before these medications rose to prominence lost on the filmmakers? I’m not sure.

Part 2 comes to an end with Coyote making two points:

• That it’s tempting to want to stop here and say that the problem – the ultimate fishead – consists of psychopaths at the top of the pyramid and people taking “happy pills” to deal with the psychopathic conditions. But he claims this avoids the main question of why the rest of us aren’t doing anything about it.
• That the connection between psychopaths and happy pills lies in empathy or the lack of it. Psychopaths, he says, don’t have empathy and happy pills kill it.

What’s so conspicuously absent here, for me, is any discussion of what went on in people’s lives before and around their initiation into taking medications. Parenting. Schooling. Media. We hear too little about the forces that affect someone leading them to even get to a point where they want to take these medications and have no, or such reduced, qualms about doing so.

If there is one word that sums it up, I’d say what’s missing is context. Overmedication, the tip of an iceberg, is treated as the iceberg instead of being brought up as one issue in the context of an overall systemic issue in development.

Part 3 – Empathy

Part 3 is a sort of meandering, scattered exploration of empathy.

We start with Zimbardo going over some of his usual talking points about:

• The Lucifer Effect and biblical metaphors for the punishment visited upon those who don’t blindly obey authority
• The Milgram experiment, an example of how most people will blindly obey authority and how role modeling is crucial in determining whether they go along or rebel
• How parents teach their kids to obey
• How all of this leads to a population vulnerable to psychopaths

We’re then shown more images of historical violence, some of them black and white as if to pound home how old they are, even after being told earlier by Greenberg that Western civilization was supposedly built on the Golden rule and overmedication is likely central in chipping away at it.

Zimbardo then reinforces this contradiction by talking about how totalitarian dictators have been preying on people’s vulnerability since long before the modern day corporate psychopaths (and presumably modern psychiatric medications too).

Finally, Zimbardo does focus in more on parenting, which should have been given a lot more attention in Part 2. He talks about how people’s desire, even as adults, to be praised as a “good child” leads them to be compliant to authority, a form of prolonged childhood.

One great point Zimbardo makes here is that children learn to obey authority growing up, but often without learning how to distinguish between just authority that deserves respect and unjust authority that deserves defiance. So political, religious, corporate and other psychopaths can don the mask of just authority and hijack our allegiance.

Here Logan returns to point out that humans are the only animal that ignores its instinct and how this can get us in trouble with pathological people. Of course, this fails to recognize that we are in a civilization that is based on repressing those very instincts, often violently and that following those instincts, within such a context, can lead to harm just as ignoring them can.

And now we are introduced to John Perry Barlow, who is identified as a poet, political activist and performing philosopher. Reading a little about him, he seems like an interesting guy, having written lyrics for the Grateful Dead and helped found the Electronic Frontier Foundation, among other things. But when he suddenly shows up in the film, I can’t get over the question “Of all the people in the world to comment regarding corporate and social psychopathy, this is in your top few?” I just didn’t get it.

Barlow says that the problem isn’t sociopathic leaders, but sociopathic systems. This is the start of the film’s apparent attempt to inject hope by alluding to the idea that it’s “as much us as them.” But this ignores the question of how the systems are maintained as sociopathic and that this often involves violence or ostracism for not playing along.

Coyote then jumps in to express a sentiment many have experienced about not wanting to allow in too much of their own empathy since it might force them to give up their comfort and aspirations even as others refuse to make that same trade.

Then suddenly Byron Woollen, a psychologist and consultant, shows up to take us down yet another path involving discussion of how the vast sums of money being made by those at the top of our hierarchy lead them to just want more and to lose psychological touch with limits. But didn’t we just hear that the problem isn’t those on top, but all of us?

Now we suddenly enter a segment where consumerism is critiqued. Barlow tells us to stop pursuing happiness through “more” (a message that would make Growthbusters proud) and Greenberg comments on the pathologizing of failing to be a successful consumer.

And then we suddenly enter yet another segment in which Zimbardo tells us that there is a gray line between villains and heroes and that nobody who does evil ever thinks what they’re doing is evil. I actually take issue with this as some sadists do know and like that fact. But this kind of “it’s not us vs. them” mentality is key to the direction the film wants to take as it moves towards its conclusion.

Then, suddenly Zimbardo brings up Vaclav Havel, a playwright, imprisoned during the Communist occupation of his native Czechoslovakia, who went on to lead his countrymen out of passivity and into resistance, eventually becoming president of his nation. And now we’re suddenly listening to Havel himself waxing philosophical about conscience and courage.

