The Mindflayer Problem

I think the way a lot of authors write fantasy villains speaks to a larger pattern about how we envision the origin of evil.

I often find myself succumbing to a subtly engrained axiom that when bad people do bad things, it's because they are individually corrupted or broken. That there was some inevitability, some external force, that led to their decisions. This is a pattern all over popular media: The Mindflayer. A mysterious, often metaphysical force that infects people regardless of their societal context. Defeating this power allows the world to be righted without any significant restructuring of major societal systems or fundamental shifts in the status quo. When someone in these stories "turns bad," it's because they succumb to Sauron's power, or because Loki taps them on the forehead with his magic staff. The mysterious force appears from outer space, a forgotten cavern, the Upside Down, or is just there, and magically ensnares people into doing its bidding.

Obviously, this is a quirk of fiction. Humans aren't born hateful, nor can they instantly transform into bigots. Corruption and bigotry come from the slow accumulation of small ideas that are fed quietly into social groups and are subtly reinforced by those who already believe them and face no opposition in doing so. Bad apples alone don't spoil the barrel, the barrel must already be moist and warm to start the rot. But as much as I understand this rationally, I often find myself failing to actively acknowledge that corrupt individuals inherently require a corrupt system in which to be created -- especially when considering systems I participate in. If I'm potentially complicit, I want to believe in the Mindflayer.

I most recently caught myself doing this in a conversation with a friend of mine about COINTELPRO, the FBI's real project to infiltrate peaceful civil rights movements, disrupt them, and discredit them from within. We spent some time going through the atrocities committed by the project, and the FBI in general. At the end of the conversation, as we looked back over what we had learned, my friend said:

"Man, that J. Edgar Hoover was a piece of work."

At first, I agreed with him. J. Edgar Hoover absolutely was a piece of work. His abuses of power caused untold damage. But the language didn't sit right. Ending a conversation about a massive conspiracy that spanned years and involved numerous members with a statement about one man felt like saying it was entirely his fault. That his removal from power must have solved the issue. That the conspiracy was controlled by a Mindflayer.

It wasn't his fault, though. It was the whole institution's fault. An entire culture of bigotry and totalitarianism, the members of which saw a threat to their power and wanted it stomped out. While Hoover may have played a very large and influential role, he was allowed - and helped - to do so by countless people. He was, indeed a piece of work. A kind of work that is done by many.

No single entity can manifest evil. The ability of corporations to manufacture their products with slave labor - either in foreign sweatshops or domestic prisons - does not manifest from an ancient ring. The systems that allow police officers to murder civilians with genuine, codified legal impunity were not created by a tentacled space demon. The countless leaders in both military and civilian workplaces who physically abuse, sexually harass, and emotionally manipulate their workers are not part of some alien hivemind whose mothership we can destroy.

These people and their actions are born in our culture. A culture in which I participate, and thus a culture in which I am complicit. It is our fault when evil manifests, and I think that's the hardest thing for me to admit to myself. Unless I fight it at every possible step, I am, in tiny and accumulating ways, the cause.

Once again, however, my rational understanding of this fact clashes with everything my instincts want to believe. I'm not in a position of power. My individual failings or concessions aren't significant. When a corrupted individual rises to significant enough power to cause major damage, it won't be because of me. It's because they weren't raised right. It's because they're the CEO's kid. It's because someone controls the media.

It's because of the Mindflayer.

I'm afraid that by the time I have the kind of power to make a real difference, the countless individually insignificant moral concessions I have made just to survive in a corrupted system will add up. I will have internalized the existence of corruption as something largely inevitable, and thus acceptable. Not worth fighting except in its most notable outbursts.

I don't want to become like my parents, telling my kids "I became less progressive as I grew older, and you will too." I don't want to follow the story arc of the youthful upstart, initially eager to enact social change, who becomes the jaded boomer participating in every system they once criticized back when they were smoking with their friends at Woodstock. 

How can I break this cycle? How can I prevent myself from believing in the Mindflayer? What happens if  I cease making these concessions? If I am ready to die on every moral hill I encounter, I fear that I will be labeled as an extremist. Ostracized, doomed to preach to the choir. Those whom I would most want to hear me will not listen. The moderate, exhausted, will take advantage of the privilege that allows them to leave the debate floor. I already catch myself doing that one, sometimes. I'm straight, white, and male. So many of the modern debates where I could make a difference are not "my fight." So I stay back.

A friend of mine recently told me "it's safest to break the glass ceiling when you're above it. Otherwise, the shards rain down on you." They told me to wait. So I will. Partially.

I will fight in the ways I can safely. The small ones. The personal debates among peers. The fighting I can't do safely I will wait to do when I can do so and live to fight another day. Until that day, I must remain vigilant. I must do everything in my power to ensure that I do not internalize that waiting as acceptance of impossibility. I cannot let the fire die within my heart because it cannot yet reach its fuel.

I cannot let myself believe in the Mindflayer.