Empathy, a tired ramble

Speaking of empathy...(a tired ramble after a day of travel).

Two instances of empathy:

I wrote my second rejection letter for an article in my capacity as editor (co-editor). This one stung. The author had gotten feedback and had put work into revising. I inherited the article--and found I could not in good conscience publish it. That. Sucks.

It's highly unusual to invest in the time/effort of anonymous readers, have the author revise according to their comments, and then reject the revised draft. It's kinda bad form. From the author's point of view, it's a slap in the face. If your article gets rejected off the bat, a desk rejection? That you could chalk up to a mismatch between the article and the journal. Even negative reader reports--well, they can flatten you. Still, though, there are the consolations of "well, at least I tried" or even "They just didn't get what I was doing. I wonder who that reader was? I bet it was . . ." But the second time, after you've revised and resubmitted? After you've done everything asked of you? A rejection there feels more like, well, your fault. You're just not good enough.

I hate feeling that way. I hate that the author I'm writing to will feel that way. At least, I imagine they'll feel that way. That's the tricky thing about empathy. Growing up, I thought of empathy as a super-power, like Diana Troi from Star Trek: The Next Generation. She'd squinch up her face or flinch or look generally uncomfortable. Then she'd utter, "I feel . . . great pain." Empathy was telepathy, but for feelings. It was often vague, and the screenwriters frequently seemed to forget the character possessed it. But when it worked, it was infallible.

Real empathy is all in your head. It's imaginary. I don't know what the other person is feeling. I think I do based on how I think I would feel in their situation. "Vicarious introspection," psychologist Heinz Kohut defined it. I'm imagining what the other person must be feeling. Even that turn of phrase--must be--hides the essential leap of faith we call empathy. The newer neuro-cognitive brain imaging that shows mirror neurons firing remains good old-fashioned imagining, just on an unconscious level. I see a clip of someone who slips on the ice and falls on hard their butt, and I flinch, a sympathetic shock shooting through my hindquarters. I don't know the person actually felt pain. They might be faking, or at least overdoing it. Maybe the video cuts short so that I don't see the aftermath of their impact at all.

Vicarious introspection. We see into others by seeing into ourselves.

The thing is, we're famously awful at introspection. Humans, most of us, aren't all that great at assessing ourselves. We're not transparent to ourselves. We misperceive our strengths and weaknesses.

Just before writing this I was taking as shower after an (inadequate) workout. I looked in the mirror at myself, spotlighting the flabby, unattractive parts. And I thought about my toiletries bag . . . which I realized with sinking certainty I had left hanging in my bathroom at home.

At this point, I don't even get angry at myself for such lapses. There's just a weary disappointment. Again, John? I guess we just need to adapt to the new reality: You Will Always Forget Something Vital. And I began planning a trip to the CVS tomorrow morning to get toothpaste, toothbrush, deodorant (which you just put into the toiletry bag this morning, right, John? I added).

Wait, I cautioned myself. Let's just make sure. I dried off, walked out of the bathroom, and looked into my open-faced suitcase. There it was.

Gosh, we're hard on ourselves, I thought.

I wonder sometimes if the way I talk to myself, my own frequently negative self-regard, has an effect on my ability to be empathetic to others. What if I treat others not as I want to be treated but as I actually treat myself?

Yeeg. There's a sobering thought.