Cut back to Zimbardo pointing to moms telling their kids not to get involved in troubling situations as programming for egocentricism and ignoring evil. Again, unfortunately it is only after spending all of Part 2 on overmedication that Zimbardo, in Part 3, finally returns to the roots in childhood.

The whole progression is just very scattered and often seems contradictory.

Now Coyote makes it sort of official that the film believes we are part of the fishead after all. This, to some degree, contradicts his own statement earlier in the film where he said that neither he nor the viewer, but rather someone else, created the financial crisis. But even if we accept that we’re part of the fishead, he asks, what can we do? Is there hope?

This mention of hope instantly reminded me of Derrick Jensen’s frequent frustration that, when he writes about unsustainability, editors so often ask him to end on a note of hope, as if he should tailor the writing to a reader’s desired feelings rather than write the truth and let it lead wherever it leads. This raised a red flag for me that would soon be proven warranted.

In order to inject this hope, Coyote introduces Nicholas Christakis and James Fowler, researchers whose work has illuminated the webs of interconnection between people, even strangers, as described in their book Connected: The Surprising Power of Our Social Networks and How They Shape Our Lives — How Your Friends’ Friends’ Friends Affect Everything You Feel, Think, and Do. Specifically, their work has shown that we have influence on others and they on us over three degrees of separation. In other words, we affect our friends, as well as their friends and their friends and vice-versa. This creates a sort of ripple effect of influence, which is demonstrated with some images of water ripples.

Fowler points out that this influence plays a role in spreading obesity, smoking, drinking, depression and loneliness, as well as happiness.

Christakis gets into the history of human social networks.

They then talk about how their work challenges individualism and free will, since it reveals that we are actually externally influenced in our decisions more than we realize. But Christakis says it also “lifts up free will.” This is portrayed as a very lofty, inspiring statement. But for me it was all very lightweight compared to the reality of the type of strategy necessary to counter pathocracies.

And then we get into the big idea – that social behavior can change through networks. Christakis says that networks magnify whatever they’re seeded with, healthy or unhealthy. Zimbardo talks about how having a social norm for what’s acceptable is important. As an example, he mentions how social norms around the acceptability of public smoking have transformed over the last twenty years so that now, rather than the non-smoker having to leave the room, as was the case in the past, it is the smoker that usually has to leave the room.

This network-based approach, I think, needs to be seen in relation to the fact that we live in an extreme hierarchy – a pyramid, as the film has put it – in which those at the top have massively more influence than others, especially when they are willing to use violence to enforce that.

Christakis and Fowler continue, talking about how if you are treated kindly, then you will treat those you interact with kindly and Fowler talks of how, since learning of the web of influence, he has tried to maintain a better mood so as to have a more inspiring impact on others in his network.

To me this line of thinking, perhaps useful in many cases, seems like a huge oversimplification when applied to systemic corruption of the type I Am Fishead deals with. We live in a world with exploiters. The entire first part of the movie focused on those exploiters. And now in Part 3, the world is being talked about as if they aren’t really there or can almost be ignored.

I haven’t read Christakis and Fowler’s work, so perhaps they address these concerns there. But I wondered how their ideas reconcile with studies of the prisoner’s dilemma. If their logic about kindness spreading in networks held true in terms of interpersonal game theory, wouldn’t it logically follow that, in the prisoner’s dilemma, you should always treat the other person kindly and they will almost always cooperate?

But, in fact, that is not what happens. Nor would you expect it to happen if you know anything about the co-evolution of exploiters and detection of them. Christakis and Fowler imply that if you do good yourself, you end up surrounded by goodness and good people. Am I to believe that the incalculable amount of aggression and violence that is the history of civilized human systems simply represents a failure of people to spread joy to those in their networks? I tend to believe there are some far greater structural issues involved.

Coyote then expresses another common concern, asking whether, if we do something for others, it will pay off and help turn the world around.

People on the street are then asked if being moral pays off. They say yes. This is just another example of how “fluffy” the film gets as it progresses. Earlier, this same type of “everyperson” character was revealed as a model of ignorance regarding the dynamics of social dysfunction when they had no accurate idea of what a psychopath is. Should we now find hope in the opinions of this same type when they claim that helping others pays off?

