The Enine Syndrome – A Moral Failure in the Care of the Vulnerable

There is a particular kind of behavior that seems harmless on the surface, even kind, even generous, but upon closer inspection reveals a deeper ethical failing. I call it the Enine Syndrome: the tendency of individuals to offer help or care, especially to those who are vulnerable, only to disappear when that care requires consistency, commitment, or sacrifice.

At the heart of this syndrome lies performative empathy, the desire to be seen as kind, without taking on the true moral weight that kindness demands. People afflicted with this pattern are not driven by a deeply rooted ethical compass, but by the maintenance of a social image. They are warm smiles and empty promises. They say “I’d love to help,” but don’t follow through. They coo over your dog or child in public, but are nowhere when reliability counts. The tragedy is not only the inconvenience they cause, it is the harm they do to those who depend on steadiness, emotional safety, and trust.

Enine represents a kind of ethical hollowness hidden behind pleasantness. It is not outright cruelty, but something subtler and more dangerous: the promise of care without the weight of responsibility.

Nowhere is this more critical than in the care of animals and vulnerable beings, those who do not have the agency to choose their guardians or express betrayal in words. Animals, like dogs, rely on consistent presence, routine, and emotional attunement. Children and young people, too, absorb the emotional world around them before they can fully articulate it. When someone steps in, even briefly, and signals “I will be here for you,” only to vanish without accountability, the result is more than logistical confusion. It is a moral injury, not just to the person responsible, but far more to the beings they pretend to serve.

One of the reasons the Enine Syndrome is so difficult to confront is that the harm it causes is often subtle, subjective, and hard to prove. There is no dramatic moment of abuse, no visible betrayal, only a slow erosion of trust. Those affected often feel unsure whether they are “overreacting,” because what they experience is not a violation of rules, but of quiet expectations. This is what makes the syndrome so dangerous: it slips past accountability because it hides inside kindness, and because the damage it does lives inside emotion, not evidence.

This behavior is not a minor character flaw; it reflects a dangerous moral dissonance. It is one thing to decline responsibility, that is honest. But to offer care, and then silently retreat, is worse than never offering at all. It teaches animals to mistrust new environments. It teaches children that adults say things they don’t mean. It weakens the social fabric that binds communities, and the quiet agreements of trust that enable us to rely on each other.

What makes the Enine Syndrome particularly insidious is that it hides behind niceness. It does not look like harm; it looks like friendliness. But moral integrity isn’t about tone or small talk, it is about follow-through, presence, and accountability, especially toward those who cannot demand it.

If someone aspires to work with children as a pedagogue, sit animals, or anyone in need of protection, this syndrome must be reckoned with, or they risk bringing that same hollowness into professional and ethical spaces. You cannot nurture a child or care for an animal on intention alone. Care is a verb. It is action. It is consistency. And anything less is a betrayal of those who depend on us most.

In my previous work and in my work as a leadership coach, I see similar patterns in professional spaces. People show up with empathy in their voice but none in their decisions. They praise vulnerability, but punish dissent. They ask others to speak up, but quietly reward compliance. The Enine Syndrome doesn’t only live in families or schools, it shows up in leadership, when being seen as compassionate takes precedence over being responsible.

Leadership is not performance. It is what you do when the task becomes inconvenient, unrewarding, or invisible. It is how you treat those who cannot demand better, or walk away.

And that is the thing: whether you are leading a team, caring for a child, or promising to walk someone’s dog, the ethical bar is the same. Do not offer what you will not commit to.

Those who depend on you deserve more than a fake smile or good intentions. They deserve to be safe.

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