What if I said that I am against empathy
What would be the current state of the world if compassion were driving decisions?
I must clarify what I mean, lest you judge me as a Musk-ish or Musk-y technocrat only concerned with reshaping the world to match my vision.
When Elon Musk says that "empathy is the biggest problem in the world," he is actually—in a not-so-elegant manner—talking about the same empathy I feel is inherently scope-limiting.
So, in a way, I agree with Elon Musk. That felt strange to write, as I'm not a fan at all, so let me explain.
Many videos and memes have been made about what Musk said on the Joe Rogan podcast. Here is the snippet in its entirety:
Musk: There's a guy who posts on X who's great, Gad Saad?
Rogan: Yeah, he's a friend of mine. He's been on the podcast a bunch of times.
Musk: Yeah, he's awesome, and he talks about, you know, basically suicidal empathy. Like, there's so much empathy that you actually suicide yourself. So, we've got civilizational suicidal empathy going on. And it's like, I believe in empathy, like, I think you should care about other people, but you need to have empathy for, for civilization as a whole, and not commit to a civilizational suicide.
Rogan: Also don't let someone use your empathy against you so they can completely control your state and then do an insanely bad job of managing it and never get removed.
Musk: The fundamental weakness of Western civilization is empathy. The empathy exploit. They're exploiting a bug in Western civilization, which is the empathy response. So, I think, you know, empathy is good, but you need to think it through and not just be programmed like a robot.
Rogan: Right, understand when empathy has been actually used as a tool.
Musk: Yes, like, it's weaponized empathy is the issue.
According to emotional intelligence expert Daniel Goleman, there are three types of empathy:
Cognitive Empathy: Understanding another person's thoughts, perspectives, and worldview. It's like being able to put yourself in their shoes and understand their reasoning.
Emotional Empathy: Feeling what another person is feeling—a visceral reaction where you experience their emotions alongside them, like feeling sad when someone else is crying.
Compassionate Empathy: Going beyond understanding and feeling emotions to taking action that alleviates suffering or distress.
DEI Practitioners, what do we do next?
Musk's statement primarily concerns emotional empathy. When we consider his words alongside the actions we've seen from his work in the Department of Government Efficiency (DOGE), he seems to be articulating that trade-offs potentially harming humans he deems less necessary and valuable are acceptable.
This belief aligns with that of his former PayPal co-founder, Peter Thiel, who rejects "abstract universalism that treats all individuals as fundamentally equal," instead advocating for anti-egalitarian principles that elevate "superior persons" above the masses. This philosophical stance reflects a belief that primary obligations are owed to one's own nation, culture, and civilizational hierarchy, rather than extending equal treatment to all humanity.
If we extrapolate what Musk means by "the fundamental weakness of Western civilization" and couple that with Thiel's philosophy, given their proximity, the conclusion would be that he gives zero concern about anyone who doesn't fit the agenda he has the power to influence. It seems he's simply pushing aside feeling and concern for others to satisfy his own whims, viewing those with "empathy"—like the "DEI must DIE" people he equates with Democrats—as contributors to weakness that must be eliminated. Cold-blooded.
I don't know Musk's true intentions for humanity. The actions of the department he led as a special government employee have caused irreparable harm to millions of people worldwide.
And yet, maybe part of what he's saying deserves consideration. Without clear distinctions, prioritizing only emotional empathy has significant flaws and often yields partial benefits for some, while creating trade-offs that are contrary to most people's intentions.
Do you feel like the world is increasingly less empathetic toward those you believe deserve empathy?
Paul Bloom, author of Against Empathy: The Case for Rational Compassion, explains:
"But how could empathy steer us wrong? . . . Empathy is a spotlight focusing on certain people in the here and now. This makes us care more about them, but it leaves us insensitive to the long-term consequences of our acts and blind as well to the suffering of those we do not or cannot empathize with. Empathy is biased, pushing us in the direction of parochialism and racism. It is shortsighted, motivating actions that might make things better in the short term but lead to tragic results in the future."
Bloom argues that empathy, particularly the emotional type, leads us to "favor the one over the many." The result can be that our empathy for those close to us or those we prefer can mean violence, contempt, even war and atrocity toward others.
He adds: "It is corrosive in personal relationships; it exhausts the spirit and can diminish the force of kindness and love."
Many people working in the DEI space consider empathy their superpower. Many claim that their advocacy for "marginalized" groups—whether they consider themselves part of those identities or not—inspires and motivates them to do "the work."
Such benevolence can be good, kind, and just. Nonetheless, it can also become an acrimonious and contemptuous projection of negative energy toward the "other."
This type of empathy is unhelpful and, as we've seen in the equal and opposite reaction over recent years, severely damaging except to those profiting from it.
When people on social channels, politicians, and others discover that some consider empathy for "others" (not "me") threatening, they respond with vitriol—a sort of digital sulfuric acid meant to flatten opposition in what feels like warranted retribution.
Consider Christopher Rufo, one of the most well-known opponents of DEI in the United States and an early architect of "anti-woke" sentiment through his critiques of Critical Race Theory.
While admittedly hyperbolic—telling Vox in 2023 that his book couldn't be read "literally," that his "artful and kind of narrative manner" requires readers to question whether "there was a kind of literary device at play"—his intentional exaggeration has been amplified in recent writing and speaking.