Not only do the anecdotal opinions of these people on the street tell us nothing about whether being moral really does pay off in reality. But, we already heard how psychopaths lie and wear masks. So, for all we know, one of these people advocating for morality could be a psychopath laughing on the inside while thinking about how easily they exploit those who actually think this way. As the film itself told us, we’d expect such a person to lie and promote altruism as a wise philosophy for others.

Havel now talks about how, early on in the Velvet Revolution, Czech dissidents were seen as fools for resisting the Communist authorities because people knew they wouldn’t succeed right away. But by doing it on principle, not because they thought they’d soon succeed, they eventually did succeed.

Then we go back to the street where more people pointlessly tell us how good it is to be moral.

Then back to Havel who waxes poetic on why we sometimes act with conscience.

Then Coyote comments on the paradox that earlier we considered why we shouldn’t just be psychopaths ourselves and now we feel motivated to do good.

Then in comes Barlow with another odd non-sequitir. He says that no matter how mad the world around you is, what matters is day-to-day life, which remains the same despite any larger-scale catastrophes. So we just heard from Christakis and Barlow how everything is connected and, earlier, Barber said that “indifference to the larger world” is a problematic side effect of antidepressants. Yet here, toward the film’s conclusion, comes Barlow telling us to focus on the day-to-day and not worry too much about the larger scale things.

Apparently now the larger scale things can be separated from the day-to-day despite the networks and webs and ripples. And the message from Barlow seems to be to take your focus off of the larger scale when it looks ugly and when it comforts you to do so. But didn’t we just learn earlier that if you don’t pay attention to the outside world, you’re indifferent and unempathetic, possibly due to psychiatric medication?

Then in another amazing oversimplification, Havel says we don’t have to invent visions of a better world. Just start behaving politely to those around you. I found this especially bizarre since we heard earlier that psychopaths usually do act this way, very charming as far as we can tell.

Havel then says:

“And it’s enough for them to do it in their own microworld. It can expand, it can spread like an epidemic, but it doesn’t have to. It stays forever in their microworld. But it’s always worth it.”

So now the entire “network, ripple, spread” concept, which was the entire source of hope, is deemed unnecessary. First we should be hopeful because good can spread in the network. But then, hedging the film’s bet, Havel says “But if it doesn’t that’s ok too!”

Christakis then says that if you are violent or transmit deadly germs or spread misinformation to someone, they will cut the ties and the network will disintegrate. He says altruism, love and happiness are required to sustain the network. This seems not to account for the fact that there are sadists and many masochists in these networks. It also contradicts what he himself said before – that networks will amplify whatever you put in, not only healthy things. In fact, he specifically said that, if seeded with them, the network will magnify germs, fascism, smoking and drug use. So, first he says both healthy and unhealthy things are amplified by the network. Now he says if you spread unhealthy things, the network disintegrates. Which is it?

Zimbardo then comes in with talk of the importance of heroes and how we need to promote those who step up to the task of calling out what is wrong and improving the world.

Coyote concludes by saying that we can deal with the fishead if we remember we’re in this together, stop looking at the top of the pyramid and look at each other. He says we need just 5-6% of the population to become aware because then nearly everyone will and asks what the viewer will do to get us closer to that goal.

What I Liked

I Am Fishead is a film that covers material that sparked some of the greatest epiphanies I’ve had in the last several years and, perhaps, in my entire life. In some ways, it does so rather well, especially in Part 1, which, though it didn’t blow me away, perhaps because I already knew most of the information, left me feeling relatively satisfied because:

• I thought it zeroed in nicely on some of the really central issues, such as the psychopath’s mask and how they are able to fool people
• It features and promotes to another audience some of the best known and most important names in this field of study – Robert Hare and Paul Babiak – along with their work. It was great to see Snakes in Suits, for example, serve so prominently as, really, the basis of Part 1 of the film. Hopefully viewers will be moved to check out the original research, ideas and books of these thinkers.

In addition, Babiak’s mention of the cost to organizations when psychopaths successfully mimic high performers while driving out the genuine ones provoked me to think about how systems might proactively differentiate between valuable participants and dangerous frauds.

I also found value in other parts of the film.

I felt the inclusion of Philip Zimbardo was merited and made sense and I especially found important his mention of how parents’ failure to distinguish between just and unjust authority leaves people vulnerable to being preyed upon by those unjust forces that portray themselves as just.

I learned a new fact in an area that I otherwise know pretty well when it was mentioned in the film that “Sibling Relational Problem” is actually listed in the DSM-IV – a likely absurdity of which I was previously unaware.

