Feeling For One Another

Not long ago, I witnessed a scene in which one boy began to cry because another boy, entirely by accident, knocked over his block construction. The second boy almost immediately broke into tears as well. Then, a third boy who had not been involved in any way, joined the first two. This was a textbook example of empathy in action: everybody feeling with everybody.

Most of us want our children to be empathetic, which is generally understood as the ability to not only sense other people's emotions, but to put oneself into another person's shoes. It's thought that through empathy, we are inclined to be more compassionate, moral, and cooperative and who doesn't want more of that in the world. Empathy is the basis for the Golden Rule -- Do unto others as you would have them do unto you -- which is found in every major spiritual tradition on Earth.

Most of the parents, caregivers, and educators I know strive to be empathetic with the children in their care. It may at times feel nearly impossible to figure out why a baby is fussing. Is it hunger? Pain? Exhaustion? Overstimulation? But we can at least all step into their booties when it comes to feeling fussy, irritable, and generally out of sorts. Indeed, that's often what happens to stressed out parents or teachers as we find ourselves at our wit's end while trying to "fix" whatever is wrong with our babies. In turn, we too become fussy and irritable as their emotion becomes our emotion.

We value empathy, yet when we feel with them -- when we get fussy when they're fussy, when we get angry when they're angry, when we get sad when they're sad -- we render ourselves less capable of being the supportive adult they need. 

In his uplifting book Humankind, Rutger Bregman proposes The Platinum Rule, which does not call for empathy, but rather compassion. He points out that empathy, feeling with others, tends to sap our energy, whereas compassion, feeling for others, does just the opposite. Compassion makes us stronger. What fussy babies need is not an equally fussy caregiver, but rather one who offers their arms, lap, and heart as an alternative, calming, and healing space. Instead of joining them in their emotion, compassion allows us to invite them to join us in ours.

I'm currently reading a book called The Light Eaters, by science writer Zoë Schlanger, that is an exploration of the controversial and mind-blowing topic of the sensory world of plants. We all know that plants can't see, but they are covered with photoreceptors (for the purpose of photosynthesis), which is exactly what animal eyes are: photoreceptors. And there are countless plant behaviors that at least suggest that they may be able to, in some fashion, "see". We all know that plants don't have brains, unless one considers that their entire "body" may act as a brain, which is what neuroscientists are starting to think about when it comes to human bodies. We all know that plants can't think, but there are countless plant behaviors that demonstrate intelligence, if not consciousness. We all know that plants can't speak, but there is ample scientific evidence that they communicate with one another through chemicals and hormones, not just to other plants, but to insects, fungi, and perhaps even mammals. We all know that plants can't tell time, plan, or socialize, but they exhibit behaviors that indicate, after all, that maybe they can.

Most of this is fringe stuff in the scientific community, although indigenous traditions from every corner of the earth attribute these "humanlike" characteristics to plants. Indeed, as Robin Wall Kimmerer so beautifully details in her book Braiding Sweetgrass, Western science, one of the few traditions to consider plants as "dumb", is today, finally, slowly, starting to come around to indigenous ways of understanding the world.

My point, however, isn't to argue the science, but rather to point out that despite the possibility that plants are more like us than previously thought, we cannot possibly empathize with plants because we can't possibly imagine their emotional state. Even if they can see, think, and communicate, their internal emotional state -- if they even have an emotional state -- is entirely unknowable to us. The same is true for animals. And while we may genuinely believe we can feel the feelings of other humans, there is no way to really know what they are feeling. Empathy is theoretically about feeling the feelings of others, but in the end, what we feel is our own feelings, from our own perspective, that we, rightly or wrongly, believe coincide with those of others. This is why empathy is so exhausting: we aren't feeling their pain, we are feeling our own as a response to theirs, and now we, like the three boys in my example, also need help.

Compassion, feeling for others, has the opposite effect. 

The last thing those three empathetic boys needed was for me to cry along with them. As I lowered myself onto the floor, I said to the boys, "Everybody is crying." All three immediately moved a little closer to me. I said, "You're all sad now, but when you're finished crying, we can talk about it." Then I calmly waited. First one, then another, then all three moved closer to my calmness, although they were still crying. Soon they were all in physical contact with me. I'll point out that I didn't command them with things like "Come sit on my lap," or "Use your words," but instead trusted that the boys would begin to empathize with my calm compassion, my feeling for them. Before long the first boy managed to say, "He knocked over my building." This set off another round of crying from all three boys. I said, "You're all crying."

It took awhile, but eventually, as always happens, they finished their collective, empathetic cry and we were able to discuss what had happened. The first boy accepted the second boy's offer to help him rebuild, while the third and most empathetic boy, pitched in as well.

I'm not dismissing empathy. The capacity to feel with another person, animal, or even plant, is a powerful and important human capability. It is the thing that most clearly shows us that we are all connected, that we're all in this together, that we're not so different after all. But when we're ready to do something to help one another, compassion, feeling for one another, is the superpower we need.

******

Hi, I'm Teacher Tom and this is my podcast! If you're an early childhood educator, parent of preschoolers, or otherwise have young children in your life, I think you'll find my conversations with early childhood experts and thought-leaders (like Lenore!) useful, inspiring, and eye-opening. You might even come away transformed by the ideas and perspectives we share. Please give us a listen. You can find Teacher Tom's Podcast by clicking here or finding us anywhere you download your podcasts.

I put a lot of time and effort into this blog. If you'd like to support me please consider a small contribution to the cause. Thank you!