I loved the poem and it struck a nerve with me. I remember leaving the hospital after my first baby was stillborn, watching the world go on around me while feeling like my whole world had come to a complete stop. I became annoyed with my husband, even, as he returned to work just a week after our loss. I didn't know how to move on and was grateful for 8 weeks of maternity leave. I didn't like the feeling of going out into the world, carrying my pain, watching people laugh, smile, and go about their business.
I eventually realized that even though my world had crashed in around me, life must go on. I would find a way to smile and laugh again. I would no longer feel resentment towards those who were seemingly living happy lives. I learned that grief, pain, and sadness is all a part of life--in a very traumatizing way.
I also realize now that though I have deep empathy for those who are suffering, I didn't show myself that same empathy. I was on the verge of feeling like there was no way for me to heal, that I was meant to suffer. Oh, if only I could go back in time and tell myself everything would be ok...
That is a very interesting poem and the painting is as subtle as the poem. What caught me off guard in the post about the duality of our indifference and our empathy. In the film "Call + Response" Dr. West states that "indifference is the essence of inhumanity." I saw that film in the mid-2000s and at that time I saw indifference as Dr. West did But now, 20 years later I see the duality. What I experience now is the indifference brought about by my own sense of powerlessness in areas of my life and with the condition of the world around me. I try to look away from my own pain at times and I'm not able to and that's suffering unto itself.
Maybe it was blind enthusiasm back then? Maybe I didn't know enough about the world or both?
What I see now in the world is the manifestation of the Schadenfreude: taking pleasure in other people's suffering. This is the uglier side of indifference and also part of the human condition.
I love this poem! It is one of my favorite poems... I thought about this poem all week, and my latest conclusion is that Dear, dear Auden understood the human predicament so well. We are all so often caught up in the day-to-day, or thinking about the future (that miraculous birth) or sailing or driving on... we don't notice what is right in front of us; Icarus slipping into the sea.
I remember the day before my sweet dog Pepper passed away; I was in a rush. I scooted her back inside so that I could go to the store and get her more toys. I had no idea that the next day would be her last day, but I had places to go and things to do.
How many of us look back in time and wish for just one more day or one more hour with a loved one?
I've always focused on how much indifference there is in the world, when I have read this poem in the past, but now, realizing I am one of those people caught up in the day to day, not always realizing the shortness of life, makes me compassionate for myself and everyone else who wishes they had paused more to just be with the people they have loved, before they were gone.
On your question about managing what may feel like the burden of empathy, I like to think that empathy laced with a strong dose of loving kindness keeps it from being so heavy. Also, it may be worth imagining, and forgive me if the wording isn't precise, empathy without responsibility or empathy felt from grounded strength that makes it easier to not get swept away into the darkness of some emotion. I say all of this as a Therapist who has had to learn to hold people's emotions kindly but still help them move through it, as well as a Couples Therapist who plays with that balance of connection and separateness.
I thought I would give a more detailed answer than yesterday to the question: Do you think indifference and empathy can coexist in the same heart?
No I don't think they do because:
Indifference is based on (and originates in) judgmental thoughts and biases over one's own life and that of others. When one is living or has an indifferent state of mind, the heart is closed. Those kind of thoughts create emotions, and emotions create the thoughts. The “empathy” that an indifferent person shows is based on a negotiation, a bargain to be loves, to belong, to etc.. One can fake empathy and make us all belief in ones good intentions.
However, love is not a thought or emotion, it is a life force.
The heart knows when to act and when not to, because sometimes a person needs an experience to grow, and one can behold the event filled with love for the other one while he or she (they) lives through the experience. Intervening would set the other person back. The heart has a wisdom of its own.