I was glad to see the film take on the issue of passivity amongst the public and its systemic role in enabling the perpetuation of destructive processes and advocate, through Havel’s story and Zimbardo’s discussion of heroes, for the moral courage that is a prerequisite for breaking out of this pattern.

One of the greatest strengths of the movie is that it brings such important ideas to life and drives their lessons home through visuals and audio in ways that books – the delivery mode in which I originally encountered most of them – cannot do.

For example, ever since I learned about it, I’ve believed that the fact of the distinct differences in brain structure and function, when processing emotion as well as during other tasks, between psychopaths (and those with certain other disorders) and normals is one of the most important realities in our world. I Am Fishead not only tells us about these differences, but, very early in the film, actually displays the stark contrast in brain scan images, making clear that, in the psychopath, we are dealing with a significantly different creature from the rest of us.

Sometimes the film cuts to a clip from another film that exemplifies a character trait being discussed, such as:

• When we are shown some footage from Nicole Kidman in Malice in conjunction with Hare’s story of creating the scene through which she could show the audience there was something else behind her psychopath’s mask by offering them a glimpse into her practice of mimicking.
• When we see a clip of Reservoir Dogs relevant to the brief mention of sociopathy

Sometimes I Am Fishead offers one of its stylized, quirky animations that, though frequently over the top, capture and symbolically represent central concepts. Early on, when the “I Am Fishhead” logo sinisterly appears in between images of despair and of people in power, it helps set a tone and make a point.

Other times Peter Coyote – whose presence and voice lend gravitas to the film – stares you in the eye or powerfully asks a question right in your ear.

This tactic is used right off the bat as Coyote opens the film by summoning up the deep visceral feelings of connection that a psychopath can elicit in us, a very appropriate way to begin since this talent lies at the heart of their ability to manipulate and maneuver as they do. This connection is later described as a “soulmate” feeling and called a “psychopathic bond,” a useful term I hadn’t actually heard before from this particular perspective and with which many who have associated intimately with pathological people will relate. At that point, the image of the bug trying to escape a bottle provides an apt visual metaphor for the experience of being caught in a psychopathic bond.

“Coyote power” is employed again later when the screen goes black and we simply hear Coyote convey the inner sensations of freedom that psychopaths, unrestrained by guilt and unrecognized by those around them, may enjoy – and which may even make us yearn to be like them. This rich description then continues as a symbolic image of a smirking, scheming man, representative of such a psychopath, fades into view.

Logan not only tells us about the “duping delight” psychopaths exhibit when challenged to mischievously outsmart someone, he demonstrates it.

We aren’t just told that 1% of the population are psychopaths. We’re taken through a brief simulation in which we are shown a crowd and then watch as a virtual search takes place on the screen in an attempt to identify who among the crowd is the psychopath. This really crystallizes, in a way that mere statistical data cannot, the fact that whenever we are in a crowd of any kind, a psychopath is usually in our midst and that we have no easy way of knowing who and what they are.

Interviews of the “man on the street” about what a psychopath is work well in demonstrating how unclear most of us really are on the subject. The viewer can relate to these people as they give vague or sensationalized responses and it raises awareness that they, too, don’t really precisely know.

When the concentration of wealth within hierarchy is discussed, a Monopoly game is shown to visually reinforce the message.

I even enjoyed how the words of Coyote’s explanation of what it’s like to be a psychopath were turned into a pretty catchy song that plays over the credits.

These types of approaches, which really engage the senses, may provoke deep consideration and help the material stick in the viewer’s mind.

What I Didn’t Like

Part 1 – Reducing Ponerology to Psychopathy

My only really significant complaint about Part 1 of the film is that it falls prey to the common mistake of treating ponerology (which, though it is never explicitly mentioned in the film by name, is certainly its subject) as if it is only about psychopathy. It shows images of corrupt bankers and world leaders and implies that they are psychopaths. In fact, some of them may instead have had Narcissistic Personality Disorder (NPD) or Borderline Personality Disorder (BPD), as was the diagnosis of Hitler in George Victor’s book. But these other conditions are not considered.

This leads to an oversimplified representation of the process of ponerogenesis, which more likely involves people with other disorders, as well as normals, in a complex dynamic strongly, but not solely, influenced by psychopaths.

Part 2 – Happy Pills Out of Context

While I had just one major complaint about Part 1, I make up for it with many complaints about Part 2.

In fact, in a way, I believe that the entire focus of the second section is extremely misguided.

