Although the perspective of being an outcast helped me perceive the truth of our shared humanity, this perspective revealed another vital truth. Because problems such as environmental destruction, nuclear weapons, and war threaten human survival, we must learn to navigate these dangerous waters as a global human family, or we will drown. To save ourselves from drowning into extinction, we must journey deeper into darkness to reveal what makes humanity so powerful, vulnerable, and unusual.
The World’s Most Unusual Predator
When I was twenty-nine years old, I went to a therapist who works with traumatized veterans. She was aware of my violent upbringing and put me in a light hypnotic sleep, saying this would reconnect me with the fourteen-year-old boy I used to be. By the time I was fourteen, I had lived in terror for ten years, afraid that my father might kill me, unable to trust the parents who were supposed to protect me, suspicious of all human beings.
As her soothing words put me into a light hypnotic sleep, the therapist asked me to imagine myself standing in a room with my teenage self. She said, “The fourteen-year-old boy you used to be is handing a gift to the twenty-nine-year-old man you are today.” She described how the gift was elegantly wrapped like a Christmas present, with festive wrapping paper and an ornate bow. Then she said, “This gift is a peace offering from the child you used to be. You carefully remove the beautiful wrapping paper and lift the lid on the box. What gift do you see, and what does this gift represent to you?”
I replied, “I see my father’s decapitated head.” After pausing for a moment, I added, “To me the decapitated head represents safety. After living in terror for ten years, the only way I could feel safe was if my father was dead, and the only way to make sure a human being is dead is to remove the person’s head.”
Some people may look down on me with condescending judgment when they read this, believing that their lack of childhood trauma makes them morally superior to me. But I will explain how extreme trauma can cause anyone to fantasize about violence, just as extreme hunger can cause anyone to fantasize about food.
Imagine if a giant snake—five times your size—had slithered into your home when you were four years old. This snake randomly bites you with its massive fangs, often when you least expect it. Sometimes it bites you in your sleep. Sometimes it coils its huge body around your tiny frame, squeezing without mercy until you think it will kill you. Imagine living with this dangerous snake for ten years of your life, from the ages of four to fourteen. Your parents cannot protect you from this predator in your home. No one can.
Imagine spending your childhood with a dangerous and unpredictable snake that goes wherever it wants. It slithers into your bedroom, through the living room, and across the kitchen floor, biting you randomly, strangling you repeatedly, making you fear for your life continually. You cannot always see the violent serpent because it usually hides deep within your father’s mind. But you know it could show up at any moment when you least expect it, on Thanksgiving Day or Sunday afternoon. And you are helpless to stop it.
If your parents cannot keep you safe from this predator, at what point do you take your protection into your own hands? After living with this snake for so many years, you would probably fantasize about killing it. Then you might fantasize about cutting its head off, just to make sure it is dead. Eventually, you could develop fear and hatred for any creature that resembles a snake, causing you to fantasize about killing all snakes, not just the one in your home. If growing up in these terrifying circumstances caused you to lack empathy for snakes, would anyone blame you? Would anyone judge you?
If you were at school, would all your fear of the giant predator living in your home miraculously disappear just because you are taking a test? Wouldn’t your frightening, unpredictable, and confusing home environment—which you must return to every day after school—make it more difficult to concentrate in class? Wouldn’t the terror that haunts you make it harder to pay attention to the teacher? If you felt that no person on earth was willing or able to protect you, if your agony had to remain a secret, and if the snake was not a snake at all, but was in fact a human being whom you had once trusted with all your heart, a part of you might begin hating the entire human race.
When my father died in 2004 from a stroke, my terror did not magically go away, because childhood trauma can leave wounds in our mind, like metaphorical scar tissue etched across our brain. When fire burns our flesh, a scar can remain on our body long after the flame has died. In a similar way, when human beings betray our trust in traumatizing ways, a scar can remain in our mind long after those who hurt us have perished.
When people quote Nietzsche’s attitude, “That which does not kill us makes us stronger,”28 they often do not acknowledge how severe psychological trauma can maim and scar our mind, just as a severe physical wound can maim and scar our body. It is possible to heal our psychological wounds when we embark on the challenging spiritual journey that allows us to find light in darkness. My lifelong spiritual journey has allowed me to find the light of empathy in the darkness of trauma.
Although I felt indescribable terror for much of my childhood, I have used these painful experiences to increase my empathy for the suffering of others. Today I can feel empathy for people from all walks of life, and I can perceive our shared humanity that transcends skin color, national identity, and political viewpoints. My empathy grew strong because of my trauma, but I had to work hard to find the light of empathy in the darkness of trauma. The light did not appear automatically; through great effort I gradually uncovered more and more of its radiance.
Just as the pain of lifting a heavy weight can strengthen the muscles in our arms, we can use the painful experiences from our past to strengthen our muscle of empathy. Transforming my agony into empathy gives purpose and meaning to my suffering, which has helped me heal. When we use the weight of trauma to strengthen our muscle of empathy, the painful experiences from our past can still hurt occasionally, but we may find that the pain becomes easier to carry.
Later in this book I will share many more insights that reveal how I found light in darkness. For now, I must emphasize that we don’t have to experience extreme trauma to strengthen our muscle of empathy, because we can also grow our empathy by improving our understanding. For example, learning about the causes of aggression has dramatically increased my empathy, and all people can benefit from a deeper understanding of aggression. Before we can explore what causes aggression, however, we must first discuss the psychology of predators.
The most powerful predators on earth can be afraid of becoming prey to other animals. Many grizzly bear cubs have been killed by wolves, and many lion cubs have been killed by a variety of mammals on the African savannah. I once saw a wildlife documentary where a herd of African buffalo spotted several lion cubs in broad daylight. Even though buffalo are herbivores, they went after the lion cubs and used their horns to kill them, while the adult lions ran around frantically, unable to stop the attacking buffalo. Lions kill countless buffalo every year, but this time the lion cubs had become the prey.
Many people in our society do not know how predators usually deal with other dangerous predators in the wild. When I give lectures around the country I often ask the audience, “When a hungry grizzly bear and hungry pack of wolves both want a dead deer carcass, what usually happens?” Most people in the audience either say “they fight” or “they share,” but the grizzly bear and wolves usually do something else. They posture.
Posturing happens when an animal makes noise or tries to appear larger in order to frighten away a creature it perceives as a threat. In my book The End of War I use the term warning aggression to describe posturing. Warning aggression can be seen when a bear roars, a wolf growls, and a cobra lifts its body and spreads its hood. Warning aggression is a nonviolent form of aggression that tries to prevent violence.
When a rattlesnake expresses warning aggression by shaking its tail, we know it is trying to tell us “leave me alone” rather than “come over here and pet me.” An animal that expresses warning aggression is basically communicating “I don’t want to get