Tap into that experience deeply visceral moment you felt when your tears fell all alone, those feelings aching inside you, those emotions are felt the same in others, making the feeling of pain universally the same, through our own individual experiences we can be drawn to empathize another being experiences by tapping into your own emotional experiences of the innately emotional universal experience of beings, for our tears all bleed water , You're not alone
My sister suffers from having too much empathy. Her inability to filter out the pain and suffering of others often leaves her unable to function. She is neurodivergent. I see from her the value and indeed necessity of having a bit thicker skin. I believe that the energy we put out into the world has consequences. And if I can only express the reflected anguish of others, I am doing them and myself a disservice. I practice helping and being present for other’s suffering when I can. But I also allow myself to choose joy and abandon as well (sometimes at the expense of providing my attention to someone else’s suffering) because it is a necessary fuel to carry on the work of caring and helping the next time I am called upon.
"dear, dear, Auden" — yes, he comes to us over and over again as we try to make sense of indifference and empathy. How close to the human heart he comes; he himself is an "old master." I love the paradox because, as he writes about the old masters, are they painting indifference or the very heart of empathy, as this is their chosen topic? I tried to think about that paradox in a poem about my husband asking me for a divorce in a text while I was sitting on the other side of a desk at the bank. I wanted to capture this business transaction entwined with the dreadful text message (that in itself, an act of cruelty.
When Leeola Was Telling Me The Prime Interest Rate
When space shuttle Challenger exploded (1986), I was moved to send seven sympathy cards to the seven astronauts' families. When space shuttle Columbia disintegrated over Texas (2003), I was shocked and saddened, but not to the point where I would send cards. I'll never quite understand why. The difference in my reactions bothers me to this day.
“We all sometimes look away from others’ pain - we couldn’t manage life without doing this.” This part of your question, and its reflection in the poem, really struck me.
How deep into others’ suffering should I go? Should I seek out any suffering I can find and walk alongside that person? When is it ok for me to look away from the pain of others and enjoy the good in my life? These are questions that frequently circulate in my mind.
It’s sad that something as monumental as the losing of one’s life can be so inconsequential to most other people. As the poem suggests, life just keeps going on. However, I like to think we leave ripples of goodness in our wake that continue on long past our departure.
Having empathy… entering into others suffering with them… just a couple ways we can leave those ripples.
There is a tenderness to this poem that is haunting. It reminds me a bit of one of my favorite theologians Frederick Buechner who wrote: "Here is the world. Beautiful and terrible things will happen. Don't be afraid."
I’ll never forget a particular moment, at a particular seminar I attended years ago. It was “The School of Life”, and took place over 3 days.
As my good luck would have it, a friend had booked attendance, but only for one day. This particular moment didn’t happen when she was there, it was after, when she had left.
But I was then there, with about 500 other people, yet I was there alone. I walked down the halls between sessions to see groups of people, all of them successful (or at least they seemed to be to me). Well dressed, well successed, well put together, and they all passed me with a smile, and I smiled back. Right after lunch we were all back in the auditorium, and the leader brought to us all an interesting exercise. He asked all of us to write on a little piece of paper, some sadness, some heartache, some problem that troubled us.
All these very well put together people were all writing on their paper, and so was I.
All of these were to be anonymous, and when we were finished, we all passed our papers to those who collected them, and they were taken anonymously to Alain De Botton who led the meeting. After a moment of silence he began to unfold them and read them.
“I’m very afraid my marriage is failing, and I don’t know what to do.”
“My mother has Alzheimer and I can’t afford her care”
“My daughter is ill, and they think it is cancer, I’m so scared!”
“My business is failing, it seems to be hopeless”.
500 notes like this!!!
THESE were all from the people who seemed so well put together, they all passed me in the hall, they smiled at me, and I smiled back, but the heartache within this gathering was unbearable!
I will tell you this particular part of this seminar was the most impactful.. for me.
Not that I can tell you what I mean, like “therefore what should we do”. Except maybe to know that our casual connections can’t open up the kind of connection that all of us need, because all of us are dealing with something, and most of the time in public all we can do is smile.
So well said, Rich. Thank you for sharing that experience with us. It makes me wonder how many people in that auditorium shared those troubled thoughts with a friend or family member, and how many were just holding it all inside, suffering alone.
