“What if faith is just a false god’s verse?”
– Heart’s Too Heavy, John Moreland
Empathy has long been an ideal I hold with the highest esteem. I often reflect upon my moral/ethical philosophies and daily actions to assess whether they align with this ideal. And while I attempt to make adjustments where contradictions exist, this is largely a coping mechanism to protect my perception as a decent person.
There’s a tragic irony here, and one I fear proves my faith in empathy to be false; a facade to insulate me from my hypocrisy. For in my attempt to comprehend empathy solely thru my own lens and experience(s) I’ve neglected the very nature of empathy: to identify with the perceptions and emotions of others. In some ways, it’s rather amazing I’ve failed to see this until now.
We can’t escape the impact of our own lived experience; that bias will always remain. We can, however, open ourselves up to the lived experience of others. This requires a willingness to be critiqued, to stretch beyond the comfort of ourselves. Truly seeking that connection with others will deepen our understanding of compassion and justice.
The problem remains that empathy is convenient to embrace while remaining difficult to enact. I can justify to myself, perhaps even with a sincere earnestness, that my actions employ my ideals. Yet if my only critique of myself is via my own lens? I’m simply fooling myself into believing I am pursuing empathetic qualities without grasping the lived experience of others. The ramifications of this is startlingly deep.
I have come to see this thru my personal commitment to my life partner. I have made mistakes, perhaps subconsciously, precisely because my perception of what she wants/needs, or what we’ve agreed to pursue, has been limited to my own understanding. I’m grateful that I see this now, and also recognize this aspect of empathy extends in a universal sense – beyond individual relationships. It applies, rather seamlessly, into the narrative I subscribe to in my relationship with the world.
Take, for example, my pronounced dedication to dismantling racism and misogyny. I know my belief is sincere, yet I also limit my consideration of what they are to my personal lens. This is both laughable and dangerous, as I can’t imagine realities that don’t apply to me. The absurdity of my lack of awareness shows that the danger of privilege is most notable as an insidious movement: It belies the very ideals of empathy by deceiving me into believing I comprehend something I can’t relate to.
I’ll never understand what it’s like to be judged – in daily interactions, legal realities, or societal mores – simply for what I look like. Understanding what it’s like to be oppressed is flatly impossible. I can, however, listen to others, identify how my actions/words/perceptions contribute to the structures of injustice, and push myself to become the ideals I proclaim.
Maybe empathy is, to the privileged, nothing more than a fabricated ideal. We uphold it as a virtue because it makes us feel good – not because we are actually willing to pursue it. And damn it, I’m sick of being a culprit, of creating a false god to placate my conscience.
Austin Bloomberg 