Inside a Mass Murderer's Mind

By Jeffrey Kluger

If you want a sense of just how terrible Monday's crimes were, here's something to try: imagine yourself committing them. It's easy enough to contemplate what it would feel like to rob a bank or steal a car; you might even summon a hint of the outlaw frisson that could make such crimes seem appealing. But picture yourself as Cho Seung-Hui, the 23-year-old student responsible for the Virginia Tech bloodbath, walking the halls of the school, selecting lives to extinguish and then ... extinguishing them. It is perhaps a measure of our humanity that we could sooner imagine ourselves as the killed than as the killer, and find it easier to conjure up what it would feel like to plead for our lives than to take someone else's.

That is where the hard work of trying to make sense of a crime like that at Virginia Tech always hits a wall. We can debate, as we predictably do in these cases, what an incident like this means for our endless national argument about guns and violence and the coarsening of the culture. That's well-mapped ground. What remains uncharted is the unlit places in the minds of the people who are capable of doing these things -- and, by extension, in all our minds. What is it that makes individual members of a usually empathetic species turn rogue? How does one of our most primal faculties -- the ability to understand that things that cause me pain or fear would do the same to you and that I therefore ought not do them -- get so completely shut down? Is empathy optional, at least in some people, and if so, how does that emotional decoupling take place? More important, if we can figure out that part of the question, can we figure out how to prevent such things from happening? "We always ask ourselves, 'Is this a person who has no conscience at all?'" says Stanton Samenow, a forensic psychologist and author of the 2004 book Inside the Criminal Mind. "They seem to have an unfathomable ability to shut off knowledge of the consequences, of the difference between right and wrong. It's critical for us to try to understand that worldview and mental makeup."

For all the ink and airtime that follow an attack like the one at Virginia Tech, mass murder is an exceedingly rare crime. The rate of killings in the U.S. involving five or more victims -- one generally accepted definition of a mass killing -- represented less than 1% of all homicides 25 years ago, and still does today. Among kids, the overall violence figures are actually plummeting, with the number of children under 17 who commit murder falling 65% between 1993 and 2004. Mass killing, says Diane Follingstad, a professor of clinical and forensic psychology at the University of South Carolina, "is a low baserate thing. It just does not happen very often."

When it does happen, the people likeliest to commit the crime fall into a drearily predictable group. They're 95% male, and 98% are black or white -- not a big surprise since more than 87% of the population is made up of those two races. Cho, a native of South Korea, is a rare exception. If the killers' profiles are all more or less the same, however, their crimes aren't. The best known -- or at least most lurid -- of the mass killers are the Ted Bundys and Jeffrey Dahmers, the serial murderers whose crimes often play out over decades. In most cases, people who commit such murders are driven by a dark, even sexual pleasure, and while remorse is often associated with the acts -- which accounts for the long lapses that can occur between them -- those tuggings of conscience are quickly overcome by the impulse to kill again. "There is a charge and a thrill associated with the murders," says Samenow.

That does not seem to be the case with a mass murderer who kills at once. Few people who are in a position to observe a Dahmer at work survive to talk about it, but plenty of people present at shootings like those at Virginia Tech or Columbine High School in Littleton, Colo., in 1999 make it out alive. And what they describe about the killer's mien as the shooting is taking place sounds nothing like a person who's thrilled by -- or even much enjoying -- what he's doing. There is, survivors report, a cold joylessness to the proceedings, something that in its own way is a lot harder to parse than the perverse pleasure of a serial killer. What makes mass murderers do it? Trying to find the much-looked-for snapping moment -- the one inciting incident that pushes a killer over the edge -- rarely gets you very far. Cho's lethal outburst, by all accounts, may have been simmering for months, if not years. In 2005, after Cho sent harassing messages to two female students, a Virginia court ruled him a danger to himself and others. His package of angry, self-pitying videos, stills and text, sent to NBC News on the day of the killings, probably took days to prepare.

"Snapping is a misnomer," says Dr. Michael Welner, associate professor of psychiatry at New York University School of Medicine. "These people plan to carry out a mass killing without any indication of when they will do it. Instead of snapping, imagine a cage that someone has the capacity to unhinge. They simply decide that today is the day."

