Psychopathy in the Army

From a reader:

As a veteran reading “Natural Killers – Turning the Tide of Battle” by Major David Pierson, I was a stricken by the assumption that it’s sociopaths who make up “natural killers” on the battlefield.  A member of Joint Special Operations Command, I was one of the guys sneaking around at night snatching up all those high value targets in the war on terror.  I was also a sniper in one of these units.  More than one source of data suggests psychopaths are drawn to commando units and sniper teams in particular.  Hell, I remember feeling a vague sense of discomfort after reading the last DSM criteria for ASPD, which listed impulsivity, aggression, tendency to break social norms, enjoy alcohol, and engage in a series of sexual relationships with little emotional attachment.  Most of us in my unit really enjoyed our time overseas, had fun in combat, and still crave the thrill of assaulting an objective.  The implications are… unnerving.  

But despite Pierson’s presumption, there’s a more nuanced perspective of ASPD, psychopathy, and sociopathy in relation to his idea of natural killers on the battlefield.  I believe archetypal psychopaths, though drawn to commando units, typically wash out of the elite selection processes.  This is because elite military units require a strong sense of social cohesiveness.  

Major David Pierson’s research draws heavily from Colonel Grossman’s research for his book On Killing, which drew heavily from the Gen. Marshall study on soldiers’ ability to kill following WWII.  Pierson describes an experience in Iraq, in which he witnessed a friend of his, a soldier, who had become battle fatigued after a brief fire fight.  He described the soldier as being “shaken by the episode,” and “not a natural killer.”  A natural killer wouldn’t have been shaken by the incident above.  A natural killer, Pierson goes on, is callous, adventurous, possesses a dark sense of humor, is athletic, and enjoys fighting.  

These are all the common traits of the unit I served with, and traits which couldn’t describe me better.  My unit rarely had problems with guys being battle-fatigued, and never had problems with guys failing to pull the trigger when needed.  Indeed, Pierson points out that aggressive psychopaths seek out positions in “airborne, Ranger, and special forces” units.  However, Pierson jumps to the conclusion that natural killers in combat are necessarily aggressive psychopaths.  After all, the traits described above do not necessarily a psychopath make.  In fact, they only apply to some facets of the diagnosis for ASPD in the DSM.  Though many expect most of us to be sociopathic, there’s actually limited data to suggest psychopaths are overrepresented in the profession. 

In my experience, commandos do have a certain profile that is almost ubiquitous in the industry.  Obviously, thrill seeking is the biggest prerequisite for special operations, but other, maybe surprising traits tend to pop up in the community.  We tend to be obsessive, single minded kind of guys, so the addiction trait is quite, quite common (every guy I know, including myself, are mild to severe addicts).  Next is some form of mild Attention Deficit Disorder.  Last, the guys are generally smart and eccentric.  These are not the “military” types you see running around with cropped haircuts and army boots in their off time (think – Marine) though they are tough guys.

That being said, some traits above do tend to mesh with some ASPD criteria.  Being an elite soldier means jumping out of planes and helicopters, mastering weapons of violence, applying medical trauma skills at the EMT-P level, and enjoying hand-to-hand combat.  There must be a powerful intuition to suppress emotions and engage in violence.  So to a certain extent, lack of empathy and remorse, a desire to break social norms, impulsivity, and aggression are prerequisites of the job.  While Pierson’s essay encourages leaders to identify natural killers in their units, the selection process for special operations units does a brilliant job finding them, institutionally.  

The selection process for elite units can be divided into two major assessment portions.  The hard physical selection weed-out process, like hell-week for navy seals’ Basic Underwater Demolition School, or the first week of the Ranger Assessment and Selection Program, coerces groups of cadets into performing strenuous group activities which depend on cooperation.  These drills require a sort of pack-like behavioral sense for cadets to succeed.  I can’t stress enough how socially demanding group drills are in a selection setting.
On the opposite end, however, comes individual talent drills which do not allow for others to pick up any slack.  One way the army selects for individual talent draws heavily from the British commando schools of the 40s, by requiring land navigation challenges, orienteering for the civilian reader, to assess whether an applicant can think on his feet and surmount arduous physical demands without any help from a comrade.  Land navigation, basically being dropped in the woods with a map and compass and told to find a bunch of points, is the LSAT or GMAT for the commando.  I suspect an intelligent psychopath could thrive on the latter, though struggle with the former.  

It’s hard to explain the mindset of working in an elite military unit.  While individual skills are necessary to succeed in the environment, group cohesion is equally important.  Small unit movements are a thing of awe.  Each member of the team works off one another, effortlessly, to flow through rooms, maintain 360 degrees of security, and achieve an objective.  There is an almost preternatural sense of being aware what the entire unit is doing, an exercise of reptilian and mammalian brain functions.  It takes a degree of yes, empathetic feeling to experience this as second nature.  The less you have to concentrate on what everyone else is doing, the more your cognitive attention can focus on what’s in front of you, and how to accomplish the larger mission.  This takes a lot of practice.  I would conjecture that the psychopath, who has a remarkably lower blood flow to the socially activated portions of the brain, would have a harder time concentrating during small unit tactics.  At least he’d have more difficulty developing the bonds necessary to thrive in the environment.  

All that being said, during my time as a DOD contractor and commando in Afghanistan and Iraq, I did come across what you’d call a traditional psychopath, albeit rarely.  I’m talking about the archetypal psychopath, the guy who stares at people and makes them uncomfortable, the guy incapable of reacting to other peoples’ emotional states without effort, who genuinely won’t feel guilty after a bad shooting incident, who sincerely enjoys playing head games with people.  But they had a hard time staying in a crew.  Sometimes it’d be the occasional inappropriate assault, sometimes the attempted murder of a comrade (yes, I’m not kidding).  There were a couple guys I knew, though, traditional sociopaths, but smart enough to fake it and control themselves to gel on a team.  I tended to enjoy their company, actually.  There’s a lot of entertainment to be had with a legit sociopath. 

Last, Pierson makes some great observations in identifying killers in a unit.  Overwhelmingly, guys in special operations come from middle-to-upper class backgrounds, are extroverted, and have higher technical scores than the rest of the military.  The class background in particular warrants further study.  While many who join the military do so for job skills or college money, men who enlist for commando units have no expectation of gaining either of these.  The types who volunteer for a professionally worthless job skill do so for adventure, and little else.  Ironically, volunteering for the most arduous, Hollywood positions in the military comes from a position of privilege.  I still struggle to wrap my head around that.  

Ultimately, I suspect most true aggressive psychopaths drawn to commando units wash out during some point of the selection process, or are kicked out because they either have a hard time getting along with comrades or get caught conducting illegal activity.  Otherwise Pierson’s description of a natural killer is pretty accurate.  To most of us who thrive during our time in a deadly unit, we have just enough ASPD traits to do well, but also enough empathy to flow as a cohesive unit and genuinely care for one another in the event of a casualty.  You could say we have ASPD in all the right places.