The Inner Life of Shaun the Psychopath

The Crowns

Close to the moment to his untimely death, the mind of Shaun the Psychopath wandered to a strange dream which he had dreamed when he was a young boy, where he was stopped by two strange men, drifters decked in rags, while walking home from school. It startled him, the situation being rather typical of a robbery, but one of the strange men, who had warts covering every inch of skin as if they were eyes, had something to give, not take from him "Kid, I have something for you now, but you have to make a choice, between two crowns of glory." He stuck out two closed fists before Shaun's face, continuing, "In my left hand, a white crown of purity, and in my right the red crown of the glory of martyrdom. What do you choose?"

Shaun was unfazed by the strange circumstance; after all, in a dream the most improbable things could be thought to be reasonable. "Both, I want both," replied he, with confidence. "You never said I had to pick just one. I shall choose both, and be a double king with double the glory." And here he glowed with self-satisfaction, glad that he has gotten the better of these two clueless strangers.

The other vagrant began to guffaw in the most unbecoming manner. "The tricky bastard! To think he is one of us!" He bent over and slapped his thigh mirthfully, his lips curling back to show two ghastly rows of teeth. The man's homely grimace and his ugly laughter then appeared to grow in scale and intensity, until it enveloped and overwhelmed all of Shaun's dreamtime senses. It was impossible to recall the events of the dream beyond this point.

Grandmother

The life of Shaun as a psychopath began when he was five, when his grandmother died. Grandmother had been brought to the household of Shaun's parents, to partake in the quotidian tasks of rearing Shaun. Grandmother had loved Shaun, had doted on him, had kept him happy and close to herself all the time they were together, while Dad and Mom both held on to jobs, and could not afford the same company. When Grandmother died, Dad beat himself up rather badly, thinking that he had been a bad son, for he was for the longest time distracted by the myriad demands of work, and did not make himself emotionally available for his family. It was for this reason that, when Dad brought Shaun onto his lap and hugged him close, tears of regret cascaded down the front of his face, like a waterfall.

Shaun watched the waterfall with a mixture of fascination and vague revulsion. He had never seen his father as vulnerable as now. He reached out absently to touch his father's face, feeling the tears first wetting the tip of his fingers, then filling the space between his fingers. Soon he decided that it was not enough; that he could not wipe away his father's tears as quickly as they would come, and that he has now been bound to this absurd task.

"Please always remember your Grandmother; she loved you very much," said Dad to Shaun's uncomprehending mien. He reached for Shaun's face to wipe off his tears in return, but found them to be very dry. 

What is Love?

Mom was frequently unhappy at Shaun. "You take my beauty and my youth; you take your father's blood and tears. You take, take, and take again!" she would lament, in each of the more intense of their familial disagreements, "When?! When will you finally learn to give?"

Shaun had nothing to say in reply. He was at a loss for words. He wished he could make sense of what the big deal was about, but he has, for once, no hope ever to win the argument.

Shaun understood very much that Grandmother had loved him, that Mom and Dad loved him still. By this we mean that as long as he asked for something, then they would give it to him; and if they refused and he asked more insistently, then they would relent and give it to him anyway. The world played by very simple rules, and the rules were that other people gave good things and love to Shaun, and Shaun took it all.

Why then does Shaun have to love? Why is that now expected from him?

Insulted by Shaun's blank and bewildered face, Mother snatched the slipper off from her own left foot, and bestowed upon him the gift of a hefty wallop.

The Missing Pen

When Shaun entered high school, Mom and Dad enrolled him into the school's hostels, where he would become a student in residence during the weekdays. Bereft of the help from Grandmother, they welcomed some respite from parental duties from this arrangement.

Shaun had grown to be a fine young man. He had grown out of his parents' smothering love. He was now ready to face the world on his own terms. He was now free to make his own decisions about everything.

But it was here that it became clear that this world was a harsh, barren, and unforgiving wasteland where no one loved Shaun. The teachers did not devote all their time and attention for him. His so-called friends did not give him absolute admiration, nor did they avail themselves for his service whenever he needed it. One day, during a sports meet, when he needed a pen for the attendance sheet, he asked around and no one had a pen. He grew more and more flustered, glowing red in the face, pacing up and down the grandstand demanding a pen, but his classmates only laughed at him, and told him to bite his own finger.

Shaun had taken accounts of all the little acts of disrespect the past few months. Now he could not take it anymore; his inner rage had shot past a critical threshold such that it was impossible to hold down. He launched himself at the nearest person, and tried to break his face with the clipboard.

Counsel

Madam knew Shaun to be a troublemaker, who was involved fights up and down the school. She had noted with amusement that Shaun was usually the one who started them, and also the one who always lost, or else was pinned humiliatingly to the floor by the onlookers. The lad presently entered, his eyes still red from breaking into a tantrum of tears randomly from his previous class; the teacher had sent him away for her for this very reason.

When she heard the words coming out of Shaun's mouth, she found she had to change her mind. Shaun was no wildly temperamental and violent creature. He was eager to please Madam, to rise to talk to her level, to articulate his thoughts, his emotions, and his motivations eloquently. Madam found herself almost convinced by his logic. She checked herself in case she had given in to sympathy for the Devil. In the end she did not give in. With the same stern gaze trained on Shaun, she pushed a print magazine across the table to where Shaun sat. The cover story was of the Pope in Rome.

"Read this. You have much to learn from his life," she commanded. And Shaun wilted faintly under the severity of her eyes.

The Theology of Monsters

God is Love. But, what is Love?

Shaun's friends had successfully duped him into going to church. It was in the city, where the Pastor had rented an auditorium which was their regular worship venue. The pastor came with a roving band of musicians: a bassist, a drummer, a team of guitarists, a light crew, and a dry ice machine to shroud the faithful in very mystical smoke whenever the mood called for it; at such points in the service emotions in the church ran so high that people raised their voices and their hands in praise and love to Jesus.