Certainly overmedication is a problem. But I don’t think that it is the central problem that the film makes it out to be by devoting an entire part out of only three parts to it and then, in that part, illustrating it as it did. To claim that it is such a central problem is to focus on too narrow a slice of the bigger picture and to oversimplify an issue that is more complex and larger than this topic.

In fact, overmedication is, in my view, more a symptom of other deeper problems than it is a root cause of problems. After all, most people are not forced to take these medications. So why is society full of people who so frequently choose to take them? Of course, children are often forced to take them, but this just raises the question of why so many adults so willingly give them to kids. Finding answers to these questions requires us to climb further down into the rabbit hole.

Overmedication is a potent symbol of the emotional repression and suppression rampant in our culture. It is becoming a cause of problems. But it is not a root cause.

What’s really missing in Part 2, as I’ve said, is context. Overmedication is worth mentioning, but in the context of a larger problem, ponerogenesis, that has been playing out for a long, long time, since way before these modern “happy pills” came along and reinforced a number of dynamics that have always taken place in oppressive systems. It is misleading to imply that the medications were hugely instrumental in this process.

Such systems, hijacked by pathological people, routinely repress and suppress the emotional feedback that might lead to resistance in many ways, ranging from the use of patho-semantics to out-and-out violence. Parents, out of fear and/or blind obedience, through modeling and force, pressure their children to repress and suppress their authentic responses, as well (something eventually mentioned by Zimbardo in the film, but never in a way that puts the medication use in context along with it.) The culture at large also incentivizes these defenses. Such dynamics have been in operation for thousands of years and contributed to massive destruction and even world wars before the era of overmedication came about.

Medications are simply one newer, more modern means within this ancient mix.

The misunderstanding of this context is really conspicuously displayed when Gary Greenberg claims that Western civilization is based on the Golden Rule and resonating with others, as if to say that the impact of these medications is what threw it off of that foundation. Of course, Western civilization has, in fact, never been practically based on the Golden Rule. Its history is incredibly violent, bloody and genocidal – so much so that, again, I have even wondered if civilization itself wasn’t based on psychopathy from the very start.

And what makes this misunderstanding even more confusing is that the film itself contradicts Greenberg’s own statement just minutes after he makes it by showing a montage of historical acts of ghastly destruction. In Part 3, it shows even more of them, some so old that they are in black and white, even while seeming to argue that today’s catastrophes are in great part consequences of the overuse of psychiatric medications.

Now, given that the filmmakers did devote a whole part to overmedication, misguided and out of context as I believe it was to do so, how well did they make their statement about the topic and its importance?

I think the answer, even on this score, is extremely poorly, as evidenced, again, by the pseudo-conclusion of Part 2 uttered by Greenberg when he said:

“It’s possible to assemble a picture where it at least bears investigation what these two phenomena [overmedication and the irresponsible financial behavior resulting in economic crises] have to do with each other.”

This is such a weak major statement in a film that devotes an entire part to this topic.

I have often said that one of the things I frequently forget to take into account when strategizing about how to improve things is that millions of people are just plain drugged and emotionally and even cognitively unavailable. Overmedication is an important problem. It deserves attention and even its own film. Few people feel more strongly about that or have made more significant decisions in their life paths because of that belief than me. And the overmedication, like I said, is a powerful symbol of our irresponsible and self-destructive reaction to our condition.

But I just don’t think it is a root cause that deserves to be seen as one of three main contributors – two if you consider Parts 1 and 2 to be about problem description with Part 3 being about strategizing solutions – to our society’s unhealthy and unsustainable state. It is more like a piece of a larger part.

Part 2 should have focused on denial, repression and suppression as a whole throughout the entire destructive history of civilization. It should have talked about all of the many tactics and tools, with medication being just one, that have been involved for millennia in keeping people in line, unquestioning and unresistant.

Instead of waiting until Part 3 to have Philip Zimbardo talk about how parents tell their children not to get involved in troubling external situations, thus programming them to be egocentric and look away from evil, they should have included this message in a larger discussion of repression and suppression in Part 2. And the overmedication of children, enabled and encouraged by parents, could then be put into context as just one more expression of this age-old desire to keep children expressing the outward signs of feeling well even at the expense of their accurate perception of reality.

Just as a small closing note, I found it strange that, with all the discussion of corporate psychopaths in Part 1 and overmedication in Part 2, the two were never directly linked through consideration of whether psychopaths might be involved in the pharmaceutical companies or other entities with an interest in promoting the use of these drugs themselves.