Mass murder, in short, is not a random act. There are things that explain it. Psychosis, for one, can never be ruled out. Russell Weston, a 41-year-old killer who went on a shooting spree in the Capitol Building in Washington in 1998, was a paranoid schizophrenic. Brain injury in an otherwise healthy person can lead to similar violence. Damage to the frontal region of the brain, which regulates what psychologists call the observing ego, or the limbic region, which controls violence, reflection and defensive behavior, can shut down internal governors and trigger all manner of unregulated behavior. "Somebody who had damage to both regions would be a bad player for sure," says forensic psychiatrist Neil Kaye, a faculty member at Jefferson Medical College in Philadelphia.

From everything we know so far, however, Cho was suffering from none of these things. Any wounds that he carried were deeper, psychic ones -- and in all likelihood, he shared them with most of the mass shooters who have gone before him. In many ways, the profile of the mass killer looks a lot like the profile of the clinical narcissist, and that's a very bad thing. Never mind the disorder's name, narcissism is a condition defined mostly by disablingly low self-esteem, requiring the sufferer to seek almost constant recognition and reward. When the world and the people in it don't respond as they should, narcissists are not just enraged but flat-out mystified. Cho's multimedia postmortem package exuded narcissistic exhibitionism, and the words he spoke into the camera left no doubt as to what he believed -- or wanted to believe -- was his own significance. "Thanks to you," he said in one of his many indictments of his victims, "I die like Jesus Christ."

Narcissism is not the only part of the psychic stew that leads to mass murder. Among the additional risk factors experts look for is a history of other kinds of emotional turmoil, such as depression, substance abuse or some kind of childhood trauma. After the Columbine killings in 1999, the Federal Government commissioned a study of 37 incidents of school violence from 1974 to 2000 in an attempt to sketch some kind of profile of likely campus killers. In general, the investigators found that more than half of all attackers had documented cases of extreme depression, and 25% had had serious problems with drugs and alcohol. "People will often say that the killer was such a quiet boy," says Follingstad. "Then you talk to the family and find out he's had three previous hospitalizations and was mumbling something he was angry about for weeks."

A less well-documented percentage of mass killers have also been physically or sexually abused. Just a day after the Virginia Tech killings, Cho's graphically awful writings -- playlets that deal with the molestation of young boys -- began appearing on websites. The writings are not proof that he experienced similar mistreatment, but they certainly raise questions. "These things can percolate for years," says N. G. Berrill, a forensic psychologist and professor at John Jay College of Criminal Justice in New York City. "Quite often there is an early event where they are submitted to violence or are marginalized."

That last feeling can be the real problem. Where there's marginalization, there's a profound sense of powerlessness, and powerless people tend to hit back. More worryingly, it doesn't take grave abuses like molestation to leave people feeling so minimized. Parental or spousal indifference or dismissal -- or at least the belief that it exists -- can have a similar effect. If the world outside the home seems to be conspiring in the mistreatment, the sense of invalidation grows worse still. It may be true that none of us suffer a lost job, a busted romance or a failed exam easily, but to someone already highly sensitized to such setbacks, they can be intolerable. "These are people who are already angry," says Samenow, "and when things don't go the way they want them to, they personalize it. They take out their rage not on the person who hurt them last, but on the whole world."

Something like this is what appears to have happened with Cho. When he blew, he blew savagely. Not only was the sheer body count on the campus horrific, but so was the relish with which the victims were killed. Doctors in the hospital where the survivors were treated described their injuries as "brutal," with each of the victims sustaining at least three bullet wounds. Of course, plenty of people fail tests and end romances and even suffer unspeakable abuse as children. And while there are a lot of narcissists in the world, many of whom crash and burn in their personal and professional lives, only an infinitesimal fraction of even the most unstable people lash out in remotely as violent a way as mass killers do. So what should we look for in people for whom such a homicidal rage is a real risk?

Age is an indicator, but an imperfect one. Adolescents and people in their early 20s are not famous for good judgment and sober reflection. Indeed, recent neurological studies reveal that the brain doesn't even finish laying down all its wiring until deep into the second decade of life -- far beyond the babyhood years in which scientists once believed this basic work got done. "Adolescents tend to take more risks in general and tend to be more impulsive," says psychologist William Pollack, of McLean Hospital in Boston. "Boys [especially] are socialized into the idea that such behavior is OK."