Shaun did not love Jesus. Shaun did not know how to love anyone.

He had no part in the swirling, bubbling, frothing emotions in the auditorium. He felt only embarrassment and inadequacy. Hoping that no one would notice him or call him back, he left on his own.

This incident notwithstanding, whenever he was asked, he would say: yes, I am Christian. On the grounds of Pascal's Wager, in fact. "Have you thought about this: that if you did not believe that there is a God, but there turns out to be one and he throws you into Hell because of your disbelief, then it only stands to reason that it is the best strategy to believe?" And everyone who heard this only smiled and shook their heads.

The Beach

Shaun stood out alone at the beach, looking out to the sea at the cargo ships. He rarely felt happiness as such, but this is as close as it gets to being happy, he thought.

I do not feel happiness, but I feel the breeze in my hair, he thought to himself, thoroughly satisfied.

I do not feel the pain of others, but I feel the sea spray on my cheeks.

I feel the clouds, I feel the waves, I feel the evening chill.

But I do not feel the love of God within me.

The sun set upon his thoughts, which had slowly grown to be dark and troubled. There was no longer any fun to be had; it was time to leave.

The Clashing Cymbal

There came a day that Shaun did something good. This came as a surprise to his acquaintances, who knew him to be evil.

He did not do this out of the goodness of your heart, they said among themselves. He is doing it for recognition and celebrity. He is a hypocrite.

When pressed about it in person, he replied: "Isn't recognition a pretty sweet thing to have?" 

When Shaun was in college, he rented a house with a some of his schoolmates for his Junior and Senior years. One of these long-suffering housemates was a very pious Christian, who held him in private distaste for his glibness and his unruliness in personal habits. One night, during a routine reading of the New Testament before bedtime, he arrived at these words of St. Paul:

"If I speak in the tongues of men and of angels, but have not love, I am only a resounding gong or a clanging cymbal."

At the moment when he had finished reading, the sound of a clashing cymbal wafted from the basement, followed by the insistent thumps of the kick drum, and the rest of the drum set. Shaun had started his drum practice again, this time at the crack of midnight. The housemate groaned loudly, and did not get any sleep for the rest of that night.

The Buying of the Field

A friend recounts at Shaun's funeral:

I had the chance of running into Shaun again, a few years before his untimely death. I was surprised to find him with a wife, two kids, and his own parents in tow at the mall. Ever since Shaun had made public his psychopathy, we had assumed that it would doom him to a life of delinquency and infamy. It was very hard to imagine that he had gotten himself a wife with anything other than wily tricks or force. This scene piqued my curiosity so much, that I asked to meet him for breakfast the very next day, where I would be free to ask any number of burning questions at him. Fortunately, Shaun agreed to the reunion.

At the breakfast table, I took a perfunctory sip of my coffee and brought my mug down upon the table with a loud thud. It was urgent, and I went straight to the point. "So, do you feel love now? How did that happen?"

"I do not," replied Shaun. "I still don't feel much of anything. Don't you remember? I am a selfish, self-loving man who only looks out for himself." He took a long, indulgent draught from his mug, feeling very caffeine.

"But your family, your wife, your children. You seem to love them very much, and do not hurt them in any way."

"Ah, but you see, as soon as I realized that love was not only about feelings, but about a decision that you throw your life into, then it became that much easier," said Shaun. "Doing things is what I'm good at. Besides, why should I hurt those who are close to me? That foolishness does me no good."

Then, I remembered my failed attempt at bringing him into my church. Against my better judgement, I asked him: "So, what about Jesus? Are you a believer at this point?"

Shaun did not answer immediately. Presently, a wicked smile spread slowly across his lips, and I felt a creeping, ominous dread. I saw the Shaun of old, the crazy man who started every brawl and lost all of them. Shaun the bully, Shaun the devious manipulator, Shaun the tempestuous demoniac; he has not changed one bit after all this time!

"I have found—listen here carefully—the perfect strategy!"

The perfect strategy was a leaf out of the book of Good Evangelist Matthew, whom he failed to credit, although I understood the reference: A man finds a priceless treasure in a field. He hides it again. Then he buys the plot of land, with the treasure in it, for the fraction of its price. "It's a real steal!" exclaimed Shaun. The mere suggestion of trickery and quick profits stoked his spirits.

"My family, my wife, my children, they are the treasure that I have found," explained Shaun. "What have I done to deserve them, other than forking out the money to buy the field?" He was ultimately aware, in a cold, rational manner, that he was describing a fruitful relationship with the Almighty God. Nevertheless, he took much joy and amusement from the idea that he was always coming out better against him in a series of very unfair trade-offs. It is for this reason that I believe he died a very happy man.

James Tissot. The Hidden Treasure/Le trésor enfoui, 1886-1894. Collection of Brooklyn Museum

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References and Notes:

1. Matthew 13:44-46 (The treasure in the field; the pearl of great price)
2. 1 Corinthians 13:1
3. An interview with Dyshae, who is diagnosed with antisocial personality disorder.
4. Recalling the contents of the interview, I realize that I have missed a few important aspects of what it is like to be a psychopath. However, I have resigned myself to be happy just covering things the aspects of emotions and theology.
5. The story of Shaun as a teenager is semi-autobiographical. If you knew me in high school and are reading this right now, I duly apologize for having been a horrid little man.
6. The conversation with the school counsellor was something that actually happened. The year was 2004. Pope (now St.) John Paul II had recently passed, and Time Magazine had his face on their cover for that week's issue.
7. Disclaimer: If your name is Shaun, the choice of name has nothing to do with you. All Shauns I know have been very nice.