Why Kindness Still Matters in an Age of Outrage

In a time when public discourse is dominated by outrage and division, empathy—once considered a virtue—has become a contested concept. Some even go as far as calling it dangerous. But is empathy truly a liability, or is it the very thing holding civilization together?

Reclaiming the Meaning of Empathy

Empathy isn’t agreement or approval. It’s understanding. It’s the capacity to see the world through someone else’s eyes—to recognize the emotional and psychological reality of another person. The Stoics had a word for this: oikiosis, a natural affection that begins with the self and extends outward to encompass all of humanity. Marcus Aurelius wrote, “Men have come into being for one another.”

This is not passive resignation. It’s an invitation to understand, educate, or coexist with others, grounded in the belief that all people are fundamentally interconnected.

The Critics of Empathy

Recent cultural voices have criticized empathy as a moral weakness. Books like The Sin of Empathy by Joe Rigney argue that too much empathy can lead to moral compromise. One of Rigney’s key examples centers on parents of LGBTQ children—suggesting that if they empathize with their kids, they’re being manipulated.

Let’s pause and sit with that. If caring about a child’s emotional experience is now suspect, what does that say about our values? Michael C. Rhea, in his rebuttal article Empathy Isn’t a Sin, nails it: “Empathy is an exploit, in the computer hacker sense of the term. It’s a back door through which people we’ve become hardened against might actually get through to us.”

To reject empathy is often a defense against personal discomfort. If we empathize, we may have to take responsibility for our views or actions. If we stay hardened, we can justify our behavior without reflection or remorse.

Empathy Is Not Naïve—It’s Strategic

Some worry that empathy opens the door to manipulation. But in truth, empathy equips us to see more clearly, not less. It enhances our ability to anticipate behavior, even of those who oppose us. Understanding others doesn’t make us weak—it makes us wiser, more responsive, and harder to fool.

Empathy isn’t the refusal to draw lines; it’s the refusal to dehumanize.

Ironically, those who dismiss empathy often demand it when the tables turn. Elon Musk, who once claimed empathy would be the downfall of Western civilization, later lamented the lack of empathy when protests impacted his businesses. We all crave empathy when we're the ones suffering.

A Historical Warning: The Nuremberg Trials

The danger of empathy’s absence isn’t theoretical—it’s historical. At the Nuremberg Trials, U.S. Army psychologist Capt. G.M. Gilbert observed, “Evil, I think, is the absence of empathy.” He noted a chilling uniformity among the Nazi defendants: an utter inability to feel for others.

Philosopher Hannah Arendt, reporting on Adolf Eichmann’s trial, introduced the phrase “the banality of evil”—not to excuse atrocities, but to highlight that horrifying acts are often committed by emotionally detached individuals. Without empathy, we reduce others to objects or obstacles. That’s when civilization falters.

Justice, Empathy, and Stoic Wisdom

Justice—how we treat others—is one of the four Stoic virtues. Without empathy, justice becomes retribution. We react instead of respond. We flatten people into caricatures, stripping them of complexity.

But empathy isn’t passive. It’s a courageous act of imagination. It asks us to hold two truths: our moral compass and someone else’s lived experience. It doesn’t demand agreement. It demands humanity.

The Stoics advocated for cosmopolitanism—the idea that all humans belong to one global family. Seneca wrote, “We are members of one great body, planted by nature... We were born for the good of the whole.” To care for others isn’t weakness—it’s duty.

Practicing Courageous Empathy

So, where does this leave us?

Empathy isn’t about surrendering our values. It’s about seeing clearly enough to defend them. It helps us understand without excusing, and respond without vilifying. It’s discernment—not blind emotion, but thoughtful connection.

I won’t lie—practicing empathy is hard. It can challenge our beliefs. But it also refines them. Empathy grounds us in shared humanity. It doesn’t weaken conviction. It deepens it.

In an age of outrage, perhaps what we need isn’t less empathy, but more of the right kind—a courageous, principled, discerning empathy. One that doesn’t compromise, but humanizes.