His initial fuel came partly from well-meaning but less-than-well-informed actors (many anti-racism trainers) who followed the post-Floyd playbook with negative consequences.
Rufo saw an opening for political gain (it's working—he's getting paid) that required achieving what he described in a series of 2021 tweets:
"We have successfully frozen their brand — 'critical race theory' — into the public conversation and are steadily driving up negative perceptions. We will eventually turn it toxic, as we put all of the various cultural insanities under that brand category. The goal is to have the public read something crazy in the newspaper and immediately think 'critical race theory.' We have decodified the term and will recodify it to annex the entire range of cultural constructions that are unpopular with Americans."
When Rufo discovered critical race theory (CRT), he was never interested in detailing its potentially negative consequences when adopted without critical examination. It was a vehicle—an opportunity he saw to become known for something, for personal ends that happened to align with influential people who had resources to help him achieve those ends. He was interested in winning, not in doing something for the greater good of society.
Why do I bring Rufo into this discussion alongside Musk when examining empathy?
The contrast between them helps illustrate my point about being increasingly against empathy while becoming even more deeply committed to compassion and care.
Rufo's initial attack on critical theory/critical race theory was partly a reaction to feeling his political aspirations were thwarted due to blowback from homeless activists in Seattle over a disparaging article (funded by a conservative think tank) about the city's homeless population. They plastered his personal address on utility poles around the neighborhood.
Momentarily defeated in his desire for political influence, Rufo became more emboldened to deepen his conservative personal brand. He became more emotionally empathetic to those who considered themselves conservative, like himself.
When he found the hook of CRT, he was intent on baiting it and catching as many fish as possible. He has been wildly successful.
Musk, conversely, attempts to argue that emotional empathy—fraught with problems of human sentiment based on personal affinities and individual notions of right and justice—has become the predominant medium for decision-making in the Western world.
If Musk followed his framing as articulated to Joe Rogan—"The fundamental weakness of Western civilization is empathy. The empathy exploit. They're exploiting a bug in Western civilization, which is the empathy response. So, I think, you know, empathy is good, but you need to think it through and not just be programmed like a robot"—he would be describing what could be framed as cognitive empathy transitioning into compassionate empathy.
The problem is that he said this while simultaneously acting in a manner that contradicted his own advice. DOGE's actions were not based on "[having] empathy for civilization as a whole" to avoid "civilizational suicide." Instead, they were based on emotional rationalization wrapped in partisan politics.
Governments worldwide, especially in the United States, need greater efficiency. The negative consequences of inefficiency are global in scope.
The negative consequences of unfettered emotional empathy and a lack of compassion are even more dire.
For many in diversity, equity, and inclusion work, decisions are based on the "lived experiences" of members of specific groups (often consolidated into acronyms like BAME, BIPOC, or People of Color).
Practitioners who identify with or have affinity for these groups empathize with them in ways underscored and fortified by copious amounts of empathy, again, mostly emotional.
However, despite people's attempts and beliefs that they're working to "help the marginalized," it often comes down to preference. And it rarely includes compassion beyond preference.
The intention might have been to consider everyone (civilization as a whole) in mind. Unfortunately, this intention wasn't accompanied by sufficient critical thought about the downstream consequences of what I'll call "othering" empathy.
Paul Bloom states that our attempts at rational deliberation can be clouded by self-interest. Rufo and Musk, as do many of us working on inclusion in organizational culture, can easily conflate the greater good with personal agendas.
It's nearly impossible not to do so when presented with desired rewards or when advocating for those we favor against those we deem undeserving.
I'm unsure about Rufo because his aims appear purely self-interested. He admits it. Conversely, Musk was once seen as a modern embodiment of benevolent genius. His inventions helped solve seemingly intractable problems on both a planetary and human scale. I once admired him.
Since the COVID pandemic and his legitimate pushback against vaccine mandates, his demeanor and intentions have shifted to a darker place. While we're aware of his neurodiversity, it didn't seem highlighted until he publicly shared ideas that didn't question norms but rather signaled a desire for greater power and influence—a sense that he didn't have enough and needed to use his wealth and access to assert planetary influence while ensuring his genius was perpetually celebrated.
This tendency may have been present all along. Still, based on his statements with Rogan, it's reasonable to assume he harbors a desire to positively impact humanity for generations, to be written into history as some sort of savior.
Imagine if Musk could—imagine if people working in diversity, equity, and inclusion could—extend their empathy beyond emotions. If they could move deeper into compassion. Imagine if this mindset extended consistently to war and our "stands" on issues.
I'm not suggesting that we abandon our preferences entirely. I'm asking us to always consider, in practicing diversity, equity, and inclusion, doing as Bloom suggests: moving into "feeling for and not [simply] feeling with the other."
To be willing to be influenced by the "so-called other." To center humanity without our only anchor being the emotionality of our preferences, driving how we engage with people.
Imagine what would be possible in workplaces, learning spaces, and common spaces if we were guided by compassion rather than empathy dependent on our preferences, traditions, and conveniences. What would be the current state of the world if compassion were driving decisions?
I admit I'm prone to a particular kind of utopia—one where we go beyond "feeling the pain" of the other to a space where we work to develop, grow, and evolve humanity together, with one another.
As Bloom reminds us:
"Compassion is feeling for and not feeling with the other."
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I hope this was helpful. . . Make it a great day! ✌🏿
