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Empathy: What Is It Good For?

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I wish I could have a discussion about empathy with a particular friend who, unfortunately, is no longer here. She was a caring person, generous with time, money, and attention. She was a good friend to me. She likely considered herself to be empathetic, although I don’t recall her making such a claim.

But there were some attitudes she espoused and actions she took that I was perplexed and a little bit horrified by. For example, I remember her telling me she’d gone out of her way to congratulate a woman paying for groceries in a supermarket with the equivalent of food stamps on her good (nutritious?) food choices. My reaction was along the lines of You did what? I could write an entire article on the assumptions underlying that interaction.

And when there was much talk about airport security following the events of 911, she and I discussed the problems posed for people with metal implants going through scanners. Her opinion at the time was that this group of people ought to give up air travel for the sake of making it easier on the rest of us. I (let us say) disagreed. We also strongly disagreed on the subject of undocumented immigrants. However, she later changed her stance on that one.

We were of the same political persuasion, so that wasn’t the basis for our sometimes strong differences of opinion. Those differences never really got in our way, anyway. I enjoy a good argument, and once she figured that out, she was willing to engage.

On the other end of the spectrum, this friend (most definitely a cat person) dropped everything to come to the aid of a neighbor who needed daily assistance with her dog for at least a month after surgery relegated her to a wheelchair. And she seriously considered moving to another state to help out a niece who hadn’t even made a request.

Empathy vs. Compassion

In my ongoing research into the subject of empathy, I’ve encountered numerous takes on what it’s supposed to be, as well as what it’s supposed to be good for. Consistent with my previous research on what it’s supposed to be, there’s no consensus on what it’s supposed to be good for. While many people still claim that empathy is necessary and useful all around, others report that it actually only comes into play in regard to the closest members of our in-group—people we already know and care about and presumably understand to some extent.

Psychologist Paul Bloom wrote a book titled Against Empathy, in which he cites research supporting the idea that empathy doesn’t lead to prosocial action—that people substitute feeling (or thinking they’re feeling) someone else’s pain or distress for doing something to alleviate it. Compassion, on the other hand, which doesn’t necessarily involve relating to other people empathically—which in fact involves having some emotional distance—does lead to prosocial action.

By empathy I mean feeling the feelings of other people. So if you’re in pain and I feel your pain—I am feeling empathy toward you. If you’re being anxious, I pick up your anxiety. If you’re sad and I pick up your sadness, I’m being empathetic. And that’s different from compassion. Compassion means I give your concern weight, I value it. I care about you, but I don’t necessarily pick up your feelings.

A lot of people think this is merely a verbal distinction, that it doesn’t matter that much. But actually there’s a lot of evidence in my book that empathy and compassion activate different parts of the brain. But more importantly, they have different consequences. If I have empathy toward you, it will be painful if you’re suffering. It will be exhausting. It will lead me to avoid you and avoid helping. But if I feel compassion for you, I’ll be invigorated. I’ll be happy and I’ll try to make your life better. —Paul Bloom

Can You Relate?

My friend was financially comfortably well off (not on food stamps), did not have any metal implants, and was born and raised in the U.S. The three examples I gave all involved a reaction to others, people who were not members of her, or my, in-group. I would say she didn’t or couldn’t relate to them. And I think the concept of relating is separate from the concept of empathy. For example, I relate to people who share major personality traits with me. I “get” them in a way that’s both easy and deep. No imagination is required. No effort. No attempt to understand.

When another friend whose son I have spent very little time with during his 20 years on the planet (but who is quite a lot like me) tells me of her interactions with him or his responses and reactions, I can sometimes physically feel what he might be feeling: the feelings that make his resulting response entirely logical. That’s not empathy. If empathy were good for something, it would be assisting us in “getting” people we don’t automatically relate to or resonate with—people in our out-groups—and then lead us to take compassionate action in response. But as much as so many people wish it did do that, it doesn’t and ultimately can’t.

Empathy appears to be an outdated folk belief we really ought to retire.

Know Thyself (or Not)

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Know Thyself is the first of three maxims inscribed at the Greek Temple of Apollo at Delphi and the one everybody remembers. Fairly succinct at just two words, it’s loaded, nonetheless. It’s difficult, impossible even, to pin down who said what when or the specific meaning that was intended by the ancient Greeks. And Pythia, aka the Oracle at Delphi, was known to be cryptic, so no help there.

Looking at know thyself now, I’m reminded again of listening to a philosopher expound on the meaning of the word is for what seemed an inordinate amount of time. Know is similar in that regard.

It can mean, for example, that I fully grasp or understand something; that I am—or more likely, I feel—certain about something; that I have a working acquaintance with some process, thing, concept, etc.; that I’ve memorized something; that I recognize someone or something, or that I can make distinctions—among other things.

