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Proverbs for Paranoids and the Culturally Schizophrenic
by ADM
“I’ve got to do something to make you understand.”
—John Hinckley Jr., in a letter to Jodie Foster, written shortly
before he stalked and nearly killed thenPresident Ronald
Reagan in 1981.
The paranoid generate plots. They create systems of belief founded on whispers and
intelligences of suspect origin. They are the individuals versus society often found in 10th grade
novels and juvenile poetry, who subvert the establishment and are continuously on the run from
cabals and government. They are recluses who plan great crimes and commit petty ones. Their
plots often feature historical implications and death threats, crimes with no witnesses, and the
famous.
The Modern Psychosis. Paranoia is not limited to the psychologically unstable. The same
clinical terms and diagnoses psychologists employ in the discussion of paranoia can apply to the
culture we inhabit. The Cold War brought about a nagging sense of impending apocalypse, a
creation of the Soviet Union as an Evil Empire with dark means of watching or controlling us.
McCarthyism, our national persecution complex, imbued Americans with the belief that
Communism was a virus destroying our body politic. Soon after, our government created a
delusion of grandeur, assuring us we would win Viet Nam, have the smartest children, and
always be at the top of the global economy. Occasionally, the paranoids in the government
hatched their own plots: radiation experiments, Watergate, most of Hoover at the FBI, Iran
Contra. These schemes were a dream come true for civilian paranoia, since imagined
conspiracies grew indistinguishable from the real. The Chinese injected me with plutonium, and
the government approved. The CIA is following me, stealing my glasses. The Contras have
occupied Baltimore, at the encouragement of the Bush administration.
With changing decades, America poured like concrete into its cities, and the specter of
communism gave way to the specter of crime. This gave Americans an attitude of acute
ambivalence toward the cities which, although prophesied as new centers of civilization,
sprawled into unmanageable, unmappable, capitals of fear and confusion. Industrial smog blurs
a person’s sense of self. Where once she had a town and family to support her and her identity,
the city dislocates these and sends her reeling into a highrise of unknowns. It becomes difficult
for citizens of the city to connect with their surroundings, and this disconnection brings fear.
The fear scares the inhabitant into stagnation — stick to the routine and you won’t get hurt —
until the routine fails in the face of the urban sprawl, maybe after personal experience or simply
extreme fear of crime. The citizen then realizes no routine can escape the chaos, a discovery that
leads to the breakdown of the pattern and the scattering of thoughts. This condition is
schizophrenia.
Proverbs for Paranoids #1: You may never touch the Master, but you can tickle his creatures.
Postmodern Psychosis. The greatest example of schizophrenia is John Hinckley, Jr., the
disaffected young man who tried to kill President Ronald Reagan in 1981. His life is so
paradigmatically schizophrenic, it borders on the cliché. What makes Hinckley remarkable,
however, is that he succeeded in doing what only a handful of paranoid schizophrenics have
ever done: he touched the Master.
Schizophrenia, generally speaking, involves three primary subtypes, alluded to above. First, the
schizophrenic may be paranoid, e.g. he believes himself to be a historically significant person or
victim of persecution. Second, he may be occasionally catatonic, or prone to sitting around,
saying and doing nothing for quite a while. Third, he may suffer from hebephrenia, or
disordered, chaotic thoughts. (Incidentally, schizophrenia is not equivalent to Multiple
Personality Disorder.)
Each of these subtypes has its own set of symptoms and peculiarities, and Hinckley seems to
have at least brushed with almost all of them. The symptoms of schizophrenia include
delusions, hallucinations, loss of boundaries between self and nonself, blunted or inappropriate
emotional expression, socially inappropriate behavior, loss of social interests, and deterioration
in areas of functioning such as social relations, work, and selfcare.1 Schizophrenics also are
wont to express happy ideas in a sad manner, or vice versa. As with paranoia, many of these
symptoms can be projected onto society at large. In other words, what is true for Hinckley on a
particular level, is in many ways true of our culture as a whole.
1Grolier’s Encyclopedia, 1993.
Most people know two things about John Hinckley: (1) He tried to kill President Reagan, and (2)
he was obsessed with actress Jodie Foster. Behind these two facts is a schizophrenic life deeply
entangled in the Martin Scorcese film Taxi Driver. In that movie, a cab driver named Travis
Bickle (Robert DeNiro) is disgusted with the filth of New York City, and decides to do
something about it. He becomes obsessed with a campaign worker (Cybil Shepherd), stalks a
presidential candidate with intent to kill, determines to rescue a twelveyearold prostitute (Jodie
Foster), and then kills a handful of sleazy types in a grisly scene. The papers make a hero out of
the vigilante Bickle.
