In the modern political landscape, progress requires a courageous re-evaluation of “unquestioned virtues.” Concepts like empathy are often treated as moral constants, yet their application in a high-velocity digital age reveals significant fractures. Interrogating these complexities is not merely an academic exercise; it is a strategic necessity for those seeking to sustain pluralism in an era of tribal identification.
The Critic’s Beat
Jennifer Szalai, a nonfiction critic for the New York Times, approaches this discourse as a political artifact. Drawing on her academic foundations in Peace and Conflict Studies at the University of Toronto and International Relations at the London School of Economics, Szalai views books through the lens of political stability and the prevention of “barbarism.” Her role allows her to observe the “slowing down” effect of long-form thought, which acts as a vital cognitive brake in a culture optimized for the high-speed, knee-jerk engagement of digital ecosystems.
The Definitional Crisis
The discussion situates the current debate within the word’s etymological origins. “Empathy” is a relatively modern arrival, rooted in the early 20th-century German aesthetic concept of Einfühlung—literally “feeling oneself into” a work of art. This inward projection remains at the heart of the crisis: the shift from an aesthetic category to a moral imperative has blurred the distinction between “emotional empathy” (a parochial, affective identification) and “rational compassion” (cognitive thinking). Szalai notes that emotional empathy is a biologically limited “spotlight” heuristic; it fails to scale to the systemic needs of a population, leaving the suffering of the many in the shadows of the familiar one.
Empathy as ‘Gas’ vs. ‘Brake’
Relying on the provocations of psychologist Paul Bloom, Szalai argues that empathy is frequently the “gas” of tribalism rather than the “brake” of cruelty. While we assume empathy stops harm, it often fuels parochial solidarity, enabling acts of cruelty toward “the other” to protect “one’s own.” This weaponization is evident in the rhetoric of figures like Ali Beth Stuckey and Joe Riggney, who characterize empathy as a “bug” or “peer pressure.” These critiques frame empathy as “suicidal,” arguing that it compels individuals to prioritize immediate affective responses over the rigorous demands of policy, doctrine, or national stability.
The Limits of Art and Fiction
The dialogue further dismantles the seductive myth that exposure to art inherently translates to moral evolution. Invoking author Zadie Smith, Szalai points out that while a novel can “open the heart” of a reader, that emotional expansion does not guarantee political change or moral action. One can feel intense righteous indignation for a character yet remain inert in the face of actual injustice. This suggests a humbler, relational role for literature: it may foster individual generosity, but it cannot substitute for the structural labor of justice.
The Philosophical Horizon
Concluding with the insights of Hannah Arendt and John Rawls, the discussion addresses “training the imagination to go visiting”—the active process of making present the standpoints of the absent. However, Szalai identifies a chilling contemporary challenge: both Arendt and Rawls assumed a shared goal of pluralism and fairness. In a moment where these goals are no longer unequivocal and “deservingness” has replaced universal rights, the imagination is no longer being used as a bridge, but as a tool to reinforce exclusionary tribalism.