I do not engage in arguments that are not looking for common understanding, which would, of course, cancel the entire X-universe, but I have been intrigued to watch the hubbub over empathy. Rightwing political pastors jumped on the anti-empathy bandwagon (now, that is a strange one!). Reminds me of a pastor my mother told me about once who, after being criticized for being uncaring and not tending to his flock offered the explanation, “I was not given the gift of mercy.” I would at least consider in that case another line of work—used cars or televangelism come to mind.

A friend sent David French’s article to a circle of friends, and we took up a conversation about the difference between sympathy and empathy. The quite simple distinction is in the words themselves: sympathy (feeling for) and empathy (feeling with). it is used in counseling in a somewhat defined technical sense to describe being able not only to hear what someone says and have a thought about it, but to feel in one’s own body, feelings, emotions, an interior reaction that originates from the other, not simply the words and ideas they are presenting. I can only say that I have experienced both and they are very distinct in my mind. The first is more a rational process, the other more intuitive and direct. Sympathy belongs to the beauty of rational truth and empathy to world of clinical depth.

I think of a sense of social awareness we often call “reading the room” in which one senses emotion that is contagious. Perhaps it is triggered by cues, body language, etc. I have had my eyes closed during a prayer time at worship and suddenly felt a wave of emotion inside and looked up to realize that people were tearing up. There is some kind of collective emotion in the room. I have experienced this with anger as well, sometimes feeling it from one person.

In the case of empathic moments, I literally feel the pain, anger, hurt, joy of someone else. This is most intense in one-to-one moments. And it is not something I either will to happen or control. An empathic reaction is a knot in the stomach, tears, unexplained emotion unrelated to what I am rationally thinking. Sympathy, of course, is related to empathy, else you could dismiss a tragic story or the hurt someone is describing. It is more helpful for me to think of sympathy and empathy being connected by a line, so we might never have one without a bit of the other. We should be far more worried about the opposites–apathy and antipathy, if you will.

I have seen this happen a lot at funerals and with the grieving. I consider the prime example of empathy in the Bible, apart from the crucifixion, to be moments where Jesus is angered by heartlessness or feels the suffering of another. The woman with the issue of blood comes to mind, reaching through the crowd to touch the hem of his garment. Jesus’ sensitivity to her suffering is so acute that he feels it among the press of the crowd. I can only imagine it. Now think of him standing before the tomb of Lazarus, and he is in anguish, the word  ἐμβριμάομαι literally snorting or groaning. That, I suspect, may have been perfect empathy with not only the loss of a friend, but also the awareness that somehow the cruel suffering that ahead of him is coming.

Frederick Buechener once wrote “Like Buddha under the Bo tree, Jesus, on his tree, has his eyes closed too. The difference is this. The pain and sadness of the world that Buddha’s eyes close out is the pain and sadness of the world that the eyes of Jesus close in.” I have always loved this picture. Because he went on to say that shutting it out is not always a bad thing. The pain of even our own lives can literally kill us if we feel them endlessly. Losses are especially this way.

I have seen this and felt it more from a friend I have named Paul. Sometimes in a gathering, because I was the only one sitting where I could see it, Paul’s eyes would fill with tears in reaction to whatever we were talking about. He was not simply “processing” what was being shared but feeling it directly. That is empathy.

If I am thinking, “What a sad, painful thing!” that is sympathy. Sympathy is honorable also, but it is not the same. And empathy is wonderful, but also carries its limits, as Buechner noted. It is not humanly possible to live “empathically” in this more clinical sense. Which is why it carries so much relevance to how I think of Gethsemane, the cross, and the life of Jesus. Perhaps three years of empathy with suffering humanity was all that even God could bear without a crucifixion and a resurrection.

Anyway, those are my thoughts and experiences. I learned much about this as a clinical skill. It can actually be learned, but it can be quite daunting, and individuals’ capacities for this more clinical skill probably vary greatly. I rejoice at those who are skilled with empathic sensitivities. All of us have a bit of it, at least, in moments and in our intimate relationships. I think of the prophets being particularly gifted in this way (and probably accounting for their depressions, oddities and sufferings).

In therapy it often leaves us who do it depleted in the end. There is only so much feeling a human body can feel and continue to function. Sometimes sympathy is the wiser choice of response.  fairly certain, furnishes the antonym to both words. When you are falling apart, sympathy will try to help you. They will bring food by and drop it off, write a card, help with the kids. Empathy feels what you are feeling. They get it. They sit with you, lest you be alone with your despair, and know when to get up and go home. There are two aspects of caring. Their competition is not one another, but cruelty, the psychopath with no conscience, the indifferent, and those who look for their advantage in your suffering.

I will take either one when I am in trouble.