Representations of Evil, Part III: Post-Modern Evil

Hi, and welcome to Studious! I’m your host, Stuart Byers. Each week on Studious, we try and parse out life’s greatest riddles. We’ll tackle topics of particular interest to me, and hopefully to you, the listener as well. If not, consider this one of those great podcasts to fall asleep to.

We’ll be wrapping our three-part series today on Representations of Evil by discussing Post-Modern Evil. Last week, we examined Existential Evil through the works The Painted Bird and Eichmann in Jerusalem. This week, we will examine Post-Modern Evil through some less obscure works: David Lynch’s Blue Velvet, Brett Easton Ellis’ American Psycho, and The Secret History by Donna Tartt. If you are unfamiliar with The Secret History, it’s kinda like Dead Poet’s Society plus Heather’s mixed with a little orgiastic hedonism of Oliver Stone’s The Doors.

       When we begin to consider the Postmodern worldview in its representations of “evil,” we do so with the benefit of psychoanalysis and sociology compounding on the philosophical works of the modernist and postmodernist alike. Previously, in our Metaphysical Worldview, “evil” was contingent upon God’s will; any acts committed outside his sanction were viewed as transgression. Indeed, most of these Judeo-Christian laws came to be the very same ones that have governed Western civilizations since. When man enters the Post-Metaphysical era, God ceases to be the center of the universe with Nietzsche, and man replaces him in his stead. “Evil” then becomes gleaned through a lens of transgression against man and his stewardship and dominion over this world. With Postmodernism, we again see another shift, where man is forced to reconcile with his place within this universe. A certain hubris is understood in the futility to reign supreme or the ability to do so. Man questions his reality and begins to understand that not only is reality a subjective experience, but also one perhaps experienced only sleepily at the wheel, as we discussed previously with free will and our unruly subconscious mind. Perhaps we’ve been piloting this ship through a hazy automation all along.

I need to pause here to discuss the concepts of simulation and simulacrum, as posed by French philosopher Jean Beaudrillard back in 1981, the same time my boy Mandelbrot was getting all cray-cray with his fractal geometry. With his work, Simulacra and Simulation, Beaudrillard had this notion that all of reality was becoming inauthentic, that reality itself was being replaced with symbols and signs, and that we were all experiencing a simulation of reality. I think we are all familiar with the concept of a simulation, as we have been watching movies like The Matrix, or playing video games (which we can thank my boy Mandlebrot again for the evolution of these immersive 3-dimensional worlds that have been created). “Simulacrum” is a concept a little harder to define, and if not define, to comprehend. Simulacra (plural) are  copies that depict things that have no original, or no longer have an original. Perhaps the best illustration of this concept is Pinnochio. He’s not a real boy, just a copy, of which no real boy was a template for, or if you look at the modern representations, a boy who no longer exists. Simulacra don’t need to be anthropomorphic, like androids and robots, they can be inauthentic places, like Disney World, or if you’ve traveled much, Disney-fied port towns visited by cruise ships like Cozumel. In late 2021, I went to Dubai to visit the World’s Fair Expo. I had imagined it in my mind to be this exhibit of wonder, where the Tony Starks of the world would be exhibiting their latest marvels. Turns out, it’s just one giant Epcot, or travel brochure for the countries involved. Anywhoodle, we took a little boat trip on the river around quote old Dubai. Turns out, Dubai is a city only 50 years old. As we wandered Old Dubai, it had an old-world bazaar feel to it. The commodes in their latrines had the rustic chain and handle flush mechanism. Merchants peddled their wares, many fine scarves and bric-a-brac. One store even had old trinkets that seemingly only belonged in Western mancaves. Once we happened upon the Baskin-Robbins of Old Dubai, I finally appreciated the fact that we had been duped. That nagging feeling scratching at the back of my brain was always there, but I just couldn’t put my finger on it. I was experiencing a simulacrum of an old town in the Middle East. Probably more to the point, I was in a representation that closely resembled the set of an Indiana Jones film.