We all carry something heavy, but yet we find a way to keep on going.
A very thought provoking poem… I’m so glad you brought up the subject of empathy as it something that has bugged me for years, not empathy itself but a misconception about it directed at neurodivergent people. A certain professor (who will remain nameless) and supposed expert on autism made the claim that people on the autism spectrum LACKED EMPATHY!, and it has stuck forevermore in the public consciousness. The wider autism community agree that this is complete tosh, but the damage is done, it’s out there and can’t be reeled in again.
Recent studies have shown the situation to be far more nuanced and variable.
Personally I tend to over-empathise. I can feel totally overwhelmed by other people’s pain, like I am experiencing it myself, I feel their grief. So I have had to learn to set internal boundaries, so that I can still empathise but maintain a degree of separation.
I think there has to be a delicate balance between doing what we can for others and taking care of our own needs.
I loved the poem and it struck a nerve with me. I remember leaving the hospital after my first baby was stillborn, watching the world go on around me while feeling like my whole world had come to a complete stop. I became annoyed with my husband, even, as he returned to work just a week after our loss. I didn't know how to move on and was grateful for 8 weeks of maternity leave. I didn't like the feeling of going out into the world, carrying my pain, watching people laugh, smile, and go about their business.
I eventually realized that even though my world had crashed in around me, life must go on. I would find a way to smile and laugh again. I would no longer feel resentment towards those who were seemingly living happy lives. I learned that grief, pain, and sadness is all a part of life--in a very traumatizing way.
I also realize now that though I have deep empathy for those who are suffering, I didn't show myself that same empathy. I was on the verge of feeling like there was no way for me to heal, that I was meant to suffer. Oh, if only I could go back in time and tell myself everything would be ok...
I feel that you just did go back in time and tell yourself that.
What a beautiful comment - thank you so much for sharing such a painful memory, and tender reflection, with us.
That is a very interesting poem and the painting is as subtle as the poem. What caught me off guard in the post about the duality of our indifference and our empathy. In the film "Call + Response" Dr. West states that "indifference is the essence of inhumanity." I saw that film in the mid-2000s and at that time I saw indifference as Dr. West did But now, 20 years later I see the duality. What I experience now is the indifference brought about by my own sense of powerlessness in areas of my life and with the condition of the world around me. I try to look away from my own pain at times and I'm not able to and that's suffering unto itself.
Maybe it was blind enthusiasm back then? Maybe I didn't know enough about the world or both?
What I see now in the world is the manifestation of the Schadenfreude: taking pleasure in other people's suffering. This is the uglier side of indifference and also part of the human condition.
I love this poem! It is one of my favorite poems... I thought about this poem all week, and my latest conclusion is that Dear, dear Auden understood the human predicament so well. We are all so often caught up in the day-to-day, or thinking about the future (that miraculous birth) or sailing or driving on... we don't notice what is right in front of us; Icarus slipping into the sea.
I remember the day before my sweet dog Pepper passed away; I was in a rush. I scooted her back inside so that I could go to the store and get her more toys. I had no idea that the next day would be her last day, but I had places to go and things to do.
How many of us look back in time and wish for just one more day or one more hour with a loved one?
I've always focused on how much indifference there is in the world, when I have read this poem in the past, but now, realizing I am one of those people caught up in the day to day, not always realizing the shortness of life, makes me compassionate for myself and everyone else who wishes they had paused more to just be with the people they have loved, before they were gone.
aren't we due for another meeting? it's been forever. Or did i miss a memo/information about a change of plans???
On your question about managing what may feel like the burden of empathy, I like to think that empathy laced with a strong dose of loving kindness keeps it from being so heavy. Also, it may be worth imagining, and forgive me if the wording isn't precise, empathy without responsibility or empathy felt from grounded strength that makes it easier to not get swept away into the darkness of some emotion. I say all of this as a Therapist who has had to learn to hold people's emotions kindly but still help them move through it, as well as a Couples Therapist who plays with that balance of connection and separateness.
