Empathy

On May 12, the Canadian evolutionary psychologist Gad Saad published a book called Suicidal Empathy: Dying to be Kind. It’s a smart book, immensely pertinent to a time, like ours, that is awash with this diseased form of self-infatuated fellow feeling. Dr. Saad is correct: “Suicidal empathy is a civilization malady that has entered every nook and cranny of our lives.” One of the peculiarities of the malady that Dr. Saad diagnoses is its persistence. Socialism – which is the generic name of this intoxicating and addictive drug – has failed everywhere it has been tried. No matter. The world manufactures new versions of Greta Thunberg, AOC and Bernie Sanders faster than they can be repudiated. Democrats, Dr. Saad observes, are the party of empathy.

Back in the 1970s, a less politically correct age, there was a standby formula for television advertising known as 2Cs in a K, which would feature two women by a washing machine engaged in unlikely conversation about some wondrous new detergent. Since The Spectator is a family publication, I shall pretend that 2Cs in a K stood for two ‘consumers’ in a kitchen, although it did not. If you are still trying to puzzle this out, the male equivalent is two dicks near a fence, a routine in which one man implausibly explains to his neighbour the many virtues of a particular woodstain, say, or one of those natty electric pressure washers which allow you to jetwash your patio while pretending you are wielding a flamethrower during the Tet Offensive.

It seems like we can’t help getting attached to robots. It also seems like the people making the robots are counting on that. In the 2015 video game Fallout 4, one of the factions with which the player can align him- or herself is “the Railroad,” an organization that helps seemingly sentient androids escape from the lab in which they’re created. A friend of mine mocked me mercilessly for aligning myself with the “SJWs” of the Railroad and insisted that the androids — who spoke eloquently of their emotions, friendships, and aspirations — actually had the same moral worth as a toaster. I laughed, but secretly still felt I’d made the right choice. Surely it was always better to err on the side of greater empathy.