Artificial reality and Disney were at the forefront of Philip K. Dick’s thoughts, as he was living near that Magic Kingdom a stone’s throw away in nearby Santa Ana. Hopefully we will circle back around to his thoughts about the Jungle Cruise when we revisit Dick in a future podcast.  For now, we gotta keep this Big Thunder Mountain railroad on track. We were discussing how we might be passive passengers on the railroad of life.

       To further complicate this predicament, through simulation and simulacrum, man’s experiential living becomes further muddied by an inauthentic feedback loop, where outside influences of commercialism begin to subtly guide the course of our thinking and history. Of course, man has always been influenced by his fellow man, but now his values and morality shift to achieving status or judging it subconsciously based on societal cues. We see these values parodied to great effect in Blue Velvet with their offhand comments about beer and how each brand itself becomes a shorthand for class distinction. If we get into simulation and representation, we are afforded a certain shorthand in the hyper-real for status though product placement. Collegiate Jeffrey likes Heineken, indicative of his education status. He wistfully recognizes Budweiser as The King of Beers, as if by sharing the slogan, he recognizes the truth it implies. Frank is working class, evidenced by his excitement for “Pabst Blue Ribbon!” In American Psycho, we get seemingly banal descriptions of popular music, sold to us as well merited through critical analysis and depiction, yet these insights are devoid of true artistic consideration. It’s reflective of the excess of the 80’s, and how values shift from substance to packaging. As wealth was masquerading as being more democratized, the manufactured realities helped extend the drives for success, material excess, and ultimately drove the engine of consumerism and accumulation.

       With Blue Velvet and American Psycho we get into the loss of conscience in relation to psychopathy, Machiavellianism, narcissism, and sadism, or more commonly referred to as the dark tetrad. With Frank Booth and Patrick Bateman, we witness a fractured psyche, endemic of the worlds they inhabit. This postmodern view that tries to understand the contingency upon where “evil” is birthed seeks not to assign blame on nature nor nurture, but instead reconciles a combination of both. In this postmodern worldview, acts are evil, humans are broken. Furthermore, humans possess the ability to infect each other with this “evil,” as impressionable Jeffrey or sympathetic Dorothy are infected by Frank by entering into his world. We all hold within us this penchant for the self-serving, the attraction to the dark, especially when impressionable (which could be argued a lifelong condition). The characters of The Secret History perhaps display this best. In the tale, a small group of gifted students distance themselves from campus life and society at large in the attempt to become masters of Classic Literature. During a drug-filled bacchanal gone awry, the wacky youth kill an unsuspecting local. This crime leads to further tension and subsequent murder as the gang wrestles with morality, conscience, and in-group dynamics.

Their narrative could best be seen as a trade of conventional morality for the preservation of the immediate group. Since everything can be judged based on perspective, values and morals shift simply from an importance of one group over another. One could view Adolf Eichmann as an extension of this ethos. The utilitarianism metaphor of the train switch operator becomes immediately more palatable if you include othering in your optimization of “serving the greater good.”

       If we are to understand these representations of postmodern evil in The Secret History, we must view morality on this sliding scale of perspective. When we are born, we are taught the rules of the society of which we are to participate, and consequently like all societies, this period ends when we achieve adulthood. From there, we take all the rules we have acquired for conducting oneself, and slowly we begin to learn which rules are hard and fast, which ones are guidelines, and which we should ignore altogether. We’ve all been at that abandoned traffic light, red, at four in the morning. Who among us blindly adheres to rules that beg to be compromised? Heroically, just who are we saving in that moment? The ritual is empty, except for an unimaginative, blind obedience to authority. As adults, we learn which rules to obey in public, and which to break in private. The wealthy have always known that certain rules do not apply to them, and are freer to explore these taboos in private, daring never to flaunt their perversions among the peasants. Homosexuality, (in the late 80’s/early 90’s context) group sex, incest, these were topics broached most delicately. If morality is the rubric by which we judge evil, what is morality when we wear our virtue on our sleeves (in modernity… on social media for all to peruse). Virtue then becomes a commodity, like everything else; it’s surface and superficial, of no tangible quality and is worthless. We glean this through the townspeople’s behavior once they find out Bunny is dead, with not much concern past the monetary when he’s found to be missing. It also serves as a cathartic release, this play acting. Going through the motions of feigned grief. It’s a participation that solidifies the ritual.