Part 3 – A Copout of Strategic Thinking?

One of my biggest pet peeves is when someone attempts to spuriously sidestep or evade a problem – especially this one regarding the influence of the pathological on our systems – by conveniently taking the onus off of perpetrators simply because, as long as we admit they are responsible, we feel we have less control over the situation. It reminds me of when an abused child blames themselves rather than their abusers just because then at least they can believe in an internal locus of control, a mechanism that is an important survival tool for children but is inapproprate when used by adults claiming to seriously strategize about important threats in our world.

Unfortunately, Part 3 of I Am Fishead employs this evasive mechanism in spades. The entire part is based on the notion that “the problem is just as much our [the general public’s] fault as theirs [the pathological’s].” This claim is meant to evoke hopefulness because, if we are just as responsible for social dysfunction as the pathological, then we have the power to make a fundamental change without having to really confront them.

Zimbardo’s idea of there being a “gray line” between villains and heroes, though true in that there are plenty of people in that gray area, ignores the fact that there are some people that are far more in the solid black or white areas than others and is symbolic of this line of thinking. So is his idea that “nobody does evil knowingly,” which I think is patently false.

This is especially confusing given that, in Part 1, we were shown brain images of psychopaths and told about how their brain structure and function render them unable to process emotions or exercise conscience as others do. Did the film forget about that information by the time it got to Part 3?

It is also confusing given that, in Part 1, Peter Coyote mentions how it was not us that caused the financial collapse, for example, and that to understand how it happened we need to look not at ourselves, but at those in power. Apparently, in Part 3, that line of thinking was forgotten, as well.

Moving on, I found the “strategy” put forth based on Christakis and Fowler’s work to be a reach. If you recall, Christakis and Fowler showed that we influence and are influenced by people associated with us with up to three degrees of separation. They specifically said that the networks within the resulting web of influence transmit both healthy and unhealthy ideas and habits.

But then, suddenly, they start to speak about their work as if the very fact that we’re so interconnected makes for an inherently hopeful situation. They basically say that, since we’re connected in this way, we just need to go do good things and happiness and peace will spread. This struck me as a copout on so many levels.

1. Obviously, as the researchers themselves stated, the networks can spread dysfunction just as well as they can health, so there is nothing inherently hopeful in the connections themselves.
2. Our system is an extremely hierarchical one and that hierarchy is enforced with violence or the threat of violence. So if pathology is being forcefully exerted from above – from levels that, by definition, confer greater power than those below them – then the transmission of wonderful ideas and habits within the network on lower levels may not be sufficient to overcome that. And the tight interconnectedness can simply enable the pathology to spread even faster than it otherwise would.
3. It excessively disregards the existence and nature of exploitation, a factor that, evolutionarily and in game theory terms, will always be incentivized to some degree.
4. How can simply being good and polite to others be the answer when we spent significant amounts of time in Part 1 covering the fact that psychopaths simply mimic these behaviors. Nothing is said in Part 3 to address the profound implications of such deception even though they were so conscientiously communicated earlier in the film.
5. We live in an economic system based on and reliant upon constant growth, itself a quite possibly psychopathic model. This economic system is not merely an idea, but a physical reality. It isn’t something that just changing our attitudes or the messages we send each other can resolve.
6. We just finished Part 2, an entire part dedicated to claiming that one of the most central reasons for our unsustainable situation is that overmedication is so out of control and people so chemically numbed that it is likely directly contributing to economic collapses. You’d think the strategy put forth in Part 3 would have to address that. But no substantial link of this kind is really made between Part 2 and Part 3. We’re just told to be kind to people and that this kindness will ripple through the system without any explanation of how that can happen in a system full of overmedicated people unable to substantially experience their emotional feedback systems.

After the film competently set the stage in Part 1 by informing us of how fundamentally different from others psychopaths are, how hard they are to recognize and how skilled they are at insidiously influencing systems and driving healthy, constructive people out of prominent positions, this extremely weak “spread kindness through networks” conclusion was a huge let down. To be honest, it felt more like a pep talk than a realistic strategy session. I almost couldn’t believe the filmmakers would allow the film, after all the work that went into painting a complex and challenging picture of our modern dilemma, to climax (or anticlimax) with such an oversimplified idea.

