Empathy, our capacity to feel the inner experience of another, underlies much of our behavior and the choices and decisions we make. It is a more powerful teacher than its cousins, sympathy and compassion, in which we feel deeply for rather than with another, because the feelings it generates are so strong.
The neuroscientific exploration of empathy has taught us that it involves multiple emotional and cognitive processes, some of which rely on ancient subcortical structures in the brain (Marsh, 2018). In the 1990s, studies of monkeys led to the discovery of “mirror neurons”—specialized cells that fire whether the monkey is itself performing an activity or simply observing another performing it. Thirty years of research strongly suggests that humans also have mirror neurons, and they may be the basis for empathic responses when we see another person’s emotion or action (Bonini, Rotunno et al., 2022).
Empathy can motivate action in both negative and positive directions. In a trial, for example, jurors can be moved toward guilty verdicts or acquittals. Trial lawyers on both sides of a case attempt to stir up empathy strategically for their client so that the jury is more likely to see things on the side of the victim or the perpetrator. A necessary part of that strategy is to simultaneously mobilize a view of the opposing side as a member of the outgroup, not “like us,” to heighten the identification and empathy with the person we care about and the pleasure or righteousness of retaliation against the person who caused suffering by rendering a harsh verdict for the perpetrator.
Empathy can inspire us to prosocial action, such as serving a group or community to which we feel connected. An emotional identification with people in need because of our own similar experience or a more cognitive empathic appreciation of what a different group of people is enduring can lead us to provide support or join an effort on their behalf. When we feel a sense of otherness in relation to a specific group, we are less likely to empathize with their suffering and more likely to see them as being at fault.
When I interviewed former juvenile offenders for my book, Before Their Crimes: What We’re Misunderstanding About Childhood Trauma, Youth Crime, and the Path to Healing, what they told me about how they felt during their crimes was revealing. For some, the victim was part of an enemy gang—a clear outgroup member—and not someone to identify with or feel for. For some, the victim was an obstacle in their way or a former victimizer and deserved their retaliation. For others, there was little feeling of any kind, and the victim could have been anyone who had the misfortune to be in that place at that time.
Painful events of their own childhoods had interrupted or disrupted their cognitive and emotional brain development and their judgments about threat. These disruptions interfere with the developing capacity to empathize. Empathy acts as a reminder that oneself and one’s victim are human beings who can feel the same sadness, fears, or anger. In the absence of empathy, it is much easier to inflict harm and to engage in violence against others.
Among almost all of my interviewees, including those who committed violent crimes, empathy came later, sometimes immediately, as in the case of one teenager who told me, “I vowed never to hurt another person,” sometimes years later in prison. When they were able to face the harms done to them as children, their capacity for empathy—an essential part of healing and accountability—began to grow. As their ability to feel their own wounds and those of others increased, they could also feel more connection and identification with others. Empathic connection with young people much like themselves led many of them to create or serve in organizations that help at-risk teens avoid the path toward delinquency.