The Case for Empathy

When my wife and daughters see a puppy, they are overcome with delight. “Aw!” they coo. “Look at the adorable little guy! He's so cute!”They want rush up and pet it and hold it. Their voices go into a high pitched register. This happened even when my daughters were essentially babies themselves. Even so, they instinctively tried to make their adorable voices even less threatening.For a long time, I hid my delight at seeing puppies. Make no mistake, I felt that delight. I felt the love and joy at their cuteness surging through me. I love the way they prance about with their awkward little steps. I love observing their reactions to a world in which everything is new.But I didn't start to coo. I didn't say, “Oh, what an adorable little guy.”Instead of embracing that emotion, I suppressed it. I buried it. I grabbed it by the neck and tried to strangle it.Why?I don't remember making the decision to reject kindness in any form, and yet those impulses remain.We had a dog when I was growing up. Dogs are depression absorbers. All they have to do is walk into the room and you feel better. If you pat one on the head, it extracts the sadness through your fingers and transforms it into joy and laughter.My dad didn't want the dog, but my mom made it happen. When we brought it up to my dad, his response was abrupt and gruff.“If you get a dog, you just fall in love with it and then you feel all depressed when it dies.”I remember that comment hanging in the air. It was one of his “irrefutable” statements. We all knew we weren't allowed to challenge it, probably because the comment was so absurd.From a technical side, yes, it's true. One day the dog dies and you'll feel sad when that happens. One day everything dies. Should we not live at all because if we embrace our life and enjoy our life it will be more painful when that life is taken away?This is the counter argument that I didn't speak because I knew it would have thrown my dad into a rage.“You're twisting up my words into something I didn't say!”That's one way of looking at it. Another way is that I'm deconstructing the argument to expose its flaws.But we never had this conversation. It happened in the negative space of my imagination. He stomped on down his path. I skipped along down mine. Eventually I learned to find joy in the awkward play of puppies. I learned to stop living in fear of how appreciating the good things in life might cause greater pain when those things were taken away.We were conditioned to be rude. That's the American way. People sometimes object when you say that, but Americans reject manners as part of their fundamental identity. They think they're “exceptional.” They think the rules shouldn't apply to them.They don't believe in accountability.They think that the only punishment comes from being kind.They think that if they appear “soft,” it's the equivalent of asking for abuse.So, they take it upon themselves to attack anyone who indulges in public displays of compassion.Growing up, when little girls used to start fawning over a picture of a puppy, the boys reacted in the worst possible way.“Isn't that puppy adorable?” the girl asks.“I wonder what would happen if you put him in the microwave?” the boy replies.When somebody says something that horrible, there's a pause before you get a reaction. The girl, who had been delighting herself with fantasies about kind and gentle play with the puppy, is now forced to think about that puppy trembling in terror and dying in agony.She turns to the boy and thinks but doesn't say, “Why would you do that to me? Why would you put that image in my brain?”Seeing her discomfort, the boy laughs. He thinks he's done something admirable. He's been taught to stamp out compassion and kindness. He's a warrior in that cause, and he doesn't even remember when he picked that cause as his own.But then a strange thing happens. If the girl takes the boy's comment at face value, he becomes offended. If she warns her friends to stay away from him, he feels that's crossing the line.“He's a cruel person who makes jokes about torturing and murdering puppies, just think of what he'll do to you!”“Oh, how dare you talk trash about me! Anybody could tell I was joking! It was a joke! What's the matter with you, can't you recognize a joke?”“So, you're saying you wouldn't put a puppy in the microwave?”But even when given the opportunity to retract his statement, something prevents him from doing so. “No, I totally would.”It's easy to get caught up in the misdirection. The boy will try to distract you from the fundamental issue. He'll come up with more and more devious fantasies about torturing an innocent animal to death, laughing all the while. He'll repeat those without question, but it's all to disguise his fundamental weakness.He can spew endless torture fantasies.But he can't say one word about compassion. He's incapable of it.That's the question you have to ask.“Why can't you say one nice thing about the puppy? What has the puppy ever done to you? All the puppy wants to do is love you. Why are you incapable of receiving that love?”Only that question will make him stop. Only that question will get him to pause and reflect and maybe, just maybe... get him to rethink his life.“What an adorable little guy.”American men are afraid to say these words. They feel they are surrounded by enemies. They live in perpetual terror. They're afraid that if they ever say anything nice, it will invite the agents of evil to commit some awful action. But what they don't realize is that by failing to speak words of kindness, they become agents of evil themselves.“I love this dog. I love this person. I love the people in my community. We have to help them.”Instead, they joke about torture fantasies. If anyone objects, they say they're “overreacting.” Then, in their misery, they waste their lives in labors to make those fantasies come true.I had a dog when I was growing up despite my father's warning that the dog would die and I'd feel bad.The dog did die, I did feel bad for a moment. But then I remembered all the days of joy. I still feel the momentum of that joy even now.When I see a cute little puppy I say, “Isn't that adorable?”Nothing bad happens because of empathy.Everything bad happens because of fear.American men have to be encouraged to give up their fear. Their fear is ruining their lives. Their fear is ruining the whole world. The most tragic part is that fear is nothing but an illusion. It's a self-fulfilling prophecy.We must teach our children to embrace empathy instead. Hold it close to displace the fear.You all make this newsletter happen! Thanks for your sponsorship! I have payment tiers starting at as little as twenty dollars a year.Upgrade at 30% offUpgrade at 40% offUpgrade at 50% offUpgrade at 60% offI'm so happy you're here, and I'm looking forward to sharing more thoughts with you tomorrow.My CoSchedule referral linkHere’s my referral link to my preferred headline analyzer tool. If you sign up through this, it’s another way to support this newsletter (thank you).I'd Rather Be Writing is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber. Get full access to I'd Rather Be Writing at walterrhein.substack.com/subscribe