Psychopaths rule, okay? [November 29]
The man on the radio is talking about psychopaths. He’s asking me to ask myself if I know any. I start to worry. How would I know? Would they have to be stalking the streets, killing people? Or could they be carefully hiding their psychopathy from me?
The man on the radio says that not all psychopaths are multiple murderers in the mode of Hannibal Lecter. The main criterion seems to be guilt, or rather, lack of it. The psychopath feels none. That’s why, if he or she does murder someone, they’re likely to do it again. They haven’t experienced the kind of remorse that might prevent the rest of us from becoming repeat offenders. Psychopaths can lie and cheat and wound and exploit, and not lose a wink of sleep.
I’m reassured. Most of the people I know seem to be suffering from a surfeit, rather than a lack, of guilt. But the psychological profile is strangely familiar. Where have I met someone like that before?
Ah, I remember now. It was in a theatre at the Arts Centre. He was wearing a leather jockstrap, knee-high boots and a mask. He’d just raped a woman and then murdered her father. His name was Don Giovanni, and he seemed pretty happy for a guy who’d broken a handful of the Ten Commandments. He had a nice baritone voice, too. Fortunately he got his come-uppance by the end of the evening, but the Don went to hell expressing absolutely no remorse about ravishing Donna Anna and topping the Commendatore.
The man on the radio says that if you work in the corporate sector, it helps to be a psychopath. He describes it as ‘adaptive’. That way, when you have to sack thousands of people, or close branches, or knife the guy who’s competing for the job you want, you don’t have any second thoughts. I noticed that a major bank was sponsoring that performance of ‘Don Giovanni’. Perhaps they thought they’d found a kindred soul in the licentious young nobleman.
I start thinking about other areas of life where a bit of psychopathy might come in handy. I guess you couldn’t be a top-level footballer if, every time you prepared for a specky, you worried about hurting the guy whose back was about to become your launching pad. Media shock-jocks couldn’t afford to care about hurting people’s feelings, either. They have to be prepared to publicly humiliate their talk-back callers and then cut them off without a right of reply. They have to be comfortable publicly endorsing products which they might believe, in their heart of hearts, are a total rip-off.
The man on my radio station offers a few more details. ‘A psychopath’, he says, ‘is an intelligent person characterised by poverty of emotions, who has no sense of shame, is manipulative and who shows irresponsible behaviour’. Once again, it’s sounding strangely familiar. I’m reminded of a few folk who’ve spent quite a bit of their working lives in Canberra. Smart, slippery folk who don’t seem to mind telling a few porkies when the need arises.
‘The psychopath’, says the expert, demonstrates a ‘shrewdness and an agility of mind. It is impossible for him to take even a slight interest in the tragedy or the joy or the striving of humanity. Beauty and ugliness, goodness and evil, love, horror and humour have no actual meaning, no power to move him. He is also lacking in the ability to see that others are moved.’
Suddenly it all makes sense. It’s not their fault. Those shock jocks and snake-oil salesmen and slippery Canberra folk can’t be held responsible. They’re probably suffering from a clinical disorder, and in need of urgent treatment.
(first published as a column in The Age newspaper )