To me the ending was full of “fluff.” Motivating people and building their courage to do “good” is a necessary part of the healing process. I certainly encourage people to influence their networks, as Christakis and Fowler advocate, with meaningful generosity, compassion and love. But if all this film does is convince people to do some vague “good,” without equipping them with the hard knowledge they need to successfully do so in an often paradoxical counterintuitive world full of and teeming with the values of pathological people and exploiters – of whom we must remain conscious and who, many times, we must confront – then it has done somewhat of a disservice. It might be forgivable in some other film to conclude with a feel-good inspirational message and leave the deeper education to others. But, by beginning with the provision of detailed information about the problem of pathological conditions within our hierarchy courtesy of people of Hare and Babiak’s stature, I Am Fishead sets itself up to be held to a higher standard.

This isn’t even to mention how the entire philosophy of just being polite and allowing it to spread as a main strategy for healing a dysfunctional world contradicts Havel’s statement that it’s “OK if it’s only your microworld” and Barlow’s that “day-to-day life,” not the big picture, is what really matters. If a person took Havel’s and Barlow’s approaches, as stated in those quotes, to heart, then the Christakis and Fowler strategy, which presumably is supposed to save us, might be dead on arrival

In fact, as we’ve seen, Christakis even contradicts his own message. As mentioned, he and Fowler describe how the network spreads both “good” and “bad,” whichever it is seeded with. But then, at another point, perhaps realizing how that view fails to support networks as inherently hopeful, he changes tack completely and suddenly seems to argue not just that the network can only transmit “good”, but that it can only even exist when seeded with “good” as opposed to “bad”. In so many words, he claims that the network relies on “good” to keep it going and that its very existence breaks down if seeded with “bad” because people will cut ties with those who spread “bad” things.

It’s painfully obvious from the state of our systems that networks do not only spread health and cheer. If they did, we would not see the spread of dysfunction in epidemic fashion like we do. Christakis was right with his first statement. Networks of these kinds can perpetuate and amplify both desirable and undesirable things. And, as long as that is the case, the simple fact of the connections’ existence does not imply hope.

Some of the people in Part 3, like Vaclav Havel, have done very impressive things in their lives. So you want to respect what they have to say. But, unfortunately, the line of thinking communicated in Part 3, from so many perspectives, just does not make sense or even feel serious to me in the end.

Scattered/Contradictory

Even in part 1, the film is a bit scattered and contradictory. But later, it becomes far more so.

A good example is the huge contradiction between two overriding philosophies both expressed at different points in the film. One tells us that it is “important to focus on the larger world beyond ourselves,” and that not doing so is a sign of dysfunction and one of the most concerning side effects of antidepressants, while the other claims that we should “focus on the day-to-day and not worry too much about the larger scale.”

Most troubling, though, is the film’s seeming inability to make up its mind and take a stand. Is the problem psychopaths? Parenting? Medication? Are we all responsible or are most of us victims? It would be permissible if the film’s message was that all of these are part of the problem. But it fails to even explain in a coherent fashion how they each play their roles in an interconnected system.

Overdone, Misleading and Contradictory Imagery

I mentioned that the use of imagery (along with audio) to reinforce important messages is, at times, one of the most effective aspects of the film.

But, as gratifying as this is when I Am Fishead does it well, it is just as irksome when done poorly for a few reasons:

• Some, depending on their tastes, may find the imagery jarring and over the top.
• Certain visuals – such as the constantly reappearing sinister “I Am Fishead” logo – can be overused, eventually losing their impact.
• As well as the film’s images work to reinforce accurate information, they work just as well to reinforce unsupported or misleading messages that would be better forgotten. A good example is when we are shown an image of figures swallowing down “happy pills,” leading one to turn into a devil, implying it has become a psychopath, even while we are explicitly told that it is “a leap” to claim one causes the other. Another example is when, as antidepressant use among financial professionals is discussed, we are shown an image of a meter implying, even if not directly asserting, that their PCL-R scores are rising in conjunction with the medications.

Meanwhile, the display of images of historical violence from bygone eras, in stark contrast to the insinuation that modern overmedication is a root cause of dysfunction, offers an example of how the imagery and messages sometimes conflict with each other. In this case, it is actually beneficial to the viewer that the images remind them of what other aspects of the movie have unjustifiably overlooked. But it is an inconsistency that reflects poorly on the film.

Interviewee Choice

In a world full of so many brilliant people who have done great work on the subjects focused on by I Am Fishead, I was confused as to why the filmmakers chose to include interviews with some of the people they did as opposed to others who might have made more sense. For example, when the filmmakers had the clout to attract people of the caliber of Hare, Babiak and Zimbardo, was John Perry Barlow really one of the more relevant people to interview? I have nothing against Barlow. He sounds like an intriguing person. But I just didn’t understand why he was high on the list of people to make part of this particular project.