       Rules. It’s a system of rules by which one adheres, but ever so mindful are the wealthy. Rules are the morality by which their peers judge them (hence Bunny’s mother being ostracized for her son’s drunkenness at the time of his departure). Here we have a group of misfits (smart enough based on pedigree) but lacking any purpose or usefulness, studying the academically archaic. Destined to be the end of their extension of class and faux aristocracy. Rites, routines, rules and rituals. The bacchanal represents an abandonment of all that, of order, of control, inviting in the chaotic (later we learn that it is in this surrender that Henry finds his confidence, breaking from his analysis paralysis). Bunny, for all his predilection for guidance through routine, (much like the unimaginative Eichmann) adheres to rule and ritual because he himself is chaotic. It is this unpredictable nature (as well as his personal sadism and antagonism towards the group) that makes him unreliable and a threat to everyone’s survival.

       It is almost certainly of note the deterministic and fatalistic tone of the novel paired with the tragedy of the Greek. So, we also get this case of simulation: of art imitating art or previous literature. Bunny becomes a character in his own tragedy through death. He becomes sympathetic to all that knew him previously as unpleasant, much in the way the deaths in Heathers conjure a sympathetic stance from those who knew better. Having no real life experience, Richard interprets his reality through the simulation of reality found on television, of justice being served, the bad guy always getting caught. He conjures memories of Quincy solving crimes through medical pathology, much in the way Seth Rogan confesses in Superbad to once believing that all crime scenes were covered in semen, making that DNA identification all the easier. Truth be told, people get away with murder all the time. The societal narrative tells us that we will always get caught as a deterrent for crime. It’s a rule masquerading as a truth. 

       Morality is a system of guidelines designed to live one’s life within the confines of a society. It’s always with others in mind (no cop, no stop). Mind you, our narrator in The Secret Garden often feels hurt and betrayed by the ingroup, yet he’s just as self-serving and opportunistic as the rest of them. He uses Judy whenever it suits him. It’s similar with our other bildungsroman protagonist, Jeffrey in Blue Velvet. We are kind of along for the ride with Jeffrey as the "do-gooder," because he represents youth, but he knowingly beds a woman who is married and distraught, being repeatedly raped to keep her husband and child alive. So, we construct our own narrative, that he's actually "consoling" her. And he's not officially "with" Sandy, played by a nubile Laura Dern, because she has a boyfriend. So, he continues to play boy-detective, but it's not until Dorothy, played by Ross’ celebrity pass, the one and only Isabella Rosellini, it’s not until Dorothy shows up naked on the front lawn, that he's quick to distance himself from the ailing widow. Frank at some point issues that Jeffrey is just like him. We see how Jeffrey has caved to his own brutality when he hits Dorothy. It's almost as if there's this seedy, underground world in which those who've experienced it are instantly opened to seeing "the really real," or perhaps more akin to eating the fruit in our ancestral garden. It acts as a contagion. Jeffrey is diseased from this underworld the moment he finds the ear and touches it. He's now part of that world. This is evidenced by Dorothy's repeated, "he put his disease in me." Sandy also says to Jeffrey, " I can't tell if you are a detective or a pervert," to which he responds, "that's for me to know, and you to find out." This acts in two-fold: he chirps off a childish trope (which is a simulation) and responds like a total creep (illustrating how he’s become tainted). Jeffrey seemingly adheres to the societal values best when he’s in society’s immediate view.

       Bizarrely, as the postmodern seeks to examine representations of “evil,” it casts its “heroes” or protagonists (Hell, even the antagonists) in a very forgiving light. The focus seems to be more on the “whys” of human behavior, immediately shelving any judgments of personal accountability. We see humans as participants in the play of life, barely in control of their destinies, fumbling through their lines. Their participation it would seem is perfunctory, like the aforementioned sleepy automaton. It seems rather poetic then to harken back to the original automaton bildungsroman, Pinocchio.