In his early college years, Hinckley identified closely with Bickle. He all but lost the boundary
between self and nonself, reality and nonreality. The similarities between Hinckley and Bickle
are striking, and it is remarkable that Hinckley was able to translate the film so effectively into
real life. When in college, Hinckley fabricated a girlfriend so his parents would send him more
money. In Taxi Driver, Bickle writes a rambling letter home, in which he exaggerates the
relationship between himself and Cybil Shepherd’s character. “Her name is Betsy,” he writes. “I
am sorry I can tell you no more due to the nature of my work for the government.” At college,
Hinckley underwent long periods of depression and despair, mirroring Bickle’s feeling that “the
days move on with regularity, each one as same as the next.” This may have been the near
catatonic phase of Hinckley’s life. For Bickle, the days were so similar, he may as well have not
moved at all. During a recess from college, Hinckley again lied to obtain money from his
parents, and went to Yale to meet Jodie Foster, who played the prostitute Bickle tries to save.
Hinckley met Foster, though she brushed him off. Shortly after, Hinckley began collecting guns,
in emulation of Bickle, to be sure, but also as a paranoid reaction to the crime he saw rising in the
cities. The change in regularity for both Hinckley and Bickle comes with the purchase of guns, a
fact which indicates their shared feeling of inadequacy or weakness when trying to cope with
the mass of people. After frequent target practice (also a scene in the movie), Hinckley began
stalking President Carter.
The stalking of a national figure points to a paranoid fantasy. Often, the schizophrenic imagine
relationships with famous people, as if to put themselves in the same circle of power as the
object of their stalking. In that sense, the schizophrenic is parasitic, drawing power from
important people in order to compensate for their own feeling of impotence. Shortly before
attempting to kill President Reagan, Hinckley said in a recorded message, “I can’t hurt anybody,
really. I’m a coward.” The ability to remain close to a famous person — such as a President —
even while agents try to prevent you from getting close, is a victory, a statement of worth.
For many paranoids, the President is the fountainhead of conspiracy. The collected power of 250
million people in one accessible, cosmetic, public figure makes for easy association with the
troubles of those millions. In the mind of the paranoiac, if one wants to eliminate his problems,
he first builds his own power by stalking the president, as though in preparation for a much
greater task and, at the right moment, kills him. The action steals the power of the President
and invests it in his assassin. “One day you and I will occupy the White House and the peasants
will drool with envy,” predicted Hinckley on a postcard to Foster.
One symptom of paranoia is the notion that a person is a historically significant person. That
this idea is characteristic of abnormal psychology indicates the meaninglessness of the normal
life in contemporary society. According to psychological norms, individuals should be lost in the
crowd, faceless and flat among the masses. Citizens of the city may often find themselves
feeling this way, given the difficulty of observing the highrises and throngs, and steel believing
oneself significant. Few rise to that level of importance, and those few are generally famous.
The desire to contribute, to be wellknown and famous, is not unusual. Many, if not most,
fantasize about the possibilities regularly. That desire seems to be at the root of Hinckley’s
behavior. Attempting to overcome the crowd, Hinckley committed a reprehensible act, just as
Bickle does in the last scenes of Taxi Driver. Before the attempted assassination, Hinckley
considered two other alternatives to killing Reagan. Maybe I’ll hijack a plane and demand Jodie
Foster as ransom. A typical way to gain power quickly; very popular in the early 1980s.
The other choice — recently in vogue — was mass murder, a favorite past time for violent
paranoids. Colin Ferguson, the Long Island commuter train gunman, thought the world was at
bottom a racist conspiracy out to persecute him. The Postal Service, the country’s largest and
most widespread bureaucracy has a history of paranoid attacks by frazzled employees seeking
to escape the machine. Hinckley’s plan was a peculiar inversion of Bickle’s rampage. He
considered mass murder at Yale, wiping out the country’s wouldbe upper crust, the cabalistic
hands behind the puppets. Whereas Bickle wiped out the pimps and sleazy johns, Hinckley
would storm the future of America. Instead of these, he went after the history of America, in
the form of Ronald Reagan. This action, more than any other, would propel Hinckley into
textbooks alongside Reagan. “Inside this mind of mine, I commit firstpage murder. I think of
words that could alter history.”
In Taxi Driver, Bickle stalks and is about to shoot a leading presidential candidate, when the
Secret Service spots him and he flees. Hinckley succeeded where Bickle failed: the former drew
and fired, touching the master of masters, the actorpresident, the Great Communicator, the
Great Conspirator. Hinckley, in a moment, leaped from anonymity into timeless notoriety, by
exploding the hierarchy that oppressed him. This is the postmodern burst into celebrity.
Hinckley’s identity became synonymous with the image of the crime, just as Lee Harvey
Oswald’s merged with the Zapruder film and the struggle in the police station basement. As
with Bickle, Hinckley’s ego was validated in the media coverage. What he wanted was fame, to
be on the same level as the President and a beautiful actress. Unlike Oswald, Hinckley lived to
see it. It is appropriate that Hinckley’s act intertwined with the media, because it originated in a
fiction, a film. Hinckley’s merging of the real and the fiction began when he saw Taxi Driver and
reached its zenith when he fired.
The Larger System. American culture in general fits the diagnosis of John Hinckley. The
widespread yearning for significance, the selfobsession, the dominant idea of historical impact
and moral justification are all typical of the American spirit. Hinckley’s rambling thoughts
(“This mind of mine doesn’t mind much of anything unless it comes to mind that I am out of my
mind”) are typical of postmodern literature. When authors attempt streamofconsciousness,
freeanddirect discourse, and similar narrative techniques — even with psychologically healthy
characters — their efforts often read like journals of the schizophrenic.