Final Thoughts

I’m always on the lookout for a film I can recommend to people that, in one fell swoop, can convey to them a balanced, accurate, fact-based overview of the information about our world explored by ponerology. I had high hopes that I Am Fishead would be that film. Unfortunately, after watching it, I can’t say that it is.

Part 1 is certainly valuable to watch. It starts the film out on a worthwhile chain of thought and pretty competently lays out a summary introduction to the problems posed by the pathological among us enhanced with some audiovisual devices that help drive it home. Even for the newcomer to this subject, I wish it had discussed the other disorders that are relevant in addition to psychopathy. But it is more than enough to pique a viewer’s interest and point them in the right direction for further investigation. Thus, I can happily recommend Part 1.

It’s a shame that Part 2 and Part 3 didn’t keep pace with the quality of Part 1. In these later parts, the film becomes more scattered and misguided.

The filmmakers touch on different pieces of the ponerologic puzzle throughout those parts, but fail to explicate how they relate to each other so as to reveal a clear picture.

They don’t define the parts of the problem within a context that explains how they operate in conjunction with those covered in Part 1.

Where a sensible, meaningful, coherent strategy to address ponerologic problems is called for, they offer oversimplifications, apparently based on the premise that lack of kindness, rather than real structural challenges – such as those they themselves exposed in Part 1 – are involved.

As a result, I Am Fishead never takes a clear, focused stand on the problems of the day.

Part 2 and Part 3 are at best confusing and at worst divert people’s focus from the highest leverage point concerns and promote what I see as quite weak, naïve strategic advice.

These parts of the film, despite providing some relevant, interesting and inspiring information, are so misguided, in fact, that I feel that after recommending the film to people so that they could benefit from Part 1, I would have to warn them that if they plan to continue and watch the rest of the movie, they should take what is said in Parts 2 and 3 with a grain of salt and then look to other resources to round out their understanding of this subject.

I think that the reason the film turned out this way is that the filmmakers lacked an overall systemic framework, like that we can draw from ponerology, with which to help organize understanding of what is a very complex ponerogenic process. It looks a lot like a movie desperately in search of ponerology, but unaware of its existence. This makes sense since, when I briefly talked with Misha, he told me that, once people started hearing about the film, a number of them had made him aware of ponerology, but he didn’t seem to have known about it at the time it was being made. And this is also a great example of a situation that, by creating and promoting this website, I aim to prevent from happening again. I hope that the next people who set out to tackle this important and challenging subject will do so with the benefit of realizing that this field, which has so much to offer them and their audience, exists.

In the end, it’s somewhat disappointing. We badly need factual, grounded, non-conspiracy theory driven films to educate the public on this topic. But an unrealistic perspective in terms of context and solutions, no matter how well-intentioned or motivational, can undermine even a relatively successful basic education. And this is how I believe I Am Fishead ultimately failed.

The film, to its detriment, I think, tried too hard, in unjustifiable ways, to manufacture a sense of hope about our situation. And as a result, I come away from it without much hope that this movie will make a significant impact because it sets up a strategic challenge and then spends the rest of its runtime evading its implications. It may educate some people about the problem, but it may also do even more to lead them down a road of futility based on unsupported approaches to thinking about the situation.

Perhaps I’m wrong. In fact, I’d like to be wrong. I’d be glad to discover, to my surprise, that Votruba and Dejcmar’s proposed strategy – although I was so confused by the seeming contradictions that I couldn’t quite put a finger on what that is – works. But I’m highly skeptical.

Still, I’m glad this film was made because it may serve as an impetus for future filmmakers to take on this subject matter, which I Am Fishead explored with some success, and see it through to the extent that it deserves.

I Am Fishead, after its credits end, fades in with the famous quote from Albert Einstein:

“…the world is a dangerous place to live;
not because of the people who are evil,
but because of the people who don’t do
anything about it…”

While I believe that those who are “evil” actually are a large part of the reason that the world is dangerous, we presently have no simple, feasible and ethical solution available for eliminating that factor. So Einstein was at least correct in implying that our leverage point lies in encouraging the rest of the public to take protective and transformational action. I Am Fishead may make us aware of the need to do that. It may even help inspire us to want to do it. But it fails to tell us how to effectively do it. And that is where, for all the good it contributes, it falls short.