Two conflicting emotions can and will always exist.
I thought I would give a more detailed answer than yesterday to the question: Do you think indifference and empathy can coexist in the same heart?
No I don't think they do because:
Indifference is based on (and originates in) judgmental thoughts and biases over one's own life and that of others. When one is living or has an indifferent state of mind, the heart is closed. Those kind of thoughts create emotions, and emotions create the thoughts. The “empathy” that an indifferent person shows is based on a negotiation, a bargain to be loves, to belong, to etc.. One can fake empathy and make us all belief in ones good intentions.
However, love is not a thought or emotion, it is a life force.
The heart knows when to act and when not to, because sometimes a person needs an experience to grow, and one can behold the event filled with love for the other one while he or she (they) lives through the experience. Intervening would set the other person back. The heart has a wisdom of its own.
Tap into that experience deeply visceral moment you felt when your tears fell all alone, those feelings aching inside you, those emotions are felt the same in others, making the feeling of pain universally the same, through our own individual experiences we can be drawn to empathize another being experiences by tapping into your own emotional experiences of the innately emotional universal experience of beings, for our tears all bleed water , You're not alone
My sister suffers from having too much empathy. Her inability to filter out the pain and suffering of others often leaves her unable to function. She is neurodivergent. I see from her the value and indeed necessity of having a bit thicker skin. I believe that the energy we put out into the world has consequences. And if I can only express the reflected anguish of others, I am doing them and myself a disservice. I practice helping and being present for other’s suffering when I can. But I also allow myself to choose joy and abandon as well (sometimes at the expense of providing my attention to someone else’s suffering) because it is a necessary fuel to carry on the work of caring and helping the next time I am called upon.
"dear, dear, Auden" — yes, he comes to us over and over again as we try to make sense of indifference and empathy. How close to the human heart he comes; he himself is an "old master." I love the paradox because, as he writes about the old masters, are they painting indifference or the very heart of empathy, as this is their chosen topic? I tried to think about that paradox in a poem about my husband asking me for a divorce in a text while I was sitting on the other side of a desk at the bank. I wanted to capture this business transaction entwined with the dreadful text message (that in itself, an act of cruelty.
When Leeola Was Telling Me The Prime Interest Rate
I was wondering if you really want a divorce
when Leeola said there’s a penalty for early
closures.
And I thought about that word closures
in grief,
in miscommunications.
Making the world predictable again.
Auden said,
about suffering they were never wrong
the old masters,
just as Leeola handed me the pen,
I saw Icarus falling.
The old masters knew that
the rest of the town goes on doing their
townie things, and they
still painted pictures of that great fall.
When Leeola said closure again—
I thought I might send you a text message:
Is this what you want?
And did I really,
want to hear
your answer?
In a text?
I looked at Leeola’s hands,
while she reviewed
my interest options,
her fingers short and plump,
nails painted a soft pink;
and there was her diamond ring
and wedding band,
and I instantly felt my ring finger,
thumb running over
the bones, band gone.
While Leeola
reviewed the documents,
pointing at the full disclosure
truth in lending,
I imagined
that she’d go home
and make supper for
her husband,
or maybe he likes to cook.
She said what a pleasure
to work with me,
her black eyeliner, thick,
but perfectly drawn across
her eyelids,
and I thought I can’t bear to send that text.
And Truth in lending seems like a good idea.
I cannot think about the answer.
But wonder how long
I was flapping my arms in that glorious sun
before I noticed, feathers, gone.
“they still painted pictures of that great fall….”before I noticed, feathers, gone”.
appreciate the tender vulnerability in this post 🙏🏽
When space shuttle Challenger exploded (1986), I was moved to send seven sympathy cards to the seven astronauts' families. When space shuttle Columbia disintegrated over Texas (2003), I was shocked and saddened, but not to the point where I would send cards. I'll never quite understand why. The difference in my reactions bothers me to this day.