Thyself is a similar kettle of fish since it both assumes a sense of self and implies that each of us is a single self—which, in the latter case, is not the case.

So I don’t know what know thyself is supposed to mean or can mean. Once upon a time, I probably thought I knew. But as I’ve been reflecting recently, I understand more and more that I understand less and less. This seems to be a logical outcome of learning.

To know that one does not know is best; not to know but to believe that one knows is a disease. —Lao Tzu

It’s so Meta

Stephen Fleming has written a book titled Know Thyself: The Science of Self-Awareness. From the bits I’ve read, he appears to consider self-awareness and metacognition to be essentially the same thing.

Self-awareness could be defined as having knowledge of one’s own traits, feelings, motivations, behaviors, etc. (This ought to ring some bells.)

Metacognition could be defined as thinking about our own mental processes—or thinking about thinking.

Self-awareness is meta even without the prefix. Both terms describe System 2 (higher order) processes or functions. I haven’t determined whether there’s a significant distinction between them or the extent to which they overlap or converge.

At any rate, Fleming, who is a cognitive neuroscientist and a very good writer, penned a fascinating article on Theory of Mind. In the entire 4,200+ word article, there was not a single reference to the concept of empathy. That’s because he was writing about the possibility that we know our own minds (or don’t know them) in the same manner and to the same extent that we know other minds. And there’s plenty of room for improvement all around.

I Think, Therefore I Am

Rene Descartes thought that we humans have privileged access to information about ourselves and that we can’t be wrong about what we perceive.

I know clearly that there is nothing that can be perceived by me more easily or more clearly than my own mind.

This is still a pretty popular view of things, even though it is obviously incorrect. We most certainly can be wrong about ourselves, and we certainly can and do lack self-knowledge. (If that were not the case, there would be no need for the What Do You Want? course. Everyone would automatically know what they want.)

Another philosopher, Gilbert Ryle, had a different take:

The sorts of things that I can find out about myself are the same as the sorts of things that I can find out about other people, and the methods of finding them out are much the same.

So, from the perspective of what is known as the inferential view, we don’t need one explanation (privileged access) for how we know ourselves and another (Theory of Mind) for how we know others. Furthermore, the methods we employ to know—or not know—ourselves and others are the same methods we employ to know anything about anything else in the world. What are the implications? And what do you think some of those methods might be?

Another Threshold

I would like to be able to say (maybe) that I intended all along to get to this point, but I’ve simply been following the breadcrumb trail, and it has inexorably led to the threshold concept* that happens to be the focus of December’s Monthly Meeting of the Mind (& Brain):

The brain generates a mental model of the world, which determines what we pay attention to, how we interpret what we pay attention to, and the meaning we assign to it.

Our mental models of the world, which circumscribe every aspect of our present experience, as well as what is possible for us to do and be, are not simply abstract concepts; they are encoded in the brain.

More next time on the impact a handful of threshold concepts might have on how we know ourselves or others.

*A threshold concept can be considered as akin to a portal, opening up a new and previously inaccessible way of thinking about something. It represents a transformed way of understanding, or interpreting, or viewing something without which the learner cannot progress. —Jan Meyer and Ray Land, 5/4/03

Theory of Mind:
Less than Meets the Eye

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In his second book, Brain Changer (which you don’t need to read), David DiSalvo, who also wrote What Makes Your Brain Happy and Why You Should Do the Opposite (which you should read), says:

Humans are mind-synced in ways we never realized.

Yes, this is true. It is also true, contradictory though it may be, that we believe we are far more mind-synced than we actually are. Or maybe it’s more accurate to say that because we intuit some things about others correctly, we assume that most or all of the rest of our intuitions about them are also correct. As far as this second part goes, we are bound to be wrong—often surprisingly and significantly wrong. (And, no, predicting what someone else might do in a particular circumstance isn’t the same thing as understanding why they’re doing it.)

Theory of mind refers to the ability or tendency to attribute mental states to ourselves and others. It’s pretty straightforward. (1) We attempt to determine our own beliefs, emotions, desires, intentions, and motivations. (2) We do the same for others. (3) And we distinguish ours from theirs.

Clueless

One of the six actual needs we humans have is other people. So it makes sense that we would have a capacity to understand others. But after my numerous decades of life on this planet—observing myself and others, mostly with dismay—one thing I have learned is that we are relatively clueless about our own beliefs, emotions, desires, intentions, and motivations.

That makes determining what others are feeling or where they are coming from clueless squared. At a minimum. And although we are pretty good at distinguishing our own selves from other selves, we suck at imagining that other people might legitimately have completely different perspectives and reactions than ours. If that weren’t the case, we wouldn’t be so easily confounded by their actions and reactions.

The conscious part of the brain prefers to avoid expending mental effort and energy on critical thinking. So it leaves most of the driving, and the heavy lifting, to the unconscious part, which excels at generalizing and extrapolating from personal and/or incomplete information.

