Hannah Arendt Center for Politics and Humanities
15Oct/127

The Political Weakness of Empathy

Political thought is representative. I form an opinion by considering a given issue from different viewpoints….This process of representation does not blindly adopt the actual views of those who stand somewhere else, and hence look upon the world from a different perspective; this is a question neither of empathy, as though I tried to be or to feel like somebody else, nor of counting noses and joining a majority but of being and thinking in my own identity where actually I am not.

-Hannah Arendt, “Truth and Politics” in Between Past and Future, p. 241

In response to the shootings in Aurora, Colorado in July, President Obama had this to say:

While we will never know fully what causes somebody to take the life of another, we do know what makes life worth living. The people we lost in Aurora loved and they were loved….They had hopes for the future and they had dreams that were not yet fulfilled. And if there’s anything to take away from this tragedy, it’s the reminder that life is very fragile…What matters at the end of the day is not the small things; it’s not the trivial things…Ultimately it’s how we choose to treat one another and how we love one another.

This speech was disturbing for a number of reasons. Yes, it was full of clichés and tired appeals to the hopes and futures of people who are nothing but a vague idea to Obama’s audience. But most disturbing of all was the fact that it revealed the response of the country’s highest public official to a breakdown of public safety was essentially a complete abdication of responsibility for the public.

In this speech, Obama refuses to articulate what Arendt calls political thought, instead luxuriating in the experience of empathy and asking the audience to the do same. The problem with speaking and thinking of politics as a sphere in which individuals must try “to be or to feel like somebody else,” as Arendt saw it, is that feeling with another does nothing to acknowledge and maintain the plurality that is so necessary to politics. In empathy, one remains isolated and alone as an individual, albeit an individual with a different set of emotional experiences than what one had before. In this instance, Obama puts himself into the shoes of those individuals who lost family and friends in the shooting and asks his Florida audience to do the same. In so doing, he transforms the event from one that confronts the American polity with questions about our shared public space—about national gun control laws and issues connected to the lack of appropriate physical and mental health care—into a question of the appropriate personal response to loss. Seen in this light, it is not at all surprising that the President would conclude his speech by telling the audience that he and his wife will hug their daughters a bit more tightly that night.

Characterizing what is surely a public problem into an issue of bedtime rituals among family members reveals not only the extent to which politics has given way to personal concerns, but also the unhappy possibility that not even our political leaders are able to move beyond personal concerns to take responsibility for the public as a whole.

It is tempting to interpret Arendt’s quote as an admonition to individuals to reveal themselves in political action. This understanding of Arendtian politics and action is the most familiar one and Arendt’s language of “being and thinking in my own identity” certainly evokes the language of personal courage she uses to describe the political actor in The Human Condition. There she ascribes to the decision to enter politics a courage that is necessary to bring to the public light one’s thoughts and deeds as undeniably one’s own and to “ris[e] into sight from some darker ground” (The Human Condition, 71).

But these lines of “Truth and Politics” strongly suggest that the public appearance one makes as an individual must somehow be tied intimately to other people. What one reveals, in other words, is not oneself in one’s personal sentiments, but rather one’s opinion, which necessarily takes into account the viewpoints of other people. The rising from a dark ground into the light of the public is less about revealing oneself in all one’s uniqueness and more about situating or orienting oneself within a realm of others from whom one may or may not differ. It is for this reason, I think, that Arendt considers empathy to be destructive of politics. In empathy, we appropriate the other to collapse the distance between us that would make possible our orientation in the world. One cannot be “oriented” in the absence of external markers against which one can orient oneself.