       Pinocchio offers humanity probably the best enduring allegory for not only coming of age, but the actual assimilation of the simulacrum to reality or humanity. When Pinocchio is deceived by the charlatans into skipping school to pursue the craft, we feel for the protagonist for his obvious naivety. Once he has his scrapes with Stromboli, he emerges a little the wiser. When he again is suckered into truancy to enjoy the hedonistic bacchanalia of Pleasure Island, we lose our sympathy for the character. Now that Pinocchio has seen the darker nature of the world, we are less forgiving. He now must face accountability for his actions. We hold the puppet to a higher standard than we do the Ivy League.

       For all our deterministic (or universal causality) views of the human condition, it’s impossible for our egos to wrestle with the image of losing total control of our free will. The bacchanalia in The Secret Gardenoffers an allegory for this symbolic loss of control, for if we aren’t actually in control, then who are we to blame? These sentiments are probably why there exists such a strong push for anti-intellectualism. Theoretically, we are probing so ineffectually that conventional wisdom prevails befuddled. I was once asked, “in light of this postmodern lens, if ‘evil’ actually exists anymore.” Theoretically, I will assert that which was previously asserted: acts are evil, humans are broken. However, (and this is an adamant however) all the pontificating in the world won’t stop you from seeing evil in the person who rapes or murders your child. Humans are not simple automatons; we are guided by emotions: those nasty prehensile tails of evolution leftover keeping us from rational bliss. No amount of rationalizing, however pulchritudinous, will erase our ethos. Even if morality is superfluous and guided by perspective, it will forever be shaped by emotion. Our inherent biases cannot be rationed out of us no matter how many critical theories we study. Our perspectives will always be unique to ourselves individually, and “evil” will lie in the eye of the beholder. Perhaps beauty and terror conceptually are interchangeable here.

Why is Evil More Interesting than Goodness? 

       It’s more interesting to talk about evil, because we love taboos. Being “good” and following the rules is what is expected of us (it’s perhaps of interest to draw a distinction between lawfulness and goodness. As previously discussed, when I was a child, I couldn’t fully understand the distinction, so I was extremely puzzled by the classifications presented in the character alignments found in Dungeons & Dragons). We all live to do the unexpected. We spend a lifetime learning so many rules that we don’t necessarily agree with, those arbitrary dictums created by bureaucrats. So, we constantly wrestle with which rules are ok to violate and under what circumstances. These aren’t just civic laws governing society, but all the imperceptible societal rules we observe based on learned behavior and social cues. Some of the cultural norms only can be rationed with the illogical pretense of tradition.

       There’s a story going around about a daughter who asks her mother why they always cut off the ends of the ham before putting it in the oven, a tradition in their family. The mother is perplexed and suggests she asks her mother, the daughter’s grandmother.

“Grandma, do you know why we cut off the ends of the ham before placing it in the oven?”

“I honestly don’t know, that’s how my mother always did it.”

Frustrated, the daughter seeks council from the last reliable witness in this procession, the great-grandmother. We’ll paint a sunnier picture of this encounter with the spry octogenarian happily toiling away in her garden.

“Great-grandma, why do you cut the ends off the ham before placing it in the oven?”

“Why, dear. My pan was never big enough to fit a whole ham on.”

It’s interesting to me that there was such a focus on Eichmann not being of a particularly creative nature. It really shouldn’t be to me anymore. We humans prize creativity perhaps more than any other ability. It’s the skill that made us skillful, to be pattern seekers and tool creators. We also know that all creativity stems from breaking the rules and thinking outside the box. We value creativity so much that independently, through many cultures we have these gods of creation. These are the gods that do not follow the rules. It’s no coincidence that these trickster gods like Loki, Coyote, Raven, and Prometheus helped to create by breaking with tradition.