While teens lack wisdom, however, they're generally spared the long lifetime of frustrations and setbacks that can contribute to murderous rampages in older killers -- the fired post office employee or office worker who suddenly reappears and guns down his former colleagues. "We see people with a job or a relationship that defines them," says Dr. Anthony Ng, assistant professor of psychiatry at George Washington University. "When that is shattered, they decide that they have nothing else." Opportunity and unlucky serendipity play a big role too. People with ready access to guns are likelier to use them than people who have to work to get their hands on a weapon. A household in which problems are settled violently, or at least in a volatile fashion, makes acting out less alien as well. What your culture -- national, ethnic, religious -- teaches you about how to handle rejection or, worse, humiliation can be critical too.

As these factors accumulate, killers in the making remain surprisingly cool, all the while strolling toward the edge. That is what makes mass murder especially chilling. Eric Harris and Dylan Klebold planned the Columbine assault for months, buying guns, practicing their aim, even designing their own shabby bombs that were intended to blow up the building. Cho bought the first of the two pistols he used in his killings on March 13, then bought the second just days before the murders -- decorously observing the 30-day waiting period the state of Virginia requires between handgun purchases.

Throughout the slow, deliberate smolder that leads up to the shootings, all mass killers also tend to disengage from the people around them. More and more of their emotional energy becomes consumed with planning their assault and, tellingly, with what often appears to be a newfound fascination with firearms and other weapons. "The quiet is the problem," says Welner. "The anger and rage just get bigger and bigger and seep into a fantasy life, and the person becomes increasingly alienated and isolated and contemptuous."

The fully annealed killer who emerges from this process is a cold and deliberate thing. The time he's spent rehearsing his carnage is a big part of what causes the actual execution of it to appear so disciplined and free of emotion -- or even pleasure. That, however, does not mean that mass murder is conducted entirely without feeling. For the killer, the powerlessness that came from a sense of victimization has been replaced by its perfect opposite -- a heady experience that may produce an implacable serenity on the one hand, or the eerily jocular banter that surveillance tapes picked up between Harris and Klebold in Columbine on the other. Making the gunman calmer still is the fact that he has long since convinced himself that the world brought the carnage on itself. Because nobody is exempt from membership in that world, nobody's exempt from the line of fire either. "You forced me into a corner. The decision was yours," were among the most disturbing lines in the suicide videos that Cho left behind, but they may also have been the least original.

However long it takes the killing to play out, when the crime is finally over, the shooter almost never expects to survive. Indeed, he typically doesn't want to. Achieving the state of nihilistic certainty that's necessary to commit the killings is one thing; crossing back to the world of the living afterward may be well-nigh impossible. "They are both homicidal and suicidal," says Pollack. "After the attack they are simply waiting for the next step, which they assume is the police shooting them." Most killers don't wait even that long, taking their own lives before whatever killing room they have barricaded themselves inside can be stormed.

If there is a hopeful lesson to be drawn from this week's tragedy, it's that people planning mass murder sometimes seem to recognize the dark place they're headed toward and, even as they're cooking up their carnage, send out warning signals. The federal school study after Columbine found that in more than 75% of cases, at least one person had knowledge of the killer's plans. In 40% of cases, that knowledge actually included detailed descriptions of precisely where and when the attacks would happen. Klebold and Harris went so far as to post their lethal ruminations on the Web. The key, Pollack insists, is for friends and family members to be alert to these and other cues and to act on them -- fast. "Connection, connection, connection," he says. "It's through these connections that people in authority, when they hear certain things, can provide the appropriate help."

The larger culture can help as well -- particularly the media. It may be uncomfortable for any journalist to admit it, but the flood-the-zone coverage that usually follows mass murders simply confirms a potential killer's belief that what he sees as his small and inconsequential life can end on a large and monstrous chord, even if he won't be around to enjoy the transformation. "We glorify and revere these seemingly powerful people who take life," says Kaye. "Meanwhile, I bet you couldn't tell me the name of even one of Ted Bundy's victims."

Sadly, Kaye's indictment is well founded. But he's also right in his choice of words. People like Cho are indeed only seemingly powerful. In an open culture with cheap and plentiful guns, any fool can kill a lot of people. For all the loss and suffering such a shooting sparks, it is in fact a weak and furtive act, one that masquerades as a gesture of sublime power but is really an act of confusion and cowardice. The very purpose of the murders, Welner explains, is to give the shooter the last word. Unfortunately, what he says when he at last has that chance to be heard is: "I surrender."

With reporting by Barbara Kiviat, Alice Park and Carolyn Sayre/New York