“We all sometimes look away from others’ pain - we couldn’t manage life without doing this.” This part of your question, and its reflection in the poem, really struck me.
How deep into others’ suffering should I go? Should I seek out any suffering I can find and walk alongside that person? When is it ok for me to look away from the pain of others and enjoy the good in my life? These are questions that frequently circulate in my mind.
It’s sad that something as monumental as the losing of one’s life can be so inconsequential to most other people. As the poem suggests, life just keeps going on. However, I like to think we leave ripples of goodness in our wake that continue on long past our departure.
Having empathy… entering into others suffering with them… just a couple ways we can leave those ripples.
There is a tenderness to this poem that is haunting. It reminds me a bit of one of my favorite theologians Frederick Buechner who wrote: "Here is the world. Beautiful and terrible things will happen. Don't be afraid."
Profound…
I am a palliative care physician who almost daily encounters grief.
As a medical student, when my first patient died, I was paralyzed. I was unable to comfort her grieving mother. I sat with her mother and wept.
For decades, I carried that memory with profound shame.
Now, when I share the story with medical students, I can encourage them not to mistake empathic distress for a lack of empathy.
Sometimes the suffering of another overwhelms us, and we are unable to respond with wisdom or grace.
I’ll never forget a particular moment, at a particular seminar I attended years ago. It was “The School of Life”, and took place over 3 days.
As my good luck would have it, a friend had booked attendance, but only for one day. This particular moment didn’t happen when she was there, it was after, when she had left.
But I was then there, with about 500 other people, yet I was there alone. I walked down the halls between sessions to see groups of people, all of them successful (or at least they seemed to be to me). Well dressed, well successed, well put together, and they all passed me with a smile, and I smiled back. Right after lunch we were all back in the auditorium, and the leader brought to us all an interesting exercise. He asked all of us to write on a little piece of paper, some sadness, some heartache, some problem that troubled us.
All these very well put together people were all writing on their paper, and so was I.
All of these were to be anonymous, and when we were finished, we all passed our papers to those who collected them, and they were taken anonymously to Alain De Botton who led the meeting. After a moment of silence he began to unfold them and read them.
“I’m very afraid my marriage is failing, and I don’t know what to do.”
“My mother has Alzheimer and I can’t afford her care”
“My daughter is ill, and they think it is cancer, I’m so scared!”
“My business is failing, it seems to be hopeless”.
500 notes like this!!!
THESE were all from the people who seemed so well put together, they all passed me in the hall, they smiled at me, and I smiled back, but the heartache within this gathering was unbearable!
I will tell you this particular part of this seminar was the most impactful.. for me.
Not that I can tell you what I mean, like “therefore what should we do”. Except maybe to know that our casual connections can’t open up the kind of connection that all of us need, because all of us are dealing with something, and most of the time in public all we can do is smile.
So well said, Rich. Thank you for sharing that experience with us. It makes me wonder how many people in that auditorium shared those troubled thoughts with a friend or family member, and how many were just holding it all inside, suffering alone.
We all carry something heavy, but yet we find a way to keep on going.
A very thought provoking poem… I’m so glad you brought up the subject of empathy as it something that has bugged me for years, not empathy itself but a misconception about it directed at neurodivergent people. A certain professor (who will remain nameless) and supposed expert on autism made the claim that people on the autism spectrum LACKED EMPATHY!, and it has stuck forevermore in the public consciousness. The wider autism community agree that this is complete tosh, but the damage is done, it’s out there and can’t be reeled in again.
Recent studies have shown the situation to be far more nuanced and variable.
Personally I tend to over-empathise. I can feel totally overwhelmed by other people’s pain, like I am experiencing it myself, I feel their grief. So I have had to learn to set internal boundaries, so that I can still empathise but maintain a degree of separation.
I think there has to be a delicate balance between doing what we can for others and taking care of our own needs.