Empathy Gone Wild

Commentary

A philosophical book on Agatha Christie may seem slightly odd at first: Wasn’t she just a great novelist who wrote mysteries? But as Theodore Dalrymple attests in his new book, “Agatha Christie and the Metaphysics of Murder,” Christie was no ordinary woman or writer. And much like Christie, Dalrymple is himself no ordinary writer: He is a professional psychiatrist (who has worked extensively with prison inmates), an essayist, and an astute cultural critic who writes engaging prose.

“Agatha Christie and the Metaphysics of Murder” is no exception. Dalrymple explores crime, insanity, and how an overabundance of misplaced human compassion can end tragically. For simplicity’s sake, Dalrymple focuses on only one Christie book—“They Do It with Mirrors” (1952). It is not the first mystery a devoted Christie fan would pick as a favorite, and it’s most likely not the best. Dalrymple admits that its “plot is weak to the point of absurdity” and that he chose it randomly. But the central plot involves a man who is trying to rehabilitate criminals, so it proves to be a perfect pairing with Dalrymple’s experiences as a psychiatrist helping inmates.

We sometimes draw distinctions between “high art” and “low-brow,” and one might think that choosing to write about Christie would be a very “low-brow” endeavor. But that would make us dull elitists and snobs. Dalrymple is profoundly curious about human nature, and he makes sharp intellectual distinctions with great precision. He is not above humanity, but he also (thankfully!) has no time for false humility. His book proves what many of her fans have always known: Christie knows how to spin a yarn, but she’s also a thoughtful social observer with a light satirical touch. Dalrymple observes that “Agatha Christie did not set out to write novels of social realism à la Zola,” but she may have inadvertently done just that while also writing novels that are exciting to read.

The plot of “They Do It with Mirrors” follows our sleuth, Miss Marple, as she comes to the Stoneygates estate to visit her old friend, Carrie-Louise Serrocold, at the insistence of Carrie-Louise’s sister, who worries that something wicked might happen to her. Miss Marple accepts the invitation and enters Stoneygates’s labyrinthine utopia.

Carrie-Louise has married twice before, which creates a convoluted plot with too many characters. Lewis, her third husband, is an idealist who uses Carrie-Louise’s estate as a criminal sanctuary and rehabilitation center. Lewis believes that punishing crimes will not deter future crimes and that, with enough education and hard work, even a hardened criminal can become a good person again.

But Lewis’s idealism has a high price. He has stretched Carrie-Louise’s money to the limit and has used the allegedly rehabilitated prisoners in his embezzlement schemes. Carrie-Louise is either unaware of it or unwilling to see it, because her love for Lewis and his idealist insistence on fighting the criminal system blind her. Meanwhile, Carrie-Louise’s stepson from a previous marriage visits Stoneygates because he suspects Lewis of embezzlement. Lewis murders him “for the sake of his ideals,” and mayhem ensues, but Miss Marple sorts through it all in her gentle yet firm way.

This gentle yet firm way is what makes Miss Marple unique. She is an excellent detective who is not easily impressed. In their essence, detectives must be paradoxes: Their surface manner must be innocuous, open-minded, accepting of human frailties, comfortable in their own skin, and disarming enough to gather information from others to solve the mystery. But they must also remain unsparing in their judgment. Miss Marple always has that “mild dissent,” as Dalrymple calls it, and it gets results.

Although Dalrymple immediately reveals the murderer, the plot continues as the book explores different themes, including the tension between nature and nurture. Are we truly born evil, or is everything a question of environment? This is a big topic: Our world consists of social and state systems that determine good and evil, or worse, blur the line between the two entirely.

Carrie-Louise’s sister scoffs at Lewis’s attempts at criminal rehabilitation. She sees his efforts as just another fad for wealthy idealists. “There is such a thing as evil,” she remarks to Miss Marple. Miss Marple knows this well, even if she shows compassion and kindness in many of her encounters.

Dalrymple returns to this issue throughout his book. Speaking from experience, he writes: “For some years I worked in a prison where you might suppose that these questions, if anywhere, could be answered. Certainly, it was my impression that most of the prisoners had done bad knowingly, committing selfish, thoughtless, and sometimes cruel acts, but I did not think that they were irredeemably bad.”

Dalrymple believes that humanizing others is important. We ought to have some hope in the possibility of being good. But unlike Lewis Serrocold, he’s not an idealist; he encountered inmates who “had an almost physical emanation of menace and determined ill-will.”

“They had done the worst things, often repeatedly, and were unreachable by an appeal to their better nature—which in truth, they did not have,” he writes.

We live in a society that likes to blame bad choices on either madness (which we cannot seem to define) or economic circumstances. We do not believe that such a thing as evil exists, and as such, punishments should not exist either. What then is the meaning of being good? Why should we be good at all, especially in the worst of circumstances, and especially if we think we deserve something? Speaking from my own experience of the Bosnian War, I can say with utmost certainty that war brings out some of human nature’s ugliest qualities. Just when we think “we can all come together,” we often face the ugly reality that people act selfishly, without regard for others.

This doesn’t mean that we should give up, and Dalrymple implies this throughout his book. We must not, however, overstate or overdo our compassion, especially to our own detriment. Empathy is an important human quality, but to what extent should we excuse bad behavior or heinous crime because of a criminal’s tough life?

Miss Marple has a sense of justice. Dalrymple writes: “Miss Marple is some kind of egalitarian. It is not only that she believes that human wickedness is to be found everywhere, but also that she believes that all human beings are worthy or deserving of equal consideration.”

We could say that Miss Marple recognizes human dignity and justice at the same time.

But what does equality mean in this case? We often confuse equality with equity, which leads to pseudo-Marxist solutions for society’s problems. Ideology leads not only our discussions but also political and social change. For Miss Marple, however, and perhaps for Christie, equality is not political, although it can certainly include man’s experience as a political animal.

Dalrymple writes: “The kind of equality which [Miss Marple] believes in is metaphysical, ethical, existential, rather than militant. Hers is equality in the All men are created equal sense, or in the Kantian sense that men are ends and not means to an end. She does not believe that they are equal in height, girth, or goodness.”

We misunderstand what treating everyone equally means. Ideology blurs definitions, and the idea that life may be ordered in an Aristotelian sense seems lost. Treating everyone equally has come to mean giving crime a pass if the pass involves a preferred group du jour.

A similar conclusion holds true for “They Do It with Mirrors.” An idealism that has inevitably turned to ideological force blinds both Lewis and Carrie-Louise, but they are driven by dangerously exuberant empathy rather than a political force such as Marxism. They treat the delinquents as “bad” children whose behavior should be continuously excused because they are incapable of changing it. As Dalrymple correctly assesses, Miss Marple will have none of that. Her soul may be gentle, but she knows that we must never forget the difference between good and evil. This is not to say that human beings cannot become good, but such reformation must involve internal moral and habitual change.

Dalrymple’s unique talent lets him connect often-overlooked cultural strands. Not only is he well-read, but also, his intellectualism engages with the everyday world. I found his existential meditation on the meaning of hedgehogs particularly charming and uplifting, especially since I share the same feeling about these mysterious little animals. He brings life into a metaphysical unity without ever sacrificing it to ideology. Here, Dalrymple brings seemingly disconnected strands—philosophy, culture, and Christie’s page-turning mystery—together. From this, he has created a page-turner of his own.

Reprinted from Civitas Outlook, a publication of Civitas Institute

Views expressed in this article are the opinions of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of The Epoch Times.