Elon Musk recently said something that made me pause. During an interview on The Joe Rogan Experience, he claimed that empathy is “the fundamental weakness of Western civilization.”
Yes, empathy.
He argued that our capacity to care for others has been exploited—that it can be “weaponized” against society’s survival. He warned against what he calls “suicidal empathy,” where too much focus on individual suffering apparently gets in the way of progress. In its place, Musk proposed “civilizational empathy”—a cold, calculated kind of concern aimed at the survival of the species rather than the well-being of individuals.
Let that sink in.
To Musk, excessive empathy is dangerous. But for those of us who work with young children, and especially those of us grounded in the Reggio Emilia philosophy, the very opposite is true.
Empathy is not a weakness. It’s the foundation of everything we believe about learning, community, and the future.
A Different Response to Collapse
Let’s go back to post-war Italy—Reggio Emilia, to be exact. The city had just been bombed. The fascist regime had collapsed. People were digging through the ruins, trying to rebuild not only their homes, but their values.
And it was women—mothers—who said, “We have to raise our children differently.”
Together with a young educator named Loris Malaguzzi, these women created a preschool system built on a radical idea: that children are full of potential, that they are citizens with rights, and that education should be rooted in empathy, cooperation, and democracy.
They weren’t just rebuilding schools—they were rebuilding a society. And they knew, in their bones, that empathy wasn’t something soft or naive. It was what stood between the world they had just survived, and the one they wanted their children to inherit.
This is the birthplace of the Reggio Emilia approach. It’s not an educational trend—it’s a response to violence, to authoritarianism, and to a society that had lost its moral compass.
Empathy as a Pedagogical Choice
In the Reggio-inspired classroom, empathy is more than an emotion. It’s a pedagogical stance. It’s visible in how we listen to children, how we organize our environments, and how we make decisions with—not for—the children in our care.
At Early Learning Café, we often say that children are co-constructors of knowledge. That idea isn’t just about cognition. It’s about care. As early learning educators, we co-construct because we care. We make space for others’ perspectives. We consider intentions. We hold each other accountable in compassionate ways.
Our course Democratic Spaces for Early Learning explores this beautifully. Suzanne Axelsson reminds us that democracy isn’t a unit in the curriculum—it’s something we live. And that lived experience begins with empathy. You can’t have democracy without it.
Imagine trying to resolve conflict, share power, or collaborate without empathy. You can’t. What Elon Musk sees as a liability, we experience every day as an asset.
The Real Danger: A World Without Empathy
Let’s flip the script. If Musk is afraid of too much empathy, I worry that there is too little.
Psychopathy, for instance, is characterized by a profound lack of empathy. And research tells us it’s associated with harmful, even dangerous, social behaviours. When people cannot feel or respond to the emotions of others, it becomes easier to exploit, manipulate, or dehumanize them.
Sound familiar?
History is full of examples of what happens when societies lose empathy. From fascist regimes to corporate greed, the real threat isn’t caring too much—it’s not caring at all.
Empathy is not the thing that holds civilization back. It’s the thing that holds it together.
Empathy Is Not the Enemy
Elon Musk might know how to land a rocket, but he’s missed the mark on this one. Empathy is not a glitch in the system. It’s the very operating system we need if we want to raise children who are thoughtful, resilient, and capable of sustaining a more humane world.
As early learning educators, we witness the power of empathy every single day. We see it when a toddler offers a blanket to a crying friend. When a preschooler asks, “Are you okay?” after an accident. When a group of four-year-olds negotiates who gets the red marker next.
These moments aren’t small. They’re the building blocks of citizenship, peace, and possibility.
If we want a future where people care for the planet, for each other, and for justice—we have to teach empathy. Not just in words, but in our pedagogy, our relationships, and the democratic spaces we create with children.
Want to Learn More?
If this resonates with you, I invite you to explore our course Democratic Spaces for Early Learning at Early Learning Café. It’s full of practical ideas and reflective provocations that will help you bring empathy and democratic practice into your daily work with children.
Because empathy isn’t the problem. It’s the path forward.