Summary: My ex-partner is a sociopath. No really. I hope you believe me. But then I also hope you doubt me too. A sociopath has little or no conscience, and "the little" in that definition is a very big problem. How little is little enough to warrant the diagnosis of sociopathy? Conscience is expensive. To be entirely conscientious would be impossible for any of us, manifesting as constant effort on behalf of others and constant guilt, shame, and remorse for not being able to do enough. We all therefore allocate our finite conscientiousness, usually with lots for our closest loved ones and less or none for the people far away. Having too little conscience is measured relative to circumstances. “How can people be so callous?” says an upper class American when reading about middle-class people in Bombay who ignore thousands of beggars a day. In contrast, that American living in a gated community, providing generously to her family and wealthy neighbors demonstrates ample conscience for her circumstances. The more strife; the more compassion is called for. If the economy collapses and the climate crisis causes orders of magnitude more “acts of God,” do we all become instant sociopaths for showing too little compassion relative to the growing desperation that surrounds us? And then there’s the question of where we allocate our conscientious effort and empathy. Hotel Heiress Leona Helmsley left $12 million to her pet dog. Many would say she was a sociopath. Yet she did show more than a little conscience in her concern for her dog’s well being. When we diagnose the people who hurt, jilted or “used” us, calling them narcissists, sociopaths, psychopaths, or just cold-hearted, maybe we’re really just disappointed that they turned their conscientiousness away from us. Are people uncaring when they don’t care for us as much as they care for someone nhhhhew? There’s a vulgar riddle at men’s expense that speaks to disciplining our diagnoses: Q: What’s the difference between a b**tch and a w**re? A: A w**re will have sex with anyone but a b**tch will have sex with anyone but you. To which I’d add: Q: What’s the difference between a sociopath and a frustrating ex? A: A sociopath doesn’t care about anyone and a frustrating ex- doesn’t care about you. And further: Q: What’s the difference between a narcissist and a frustrating ex? A: A narcissist loves himself more than anyone and a frustrating ex- loves himself more than he loves you. These highlight one of the reasons that many frustrated ex-partners diagnose their former intimates in such clinically severe terms. But another reason is that some people really are narcissists and sociopaths and with them, not calling a spade a spade is the most dangerous thing you can do. “Should I trust here?” is about the hardest question we ever face. What we do when we trust and don’t trust are exact opposites so you can’t really hedge. The only thing worse that not trusting the trustworthy, is trusting the untrustworthy. With most people we can go case by case. We might trust our good friends mostly but perhaps not on everything. Think of a sociopath as someone who can send convincing signals to trust always when in fact he or she can never ever be trusted—a con artist with no potential for remorse--very scary, very important to recognize before he or she plays your heartstrings and cuts out your heart. For a fine, thought-proving and entertaining book on the benefits and costs of diagnosing and misdiagnosing psychopaths (a term synonymous with sociopaths), read the current NYT best seller “The Psychopath Test” by Jon Ranson. For a masterpiece of psychological reasoning and deep analysis of the challenge of dealing with sociopaths, read Martha Stout’s “The Sociopath Next Door.” Here are three