The consequences of reading politics as a world of empathetic individuals are dire. Empathy makes it easy to justify the appropriation of others’ lives and perspectives as one’s own. In the name of feeling with the victim, we can often leave the victim even more impoverished than he was before the outpouring of empathy. The loss suffered by those in Aurora has become the sadness and pain of those for whom the victims of the shooting, both living and dead, were really nothing but examples of our country’s political failure. On top of what these victims had already lost, it is possible that they might also lose ownership of the event. Such an appropriation has implications beyond the aesthetic or moral. The political problem with Obama’s speech is not simply that he did not reveal himself or that he appropriated the suffering of the Colorado victims. It is that his empathy allowed him to refuse to take responsibility for the community as a whole and it made it easy for the rest of us to do the same and to do so with a clear conscience. Taking care of one’s community and one’s neighbors is measured by the degree to which one can take care of the imagined personal pains of others, not one’s response to the institutional and other structural conditions that have made such events so commonplace in this country.

Aurora shooting victims

Arendt’s distinction between engaging with the viewpoints of others and feeling with another is ultimately a foundation for political responsibility, not just courageous action understood independently of one’s responsibility to the public world. To the extent that politics requires courage, it requires courage not simply to reveal oneself in a crude individualism, but to take responsibility for the big questions of our community. There is of course nothing wrong with hugging one’s children at night. But to define one’s political self in this act and to ask others do so as well is to shirk one’s responsibility for the community and to tell us that such an abdication of responsibility is not only acceptable, but also laudable because it is “human” and feeling. This might not be a necessary consequence of empathy, but, as Arendt tells us, it is an inherent possibility and a threat.

-Jennie Han

 

The Hannah Arendt Center
The Hannah Arendt Center at Bard is a unique institution, offering a marriage of non-partisan politics and the humanities. It serves as an intellectual incubator for engaged thinking and public discussion of the nation's most pressing political and ethical challenges.

Comments (7) Trackbacks (0)
  1. I thought that this comment from Jennie Han was not only ungenerous in the extreme, but wrong besides. Han says that Obama’s cliched words of empathy constitute “a complete abdication of responsibility for the public.”

    Where does that come from? The verb “abdicate,” like most verbs, would require some positive action. Where in this brief acknowledgement of a tragedy does Obama affirmatively “abdicate” his (our) “responsibility for the public?”

    If Ms. Han thinks she’d be a better President (if she thinks she could do a better job making speeches when people die), then she should run for the office. The fact that President Obama did not choose, on this occasion, to go beyond what Ms. Han thinks of as a cliched statement of empathy is no demonstration whatsoever that the President has “abdicated” his (our) responsibility for the public. Much less “completely!”

    I would like to think that the Hannah Arendt Center would vet these blog submissions a bit more. Just because Ms. Han mentions Hannah Arendt in her comment doesn’t mean that it should go out to the world. At least, that is my opinion.

    The issue raised by the comment is a real issue. The comment itself is (I think) unworthy.

  2. This is a very interesting post and why this site is so valuable. To be sure, the problem with empathy is that it destroys the space-of-appearance — the “in-between” we create when we gather as equals, do new things and engage the views of others. It is there that each of us is seen for “who” we are and make our appearance in the world.

    In this setting in Aurora, though, the President was not a speaker/actor. Nor were the conditions of political equality, necessary for disclosure, present. He was there as a speaker only. He was there not to change the world, but to reconcile us to the death that is ever present in it. He was there to console families and let them know that he (on behalf of the nation) cared about them. So isn’t consolation and empathy and the concomitant collapsing of the space-that-relates-and-separates entirely appropriate under these circumstances?

    If he were in Aurora as an actor-speaker, associating with others to do something new there would need to be differences of opinion, engagement with others and opportunity for the disclosure so central to Arendt’s thinking.

    Would action at that time to engage the issues of gun access and mental health have been appropriate? Or would the President have found himself in the position of using a tragedy to advance an agenda? Isn’t that engagement best initiated, and the political courage you seek best found after the grieving hour and in the State Houses and the Congress where the plurality of views gather, and the conditions of decision-making authority and political equality exist?

    To be sure, the President could have put these matters before the Congress, but he chose not to. Aurora would not have been the place to do that. But the State of the Union address might have been.

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