According to critic Albert Borgmann, “the nation’s mood is sullen.” Borgmann wrote these
words at the nadir of the economic recession, and recent statements of selfappointed experts on
our generation seem to agree. Jimmy Carter made similar declarations fifteen years ago when he
was president. He observed the country was stuck in a “malaise,” a period of inactivity and lack
of motivation. Carter’s comments came at around the same time John Hinckley, Jr., was
suffering depression and despair, a period of inactivity and lack of motivation. Carter was a
better psychologist than we might have guessed.
It is characteristic of schizophrenics to undergo periods of despair and then burst into a flurry of
activity. Hinckley broke out of his depression, but then entered mania, collecting guns, trying to
rescue prostitutes, and finally, shooting the president. At the same time, America began to
escape its own despair. With Ronald Reagan at the helm, (and thanks to gimmicks like junk
bonds, which seemed to intermingle real money with imaginary money) the American economy
gathered unprecedented strength and inflated to dangerous levels. After his manic period,
Hinckley moved to a hospital. After American’s manic time of economic growth, we
plummeted to the other end of the economic spectrum.
Concurrent with American financial insanity, cocaine began the glamour drug of the jet set, and
the addiction of the poor. It cut across social boundaries like the best postmodern trends,
completely reversing the previously established hierarchy. Cocaine ruined the famous and the
wealthy and made millionaires of sixteenyearolds. The drug put everyone who used it on the
same desperate level, severed from reality. Use of cocaine enhances one’s reality. Users claim
they see and hear more clearly, feel strong and potent. These feelings are typical of a
postmodern phenomenon known as hyperreality, in which the artificial exceeds the benefits of
the real, at least on a superficial level. A significant psychological byproduct of longterm use of
cocaine is toxic psychosis, or druginduced paranoia. Cocaine, then, seems like the perfect
schizophrenic drug, in that it mixes reality with unreality, encourages mania followed by
despair or catatonia, and results in paranoia. On another level, cocaine and similar drugs had
much to do with the rising crime level in the United States during the 1980s. The tide of crime
sponsored a kind of national paranoia toward the drug and its users. The widespread use of
cocaine helped to prevent anyone from feeling removed and safe.
Proverbs for Paranoids #3: You hide, They seek.
The Fearful Life. This paranoid schizophrenia has led to a new way of living for many
Americans, from crossing the street at the sight of another person to buying a gun or moving
farther away from the city. Human relations have changed because an almost inherent fear in
everyone toward everyone else. The gun control debate centers on the fear of crime, and devices
such as The Club and Mace sell to millions, as though a plume of peppergas will mask the larger
fears destroying a person’s peace of mind.
The close relationship between paranoia and capitalism is clear. Retailers push often useless
commodities onto terrified consumers, capitalism is in some way responsible for the economic
conditions that precipitate crime and fear, and certain groups have turned to the private sector
for solutions to crime. Giant real estate developers have begun building smallcity sized
development in the Nevada desert outside of Los Angeles. Simple adjustments such as carrying
a can of Mace or not going to ATMs after dark are no longer enough. Living without fear, for
some, requires not only changing one’s lifestyle, but changing one’s life.
Developments such as these aim to protect the mental and physical wellbeing of their
inhabitants. “People want safety from threats both real and imagined,” one development
manager says. The developments tend to adopt a smalltown, rather than bigcity, look to
appeal to the residents’ nostalgia for the crime and fear free days of the Eisenhower era. The
management decides the size and look of mailboxes, gardens, and (of course) property walls for
each house under its jurisdiction. They limit freedom not to provide safety, but rather to
provide the look of safety. Says one commentator, the development is “a simulacrum of a real
place.” Indeed, at least one development has hosted its share of fringetypes, including a mass
murderer. The opportunity for a truly safe, largescale environment seems to be deteriorating
rapidly. “Even Eden — designed by God — had its serpents,” one critic observes.
Our society seems incapable of functioning without schizophrenic tendencies. The cyclical
nature and the obsessive nature of the country seems as naturally ingrained in American history
as television and the Masons. We cannot help but plot or build conspiracy theories. These
paranoid activities pass the time, serve as an intriguing alternative to formal education, and
perpetuate the flow of information. We place ourselves in paranoid situations precisely because
it gives us the opportunity to be paranoid, to create our own story. Any conspiracy, whatever its
subject — JFK, UFOs, radiation — always adds to our cultural identity. The consipiracy is our
mythmaking device, our attempt to understand what machine drives the world around us.
Sources:
Borgmann, Albert. Crossing the Postmodern Divide.
Grolier’s Encyclopedia, 1993.
Guterson, David. “No Place Like Home,” Harper’s Magazine. 11/92.
Newsweek, May 24, 1982. 5661.
Pynchon, Thomas. Gravity’s Rainbow. (All “Proverbs for paranoids”)
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