The Term ‘Psychopath’ No Longer Means What You Think It Does
When I started research for Matchmaking for Psychopaths, I was scared to look at Robert Hare’s psychopathy checklist because I was worried that it might reveal something about me that I didn’t want to know. My paranoia was inspired partially by reading the memoir The Psychopath Inside, in which a neuroscientist discovers that he’s a psychopath after reviewing brain scans of known psychopaths and realizing that they matched his own. What if I made such a discovery in my own work?
Robert Hare’s psychopath checklist, developed in the 1970s, is no longer used as part of diagnostic criteria. The primary critique was that it was created based upon prison inmates and thus overemphasized criminality in its factors. Neither is the term “psychopath” or “sociopath” used clinically anymore. The closest entry is the DSM is anti-social personality disorder. In lieu of an official diagnosis, the term “psychopath” becomes whatever we want it to be.
My husband—a very nice person who works at a nonprofit—once called himself as a “sociopathic Alabama football fan.” A huge portion of society has a psychopathic ex or parent. One of the reasons that I worried that I might be a psychopath was due to my penchant for waking up at 5am and going for long distance runs. Psychopathy and sociopathy have become so divorced from what it originally described that they can mean anything.
Robert Hare’s checklist is comprised of 20 personality traits that are scored using a three-point scale (definitely present, possibly present, and definitely absent). Taking it feels similar to taking a quiz in Cosmopolitan, except it also includes parameters such as “lack of remorse or guilt” and “juvenile delinquency.” Results are calculated out of 40 possible points and anything over 30 can indicate psychopathy. Some of the traits are easy to eliminate. For instance, I am a terrible liar and have been in a monogamous relation with my husband for 13 years. Others, I have to stop and consider. Do I have superficial charm? It’s true that I put on a different face when I’m in social situations. What about my sense of self-worth? I think I deserve good things. Does that make me a psychopath?
Several of the listed traits relate to the ability to feel empathy. Empathy is tricky in its abstractness. Once when I was a teenager, a friend asked how we know whether we all perceive color in the same way. For instance, what if the color that I think of as “red” appears as my version of “blue” to someone else? At the very least, people who experience color-blindness have a different perspective from what is considered to be the norm. Empathy is like that. What if what I perceive as the feeling of “empathy” is something entirely different inside of someone else? I’ve seen leaders make decisions that I considered monstrous under the guise of “care.” How can we determine our own capacity for empathy? How can we see the lack of it in someone else?
I think I’m a good partner to my husband. I consider his opinion when making decisions both big and small. When I’m frustrated, I talk it out instead of engaging in an argument. Sometimes though, I wonder if I’m too conscious of my efforts. Do I do nice things for him because I want him to be happy or do I do it because it makes me feel good to think that I’m a good partner? Is true empathy a selfless endeavor? If so, I might be less empathetic than I thought.
In Confessions of a Sociopath, M.E. Thomas (a pseudonym) argues that “most people who interact with sociopaths are better off than they otherwise would be,” explaining that sociopaths “fulfill fantasies, or at least the appearance of fantasies…We observe our target and strive to become a facsimile of whatever or whoever that person wants—a good employee or boss or lover.” In this argument, psychopaths and sociopaths could make some of the best romantic partners or employees because the present the version of themselves that other people want to see. Thomas writes, “If charm, arrogance, cunning, callousness, and hyper-rationality are considered sociopathic traits, it’s probably no surprise that many sociopaths end up as successful corporate types.” Perhaps being a psychopath isn’t entirely bad. Perhaps it can even be an advantage.
Through my research on psychopaths, I discovered that it’s a condition that’s more complex than it’s made out to be. Psychopaths can have successful, high-powered careers, fueled by those very traits that make them unique. Psychopaths can desire love and family. I also learned that a psychopath can be anyone. It doesn’t distinguish between gender, race, or ethnicity. The biggest difference maker seems to be the environment that a psychopath grows up in. Thomas’s theory is that “sociopaths who grow up poor among drug dealers are likely to become sociopath drug dealers; sociopaths who grow up in the middle and upper classes are likely to become sociopathic surgeons and executives.” It’s possible that the most charming, successful people you know are also the most psychopathic.
In the end, I scored only two out of the forty possible points on the Hare checklist, aligning only with the quality of “easily frustrated.” My penchant for long term plans, sense of responsibility, and anxiety are incompatible with the traits of a psychopath. In fact, it’s the very things that I worried made me a psychopath that determined that I’m not. Still, in my worst and most ruthless moments, I have to wonder whether I have a greater capacity for psychopathy than I thought.
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To distract herself, Lexie throws herself into her unusual job: matchmaking psychopaths (a specialty her clients are blissfully unaware of). But the loneliness is crushing. So when a gorgeous, overprotective new client named Aidan insists they’re soulmates, and another intriguing client, Rebecca, seems perfect to fill the best-friend-shaped hole in her life, Lexie can’t help but find the attention comforting–despite her own professional boundaries.
Then a human heart appears on Lexie’s doorstep. As more threatening packages arrive and her fiancé mysteriously disappears, she must confront a terrifying question: did she inadvertently match herself with a killer? Between Aidan’s claims that her fiancé will never return, Rebecca’s growing presence in her life, and her own dark past resurfacing, Lexie’s matchmaker instincts are being tested like never before.
Because someone is determined to ensure her story ends with a funeral.
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