When I initially began my voyage back into academia, my first persuasive paper in composition was all about these tricksters and biological con artists like the cuttlefish. I used their deceptive practices and creative influence to proffer a varying viewpoint on cheating (both academically and professionally). This was many moons ago, but  it seems almost prescient now if one views some of the most popular shows recently on streaming services: The Tinder Swindler, Bad Vegan, and Inventing Anna. We are fascinated by those with the gall to break the rules. These stories of confidence schemes serve as cautionary tales, but we secretly champion these hucksters. Why? It all goes back to this prized creativity. Furthermore, we understand the daring it takes to shun society and its rules, to risk getting caught, and the possible grand benefits that could reward those who dare. With Prometheus, we get fire. The narrative has us all believing he has an eagle eating his Wolverine liver for an eternity as recompense for his cunning, but in reality, it wasn’t so serious. Depending on the authors, Heracles would eventually free Prometheus for this offense. In the Western mind, Prometheus stands in as a symbolism for the pursuit of science and technology itself. It’s no wonder that the first science fiction tale is titled, “Frankenstein, or The Modern Prometheus.” Here man finally gets to play god, and in doing so fashioning the ultimate creation, a creature made in his own likeness. This rendered golem or homunculus created by Dr. Frankenstein is actually the perfect representation of a simulacrum. It’s a tragic perversion of form, which Plato would perhaps laugh about knowingly given his views on the world of perfect forms.

It's cute that we used to selectively characterize some tales as “morality plays,” but in the drama of life, is there really anything else? We just find new perspectives and vantage points of which to view our morality, to constantly reaffirm what values we hold true. It’s why we tell stories. We examine the human condition and share our knowledge allegorically. It’s what we’ve been doing after the hunt for time immemorial, ever since Prometheus saw fit to give us the loan that would dance and delight our imaginations forever more. It’s that very light contrasted with darkness that illuminates our path stronger than the blinding brilliance of our sun. We codependently need the dark to appreciate the light all the more.

So where does that leave us in our consideration of Post-Modern Evil? Well, this kinda brings us up to date with our current zeitgeist and relationship to evil. The Post-Modern man has to navigate the world of symbols and simulated realities. People are living more and more within the confines of the virtual world, codependent on their pocket screens, and if not, the virtual reality of reality television.

In this manu-fractured world of reality television, we have the cast of Vanderpump Rules. If you are unfamiliar with the show, it follows a cast of 20 to 40 something waiters and bartenders, who balance their personal lives with their own narcissism and online branding. The simulation and simulacra are abuzz with the latest talks about Scandalval: the infidelity of cast member Tom Sandoval with current waif, Raquel Leviss. So maybe it has penetrated your consciousness.

Reality television needs a story to exist, and if you want to be on reality television, then you also need a story to exist. Those bringing the most drama garner the most screen time, and subsequently more money. The biproduct of this is some extremely cringeworthy moments on shows when sad secondary characters vie for the spotlight, and their attempts are seen at face value, disingenuous and feeble grabs for significance.

This is also where the lines of reality are blurred, and perhaps illustrate the concept of simulacra and simulation even more. As an audience, we are somewhat aware that the reality depicted is akin to the reality of professional wrestling. We have a sneaking suspicion that these moments are meticulously crafted for us, and yet, some of the events that happen are happening to real people in their real lives. Friendships are destroyed, marriages are dissolved, children are forced to reckon with broken homes and the disparaging behavior of their parents televised. Furthermore, this bad behavior isn’t always shunned, because often times it can garner sympathy and launch product lines. Societally, we are jumping the shark with our entertainment. Everyday people are becoming influencers, celebrities are selling the notion that they too are everyday people. Meanwhile, the true power elite live in the peripheral shadows.

It is on Vanderpump where we find cast member Scheana Shay. She has constantly tried to remain significant, though she never does anything particularly meaningful and exists entirely on the fringe. Scheana isn’t evil per se, she’s just entirely banal. Sadly, her actions on the show bleed into real life as it now affects the lives of a recently separated couple. As Scheana plays matchmaker, she never stops to empathize with fellow cast member Katie Schwartz. Everything she does now is in service of the show. What will get her screen time; what will make her relevant? She can no longer distinguish what is conventionally morally right from what she can do to gain attention on the show. She’s a walking Robin Thicke song.

