I suppose this is the human condition, this sneaking suspicion of our own badness. It lies at the heart of our fascination with people who do awful things. Something in us—in me—chimes to that awfulness, recognizes it in myself, is horrified by that recognition, and then thrills to the drama of loudly denouncing the monster in question. The psychic theater of the public condemnation of monsters can be seen as a kind of elaborate misdirection: Nothing to see here. I’m no monster. Meanwhile, hey, you might want to take a closer look at that guy over there.
