Empathy and Identity
I am usually very empathetic. But recently, after reading a heartfelt, articulate, and vulnerable post on Facebook, among my first thoughts was, "I'm not like that." It made me begin to wonder about the relationship between empathy and identification. I was not identifying with my friend, even though I felt strong sympathy. Was this a personal failing that might be hurtful in the future? I worry about this.
She's fine with or without my attention. She's strong and brilliant, and we're not close enough for my objectivity to be damaging, and so I'm taking this opportunity to look inside myself.
On any particular subject, I can divide the world roughly into people who agree or disagree with my opinions. I can divide them into people who have or believe the same information I do, and people who don't. I can divide people into those who have had similar experiences, and those who haven't. It's easy to have empathy for people who are us, but do I lack empathy with them?
There are limits to empathy in any situation. I am white, and so therefore I will never really understand the spectrum of experiences that come with being black or brown. I will never really understand the pressures of masculinity on men. I will never feel the temptations of wealth. My brain thinks in English, most of the time, and so I won't know what it is like to organize my thoughts in Finnish or Chinese or Swahili. I cannot identify with these things. I can't say, "I know what it is like to be [x]." I can only ask, "Tell me what it is like to be [x]."
Everyone knows the scandal of Rachel Dolezal, whose identification became problematic, and brought on a heated conversation about cultural appropriation. That kind of identification has problems linked to the face we put on for the world, no matter how we feel, or claim to feel, inside. There are experiences that are unique to our cultural interfaces from before our first breath out of the womb. I do not identify with Ms. Dolezal, and that contrast is an expression of pride - a face I put on for the world: a face of not-her.
I think she's a woman caught up in the lies she told herself. But for many people whose internal identity doesn't match their external identity, they are telling a truth that we can't see to verify or disprove. It is also not usually our place to do so. We may not be able to identify with trans brothers and sisters (an obvious analogy), but can't we boil how they feel down to something common among humans? (being careful not to assume too much in that kind of empathizing?)
I don't know what it's like to be black, but I know what it's like to have my life threatened. I can't claim it's the same thing, but I can use that experience to understand certain points of view and form my own opinions (when absolutely necessary).
In Egypt, according to religious news media, there is a recent history (this past decade) of Muslims protecting coptic Christians, and vice versa, when each group is threatened by terrorists. The Muslims aren't being baptized, necessarily. The Christians aren't necessarily switching religions either. They don't have to. All they have to do is reorient themselves so that they are on the same side, facing a common goal: life and religious freedom.
I feel like there are people who would be afraid to reorient themselves like that: who would be afraid of who they find on their side. Mustn't identify with Rachel Dolezal. Mustn't. Mustn't identify with the political opposition. Mustn't identify with mass stupidity.
But sometime or other, we're all on the same side as somebody we hate or fear. If we hate or fear people or their ideologies. Maybe you think Hitler was the personification of an appalling evil. I hope you condemn his life and work. I hope you visit a concentration camp memorial, at least online, and weep for the murdered and tortured. But if you go about defining yourself as his complete opposite, you will find yourself, finally, staring at your own, innocent, 46 chromosomes in utter horror.
It gets even more complicated when you consider public policy and who has power over whom, to make decisions for or against whom. You can say, "I think I know what you're feeling," and still vote for legislation in your own interests and against theirs. Will you honestly try to claim that you're being objective? What good is empathy if you do not let it change you, and so do not let it change the world?
I do not have answers. Only questions.
Here, I look back at my feelings about my friend's post and see that, no, I do not feel the same way she feels. I am not making the same decision that she is making. I do not identify with her decision. I make my decisions based on my opinions about rightness and wrongness, but I don't have to have those same opinions about somebody else's choices. I can feel empathy for another's difficult decisions. I can even admire the wonderful aspects of a divine being that lead someone a different way than me, even while believing that I am also lead by divine wonder.
She's fine with or without my attention. She's strong and brilliant, and we're not close enough for my objectivity to be damaging, and so I'm taking this opportunity to look inside myself.
On any particular subject, I can divide the world roughly into people who agree or disagree with my opinions. I can divide them into people who have or believe the same information I do, and people who don't. I can divide people into those who have had similar experiences, and those who haven't. It's easy to have empathy for people who are us, but do I lack empathy with them?
There are limits to empathy in any situation. I am white, and so therefore I will never really understand the spectrum of experiences that come with being black or brown. I will never really understand the pressures of masculinity on men. I will never feel the temptations of wealth. My brain thinks in English, most of the time, and so I won't know what it is like to organize my thoughts in Finnish or Chinese or Swahili. I cannot identify with these things. I can't say, "I know what it is like to be [x]." I can only ask, "Tell me what it is like to be [x]."
Everyone knows the scandal of Rachel Dolezal, whose identification became problematic, and brought on a heated conversation about cultural appropriation. That kind of identification has problems linked to the face we put on for the world, no matter how we feel, or claim to feel, inside. There are experiences that are unique to our cultural interfaces from before our first breath out of the womb. I do not identify with Ms. Dolezal, and that contrast is an expression of pride - a face I put on for the world: a face of not-her.
I think she's a woman caught up in the lies she told herself. But for many people whose internal identity doesn't match their external identity, they are telling a truth that we can't see to verify or disprove. It is also not usually our place to do so. We may not be able to identify with trans brothers and sisters (an obvious analogy), but can't we boil how they feel down to something common among humans? (being careful not to assume too much in that kind of empathizing?)
I don't know what it's like to be black, but I know what it's like to have my life threatened. I can't claim it's the same thing, but I can use that experience to understand certain points of view and form my own opinions (when absolutely necessary).
In Egypt, according to religious news media, there is a recent history (this past decade) of Muslims protecting coptic Christians, and vice versa, when each group is threatened by terrorists. The Muslims aren't being baptized, necessarily. The Christians aren't necessarily switching religions either. They don't have to. All they have to do is reorient themselves so that they are on the same side, facing a common goal: life and religious freedom.
I feel like there are people who would be afraid to reorient themselves like that: who would be afraid of who they find on their side. Mustn't identify with Rachel Dolezal. Mustn't. Mustn't identify with the political opposition. Mustn't identify with mass stupidity.
But sometime or other, we're all on the same side as somebody we hate or fear. If we hate or fear people or their ideologies. Maybe you think Hitler was the personification of an appalling evil. I hope you condemn his life and work. I hope you visit a concentration camp memorial, at least online, and weep for the murdered and tortured. But if you go about defining yourself as his complete opposite, you will find yourself, finally, staring at your own, innocent, 46 chromosomes in utter horror.
It gets even more complicated when you consider public policy and who has power over whom, to make decisions for or against whom. You can say, "I think I know what you're feeling," and still vote for legislation in your own interests and against theirs. Will you honestly try to claim that you're being objective? What good is empathy if you do not let it change you, and so do not let it change the world?
I do not have answers. Only questions.
Here, I look back at my feelings about my friend's post and see that, no, I do not feel the same way she feels. I am not making the same decision that she is making. I do not identify with her decision. I make my decisions based on my opinions about rightness and wrongness, but I don't have to have those same opinions about somebody else's choices. I can feel empathy for another's difficult decisions. I can even admire the wonderful aspects of a divine being that lead someone a different way than me, even while believing that I am also lead by divine wonder.
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