What’s So for Everyone

Of course there are things that do apply to all of us.

  • We all have the same functional brain networks.
  • We are all motivated by the brain’s reward system.
  • We all view and experience the world through a mental model of it.
  • We are all at the effect of various cognitive biases.

These facts tell us something about who we are, but they don’t help us understand each other as much as the specifics—or the differences—do.

What’s So for You (vs. Me)

For example:

  • We don’t access the functional brain networks exactly the same way or to the same extent.
  • We don’t have identical neural pathways or find the same things rewarding.
  • Our mental models differ based on our temperament, experiences, beliefs, etc.
  • We are more prone to some cognitive biases than to others.
So What?

There is no one-size-fits-all approach or explanation when it comes to the specifics (what’s so for you vs. what’s so for me). That’s why when social psychologists claim that “situations” determine behavior more than personality does, I call b.s. And that’s why when systems thinkers claim that one person will react pretty much like any other person within a given system, I also call b.s. (It isn’t that situations and systems have no effect on behavior, but you and I are unlikely to be affected identically because we are not identical to begin with.)

More importantly, that’s why we need to become less clueless about how we operate, so that we can then become more intentional in our own lives and less clueless about how other people operate. At least, that is, if we’d like to make some progress in upping our own game or finding solutions to any of the significant global problems we face. As long as we continue operating under the assumption that we have more clues than we do about ourselves and others, we’re likely to continue getting the results we’re getting now.

Is Santa Claus Coming to Town?

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I was standing in the kitchen waiting for the coffee to be ready while mulling over the implications of delayed gratification. But what came to mind was being a child and waiting for Christmas—more particularly, Christmas presents! The weeks leading up involved lots of thinking and dreaming about what I wanted; it was hard to choose from so many possibilities. Then there were the lists, written and rewritten. And once the die was cast, wondering what I would actually get and picturing opening those colorful wrapped packages.

Reminders were everywhere, stoking the imagination: Christmas carols on the radio and in stores, decorations inside and outside houses and other buildings, sending and receiving cards, Christmas trees, sugar cookies and other holiday treats.

Christmas was on December 25th every year; nothing I could do about that. And I would get what I got on that date; nothing I could do about that, either. Until the big day arrived, I was full of eager expectation, aka anticipation. Unlike with the concept of delayed gratification, there was no self-control involved, since I had little to no control over the contours of the holiday.

OK, I have to amend one of those statements. Theoretically, I had some control in that I was supposedly more likely to get what I wanted if I was “nice” than if I was naughty. According to the well-known song:

He’s making a list,
He’s checking it twice,
He’s gonna find out who’s naughty or nice

He being Santa Claus, of course. I don’t recall paying a price for not being “nice,” even though that word was probably not in my vocabulary. In any case, we could look at Christmas presents as rewards for good behavior, which is the way we use them now to get the brain to pay attention to what we want it to pay attention to.

No Stanford Marshmallow Experimenters Need Apply

Kiyohito Iigaya, the lead author of the paper published last year in Science Advances on the brain regions associated with anticipation (mentioned in this blog post) says:

Anticipation can probably drive us to prepare better for actual reward consumption so that we can get the most out of it. It’s also healthy—good for our mental health—to have something to look forward to. The reward is not physically here yet, but the brain somehow manages to create it in our mind.

When I hit upon a really good reward for myself, delaying getting it or consuming it is an entirely enjoyable experience that doesn’t involve any amount of self-control whatsoever. This makes sense because, other than the hippocampus—which is more or less keeping track of who we are—the brain regions involved in self-control and anticipation are not the same. (However, it also makes sense to me that having an ability to make use of anticipation might have a spillover effect on impulse control. Something to explore down the road.)

Double Your Pleasure (Redux)

All of this is to say that anticipation is not the same thing as delayed gratification. Although it’s possible the two concepts have become entangled for some, it’s important to recognize they are entirely different.

Anticipation amps up the potential pleasure of a future reward now, while delayed gratification (and self-control) minimize the potential pleasure of a future reward now. So if you want to develop your anticipation skills, focus on the pleasure, not on the delay.

Two experiments you can run (often—not just once):

  1. Think about any situations from the past when you experienced anticipation. Maybe they were like my Christmas example in which I didn’t have control over when I would receive the thing I wanted. That doesn’t matter because the point of the exercise is to recognize the feeling and the experience.
  2. Play with creating anticipation incrementally by waiting to do or get or consume something you want. During that time, think about the thing you want. Imagine doing or getting or consuming it. Focus on the pleasure you expect to feel. You can start with a few minutes and work up to hours or days.

Rewards are an essential component of lasting, significant behavior change. But rewards don’t work if you are unable to anticipate them. A bonus result from these experiments may be that you learn more about what you really derive pleasure from, which will give you good information about future rewards as you develop your anticipation skills.

