Meeting my Makers: You Cannot do this Alone!

Becoming a researcher in the academic world is never a “one-person” show. You can try to do it on your own—and I certainly did at first—but eventually, you will realize that real progress requires guidance, mentorship, and internalizing constructive criticism. Without a doubt, what you need more than anything is a mentor: someone willing to share the hard-won knowledge they’ve acquired throughout their career, someone who can teleport you past obstacles that would otherwise take you months or years to navigate alone.

Looking back, my academic path has been shaped by many people. But when it comes specifically to my work on psychopathy, two individuals stand out: Stephanie Griffiths and Jarkko Jalava (both professors at Okanagan College).

When I set out to study psychopathy around 2012-2013, I was operatingpretty much as a one-man show. I was based in a philosophy department where nobody really worked on psychopathy, and I had just enough intellectual hubris to think I could crack any problem on my own. Spoiler: I couldn’t. Not even close. But that realization took some time.

By early January 2016, I was deep into my dissertation work—and increasingly lost (see post #4 The Wall). I had begun to sense that something was off about psychopathy research. The disconnect between bold claims and the empirical record, together with internal rifts in the field was becoming too hard to ignore (as I wrote about in post #5 Kindling Skepticism and #6 Smelling Blood). I didn’t know exactly what the problem was, but I had the creeping feeling that it might be systemic.

So, I decided that perhaps my dissertation should say something critical about psychopathy, though I didn’t yet know what exactly. I started looking for existing criticisms, thinking I’d situate my argument in that conversation. But here I encountered a highly surprising, and ongoing major problem: there simply wasn’t any sustained critical conversation in the literature. There were a few mild criticisms scattered across decades-old articles, but few discussions of contemporary importance. Although I thought that was really odd, it was also disheartening. It felt like yet another intellectual cul-de-sac. And if I’m being honest, I came very close to throwing in the towel and write my thesis on something other than psychopathy.

Then, on the evening of January 12, 2016, I was struck by luck.

I was cooking dinner with Lauren (my girlfriend at the time, now my wife), and she was using my Amazon account when a book popped up in my recommendation feed: The Myth of the Born Criminal: Psychopathy, Neurobiology, and the Creation of the Modern Degenerate (published in June, 2015!).

“Hey,” Lauren said, “this looks like something you’ve been looking for?”

She wasn’t wrong. I saw the title and somehow knew instantly: this was it. I ordered the book that night, and I’ve rarely waited so eagerly to receive a package from Amazon.

Written by Jarkko Jalava, Stephanie Griffiths, and Mike Maraun, The Myth of the Born Criminal offered a searing criticism of psychopathy research—especially the neurobiological contributions. The book was compelling and situated psychopathy research in a larger historical context. I felt it dismantled many of the field’s assumptions and called into question the validity of the diagnosis itself. It was the first time I had seen the problems articulated so clearly. I felt both relief and a deep sense of validation for my own kindling skepticism.

Soon after, I reached out to Jarkko and Stephanie. To my surprise, they replied quickly and generously agreed to meet. We had our first conversation over Skype in February 2016 (I can’t trace the exact date), and from that day forward, everything changed. I was stupidly nervous, but they were kind and accommodating. They could articulate far more clearly the concerns I had only vaguely sensed. After that initial meeting, they soon became my informal mentors—and, eventually, my closest collaborators.

Over the next year, Steph, Jarkko, and I met regularly as I worked on my dissertation. Their insights were indispensable for my intellectual development, and they exerted incredible patience with my shortcomingsas I tried to work my way through methods and statistics I didn’t yet fully understand. When I defended my dissertation on May 4, 2017, we began collaborating on joint projects almost immediately. And we still do.

At the time, they were already convinced that psychopathy wasn’t just poorly researched—it was fundamentally flawed as a construct. Or rather, it wasn’t a “real” construct at all. I wasn’t quite there yet. I still believed psychopathy was real, but that existing theories had gone astray, and therefore I saw the condition more as something that was real but misunderstood.

Over time, however, Steph and Jarkko’s arguments wore me down. By around 2019, the penny dropped, and I could no longer see how psychopathy research could be salvaged or made to make sense. I am now proud to say that many of my views on psychopathy are made in Steph and Jarkko’s image.

PS: If you’ve never heard of The Myth of the Born Criminal, I’m not surprised. Despite itsoriginality, the book remains largely ignored by mainstreampsychopathy researchers. Last I checked, it hadn’t been cited by a single major researcher in the field. Perhaps silence says more than words in this case. In any event, for me, it was the book that changed everything.

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This blog is part of the series “The Making of Psychopathy Unmasked,” which shares behind-the-scenes stories about how the book came together and the experiences that shaped my thinking on psychopathy.