I was wondering if too much empathy could be a bad thing. Because I think, in general, we use the word “empathy” as a positive thing. If someone has a high level of empathy, they are considered a good person. I understand empathy as the ability to know what another person is feeling and thinking. Let’s assume that because of my high level of empathy, I know what anyone thinks and feels. Then I can use that information to manipulate them, and so on.
– Wiktor, Poland
In the history of all human inventions, there are two guarantees. The first is that the world polarizes into two camps: the tech optimists (“This is brilliant!”) and the tech pessimists (“This is the worst thing in human history!”). But the second cliché is from the reasonable, contemplative sorts found in the middle ground. These people will say, “No technology is inherently good or bad. It’s the humans who use it that make it so.”
The printing press can print science pamphlets and philosophical treatises, as well as pornography and recipes for bombs. Drones can be used to deliver emergency toilet rolls or to drop a bomb on a house. Guns don’t kill people; rappers do.
But it’s not just artificial innovations; it’s also our own natural talents. Highly intelligent scientists could give us microwaves and radio technology, but they could also give us V2 rockets and anthrax. As Wiktor points out in today’s question, our capacity for empathy is one such tool — a tool to be used for good or ill. An empathetic person can turn to psychiatry or charity work, or they can manipulate people for personal gain. So, to unpack what Wiktor means and what philosophy has to say, we must first unpack what “empathy” is in this case — calling upon our friends in the Psychology Department for help. Then, Martin Hoffman will talk us through “compassion fatigue” to help us find some kind of resolution.
Theory of mind: Pointing at things
The problem with “empathy” is that it’s quite a thick concept — thick with overlapping and usually interchangeable ideas. Empathy is often considered a combination of “theory of mind” and “compassion.” Theory of mind is our ability to infer what other people are thinking. If we’re having a nice two-hour chat about your cruise holiday and I look at the clock above your head, you will (I hope) infer that I’m a touch bored. That’s theory of mind in action. Sometimes, we infer others’ intentions from things like body language and other nonverbal cues. It might be something in the intonation, beat, and inflection of their speech. But most often, we infer theory of mind through someone’s eye movements.
In the 1990s, the clinical psychologist Simon Baron-Cohen proposed that infants learn theory of mind through “joint attention.” This is where a dad points at an airplane and says, “Look! A plane!” and points his finger. The dad and his child are caught staring at the same thing. Their intentions are directed the same way. The child learns that two people can think in the same way.
Of course, different people have different degrees of theory of mind, and this is where Wiktor’s question gets interesting. Most people can infer enough about others to get by and for society to function. Others, though, soon realize they have a preternatural degree of theory of mind — they can read people’s thoughts and predict their intentions far easier than others do. They know why a colleague is crying without having to ask. They know when a friend is going to need their help. They ask the right questions and guide a conversation with the dexterity of a clairvoyant on a counseling course.
They are gifted with a tool. How will they use it?
Hoffman: Compassion fatigue
Theory of mind is not enough, on its own, to account for empathy. Knowing what someone is thinking or feeling does not motivate you to help that person. For this, we need compassion. It’s possible, for example, that I can know quite well that you’re sad and that my actions are making you sad, but I have absolutely no compulsion whatsoever to help you. Or, a particularly cruel arch-villain might be very good at knowing how to manipulate someone’s emotions, using this knowledge to cause maximum distress without any intention of alleviating the suffering.
So, Wiktor, under this definition, we can say that theory of mind requires compassion to become empathy. Theory of mind is morally neutral. Our motivating emotions, like compassion or selfishness, turn theory of mind into being right or wrong.
But Everyday Philosophy is never simple, and there’s another issue here as well. And that’s what happens when someone has too much compassion. Let’s say someone has both a high-functioning theory of mind and an overflowing well of compassion. What then? Well, this is what Hoffman calls “empathic over-arousal.” A person will feel so worn down by the intensity of other people’s emotions that it wears them down — it turns their distress into my actual distress. This might not seem like a bad thing. After all, if we feel personal distress about someone else’s suffering, then we are more inclined to help. But Hoffman warns that this kind of excess will lead to “compassion fatigue,” where we learn to stop caring. We dial down our compassion. We make of your heart a stone.
Swinging like a pendulum
The empath is caught between a rock and a hard place. If they have no compassion whatsoever, then they risk turning to manipulation or Machiavellianism. If they have too much compassion, then they end up fatigued and uncaring, which leads back to having no compassion. The truly, morally, empathetic person is someone who manages to walk the compassionate tightrope between the two.
What does that look like in practice? Well, that depends on each individual and their capacity to endure “compassion fatigue.” Mahatma Gandhi, for example, talked about increasing our sense of service and compassion to ever-increasing circles — an idea Peter Singer turned into an entire book. We start with ourselves, move out to our family, then our neighborhood, then country, then world, then Universe. I suspect most people will experience some kind of compassion fatigue along the way. Which means we’re faced with two choices. Either we train ourselves to be more compassionate, exercising our empathetic muscles to take on more emotional contagion. Or, we limit our compassion to narrower circles.
How much compassion can you take?