I’ll leave you with this video of Melissa Hughes, author of Happy Hour with Einstein even though it features that Carly Simon song I hate (however, it was interesting to learn that Simon wrote it about Cat Stevens).

This is the fourth and “final” post on the topic of anticipation.

Anticipation or Apprehension?

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In his bestselling book Behave, Stanford University’s Robert Sapolsy says that anticipation requires learning. (That appears to be more the case for some personality types than others, but casual observation suggests that quite a few people have some degree of difficulty with anticipation.)

I think the learning needs to begin with making a distinction between anticipation and expectation, two states that are oriented toward a future event and tend to be used interchangeably, thus muddying the waters considerably.

Expectation is the sense that something is about to happen. We can expect positive, negative, or neutral things to occur. The unconscious part of our brain, System 1, is continuously predicting the immediate future so it can determine what actions we should take next, and those predictions sometimes give rise to conscious, System 2, expectations. Of course sometimes the predictions bypass consciousness and go directly to motor neurons that control movement.

For our purposes, it makes sense to view expectation as essentially a functional process.

Anticipation, on the other hand, is a feeling of excitement and pleasure about something we expect will occur, especially in the near future.

The opposite of anticipation would be apprehension, also a feeling, but one of fear, anxiety, unease—even dread—about something we expect will occur in the future.

Anticipation is associated with excitement; apprehension is associated with anxiety. While excitement has positive connotations and anxiety has negative connotations, these two states are not as different from each other as they might appear. In fact, the difference is primarily a matter of interpretation.

Name that Emotion!

Both excitement and anxiety are what are called high-arousal states with similar neurological and physiological symptoms, such as increased heart-rate, restlessness, rapid breathing, difficulty concentrating, and nervousness or tension. Certainly context (the circumstances surrounding a particular high-arousal state) contributes to our interpretation of it. But some of us are more inclined in general to interpret this set of sensations as anxiety and some of us are more inclined to interpret it as excitement.

So the first thing to focus on in learning how to anticipate is your experience of this emotional state and your interpretation of it.

Central to both experience and interpretation is the concept of emotional granularity, which means putting feelings into words with a high degree of complexity. But as psychology professor Lisa Feldman-Barrett, who coined the term, says:

Emotional granularity isn’t just about having a rich vocabulary; it’s about experiencing the world, and yourself, more precisely. 

The more precisely we can identify and recognize our emotions, the faster and more accurate our brain will be in assessing circumstances to determine the most appropriate response. The payoff for the brain (System 1) is efficiency. The payoffs for us (System 2) are numerous, including more nuanced interpretations of our feeling states, greater ability to identify our desired outcomes, enhanced experience, and improved critical thinking and decision-making.

Your Mental (Conceptual) Model

How does the brain figure out what any collection of bodily sensations means? Most likely it does the same thing with internal sensations that it does with external sensations: it makes something up, i.e. it constructs. The brain is continually constructing our experience in—and of—the world based on our mental model, which determines what we pay attention to, how we interpret what we pay attention to, and what it all means.

In every waking moment, your brain uses past experience, organized as concepts, to guide your actions and give your sensations meaning. When the concepts involved are emotion concepts, your brain constructs instances of emotion. —Lisa Feldman Barrett

Although we operate under an assumption that emotions have some sort of independent existence and are “triggered” by events and experiences, this does not appear to be the case. The brain, which always goes for the path of least resistance, is merely making the easiest and fastest interpretation it can make so it can determine what action to take. We are not passive experiencers of our emotions even though we may believe ourselves to be. In actuality, the more often we interpret a set of bodily sensations as a particular emotion, the likelier we are to keep interpreting it that way.

Get Granular

I don’t need to reinvent the wheel here. In addition to her book How Emotions Are Made, Lisa Feldman-Barrett has a great article and TED talk on how to increase emotional granularity, which I highly recommend.

But as a quick example of the concept, here’s an excerpt from a 2018 article in lucidwaking that involves moving from the non-granular general feeling bad to the first distinction of angry/mad (as opposed to sad or anxious, for example), and then fine-tuning that feeling to a permutation of angry/mad, such as:

resistant … belligerent … offended … agitated …  indignant … resentful … irritated … furious … cranky … annoyed … perturbed … enraged … hostile … huffy … wrathful

You can also check out this feeling vocabulary chart to train yourself to detect more nuanced emotions.

The bottom line is that you aren’t entirely at the effect of your brain’s habitual interpretations of your emotional state. Sometimes apprehension is an apt emotional interpretation of a situation or set of circumstances. But if apprehension is always your interpretation of that set of sensations, you are letting your brain off easy, which may feel comforting but limits your options and your possibilities. (Bad brain!)

OK, one more post on anticipation and delayed gratification.View the previous two posts here and here.

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