Banality of Evil, an exercise in relevance, a desire to gain status at any cost. Scheana Shay is this generation’s Eichmann. The fact that this comparison can even be made speaks to the simulacrum in which we find ourselves. We are no longer fighting Nazis. Our lives whirl around with any great import, so pet projects are performed in an ever larger pursuit of wearing our virtues on our virtual sleeves. We have traded actual virtue with the virtual. A rote performance of virtue for our followers with an ever-watchful eye on the likes we receive. When I was in the military, I was taught that integrity stood for doing the right thing when no one is watching. We now live with an inverse integrity. It now seems to only matter with a voyeuristic intention. And nothing will ever be the same…

And just what is an authentic life anyway? Does it matter anymore? If we saw it, could we recognize it for what it was? I bet Plato is over there in his world of perfect forms just really yacking it up, right about now. Perhaps I misjudged Plato. 

So what do we do about it? We still gotta go to work and make money, so we can provide safety for our families and have the flexibility to consume to our heart’s content.

Speaking of simulations, did you ever play the Sims? It’s a simulated reality where you control a human and make them go human at stuff. The get a house, you decorate it, you go to work to earn more money for more decorations. Go to work, clean your house, eat, brush your teeth, rinse and repeat. These are what I call farming games. You level your character up, so they can become better so you can buy better equipment to make them better at facing the new challenges set before them, rinse and repeat. It’s just one hoop after another that you just keep jumping through to keep jumping through. It’s like those infinite regresses I keep talking about. Eventually you just become a slave to the game, checking in every so often to level your character up.

And this is a rather close facsimile of life. Just one hurdle after another to overcome. It seems like a disparaging prospect. I’m sure many a man stopped life-ing after figuring this out. To the cynic, a dirt nap would seem most enticing.

But I’ll repeat myself once again, life is all about perspective. It’s these very challenges we face daily that forge us in steel. They don’t break us down; they build us up. They make us interesting and give us character. We are actively participating on the world’s stage. We can choose to take our supporting role and be glum about it, or we could totally steal the show, and become the breakout character we were always meant to be.

Evil is a matter of perspective as well, and as we’ve gleaned from the last 3 episodes, it can be an entirely subjective experience. Remember that PK Dick story, Roog about the dog who mistook the garbage men for thieves? From his perspective, they were evil, trying to steal the family’s beloved treasures. The Hindu have this concept of Brahman, which I dunno, is kinda like The Force in Star Wars. It’s a different perspective that can see the good in destruction, or even the bad in creation. Creation and destruction are only forces, they themselves possess no evil intent. Are there evil deeds, from my perspective? Fuck yeah there are. I can’t even fathom how pleasure is derived from sadistic malignancy. Maybe that makes me too binary in my thinking. If so, so be it.

It's like the noncanonical teachings found in The Journey to the West. At the time when Christian missionaries were ineffectively trying to convert the Chinese, they discovered Journey to the West through local folk demonstrations of the material. The missionaries couldn’t understand the point of all of it.

In Journey, we have the Monkey King, who is kinda this ne’er-do-well character, chaotic, like a trickster god. He is on this pilgrimage to find these sacred texts with some monk and other fellow travelers. All of them are on this pilgrimage as a kind of penance for previous sins committed. There’s a great passage where the Monkey King wants to kill some thieves that have set themselves up against the pilgrims, but they are trying to be all wise and Buddha-ey and they rebuke the Monkey King for suggesting such an evil plan to destroy the five thieves. Symbolically, the thieves represent our five senses, and we are warned that they can’t always be trusted. Of course, the thieves return with fatal intent, and the Monkey King is redeemed for his previous wisdom. It’s a story designed to highlight the spirit of cooperation, but in the end, it would appear that the journey was all in vain, as the sacred texts appear empty. It’s a very Kung-Fu Panda moment for the gang. This is what the Christian Missionaries could not wrap their heads around. The sacred teachings of the Buddha were not to be found in some dried old parchment, they were a living thing, learned through living life and overcoming adversities. It was never about the destination or sanctity of doctrine.

So too goes it for us all. The dirt nap is our only promised destination. It awaits us all. Our time here is borrowed. Remember this when you are driving at a snail’s pace in the far-left lane. Maybe take everything you learned here about evil and use it, or cast it aside. Just remember, it's an honor and a privilege to get to play this game. Don’t waste it.

I’ll see you next week. Thanks again for listening to Studious.

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