From Serial Killers to Mass Shooters: Evil Evolves
In the late twentieth century, America lived in the shadow of serial killers. From the 1970s through the early 1990s, names like Bundy, BTK, and Dahmer became household words. Criminologists estimate that during this “golden age” of serial murder, hundreds of predators were active in the U.S. at any given time. Communities lived in fear of the faceless hunter who walked freely among them, hiding in plain sight.
But by the early 2000s, that age had ended. The number of active serial killers dropped dramatically, to only a few dozen today. The reason wasn’t moral progress — it was technology. The rise of forensic DNA profiling, national databases, improved policing, and the explosion of digital surveillance made anonymity nearly impossible. The long, careful cycle of serial killing became a losing game.
Yet the pathology did not vanish. It adapted.
Where the serial killer once stretched his gratification across years, the modern mass shooter condenses it into a single catastrophic event. The old predator thrived on anonymity; the new one thrives on spectacle. DNA, cameras, and digital trails stripped away the possibility of blending into society, so the rational psychopath concluded: one body at a time is too risky; one big event guarantees recognition.
The data tell the story. Serial killings peaked around 1989, just as forensic DNA took hold. From the 1990s onward, serial murder declined sharply, while mass shootings — rare in the past — began their steady climb, particularly after Columbine in 1999 provided the blueprint for infamy. Three trend lines intersect: the rise of forensics, the decline of serial killers, and the rise of mass shootings. To call that coincidence stretches belief.
And here lies a dangerous irony: in this new landscape, even the signs we put up to make ourselves feel safe can serve as invitations. A “Gun-Free Zone” placard may be invisible to most, but to a psychopath teetering on the edge it reads like a neon guarantee: no resistance inside. Just as a cashier doesn’t count cash in front of customers for fear of tempting the wrong person, we should not advertise helplessness to those predisposed to exploit it. For the rational predator, a sign like that isn’t a deterrent — it’s part of the plan.
The moral is not that there is more evil today than in the past. My proposition is that there isn’t more evil at all — only more spectacle. Removing or restricting tools of carnage, just like removing the notion of anonymity, does not remove the desire. It only forces the mutation of its expression. In the 1970s, evil wore the mask of the serial killer. Today, it shouts through the barrel of a mass shooter’s gun. Tomorrow, it will adapt again.
Evil does not disappear. It migrates.
