Critical emotional education: the power of words, language, and thought

Fresno Bee, April 7, 2024

People often respond to ethically charged issues with strong emotions. Anger, indignation, and disgust are a normal part of the moral life. If we didn’t have these negative emotions, we would not be motivated to fight for justice. And if we didn’t have strong positive emotions, we would never fall in love.

Some philosophers think that morality is purely a matter of emotion. But feelings alone are an insufficient guide for moral judgment. We need words, ideas and theories to correct, improve, and evaluate our emotions.

In my teaching and public speaking, I often encounter folks who are overcome with emotion. Recently I was discussing the ethics of war with students. One brave young woman raised her hand and offered a comment on current events. Her emotions were so strong that it was difficult for her to speak.

I gave her time to compose herself and I acknowledged the depth of her passion. She took a deep breath and did her best to talk through her tears. But it was tough. Others in the audience were visibly moved by her effort. Emotions are contagious. We weep when others weep. We laugh when others laugh. We are social animals who communicate with tears as well as words.

After we all caught our breath, I tried to help this young woman articulate the source of her indignation. I encouraged her to consider some of the concepts and ideas from the just-war theory. I don’t know if this ultimately helped. But one of the goals of ethics education is to provide people with a moral vocabulary that helps them understand and evaluate the world and their emotional responses to it.

Indeed, one of the benefits of a broad education is that it helps us learn to describe and assess our emotions. Education teaches us to put words to our feelings. That process of recognizing and naming our emotions can help to moderate and direct them in appropriate ways. A critical moral education helps us transform our passions into coherent sentences and complex judgments. In doing that, we gain the ability to think critically about our feelings and about our responses to the world.

I worry that this kind of critical emotional education is missing in our expressivist culture. Rage and disgust, giddiness and glee drive much of our public discourse. We emote and enthuse without restraint. People whoop and holler at sporting events. They yell and yowl in public meetings. And on social media, emotional complexity is reduced to simplistic emojis requiring no thought at all. But to be fully human, we must move from passion to poetry, from feelings to phrases, and from simple words to complex thoughts and theories.

Language is a unique human capacity. Dogs growl and bark, howl or wag their tails. Those sounds and gestures are expressive. But they only convey a limited range of emotions and experiences. The great gift of human language is that it allows us to clarify, restrain and articulate our emotions. It also allows us to evaluate complex ideas and to communicate the dense and thorny knots of human experience.

Human beings have the capacity to experience and express a large variety of emotions and ideas because we have a complex system of language and meaning. Poetry, music, and religion move us in ways that transcend mere animal behavior. The experience of art takes us quite far beyond the animal’s howl. The arguments of lawyers and theologians allow us to develop complex systems of social life. And scientific theories are infinitely more complex than the dog’s wagging tail.

Words are tools. The more tools we have, the better. If your tool kit only includes a hammer and a screwdriver, you’re not going to be able to build many things. But if your tool kit is broad, diverse, and subtle, you are on your way to creating new and amazing things.

A broad education provides us more words and more tools. This includes a whole range of metaphors, idioms, and paradigms that come from art, history, literature, philosophy, and religion. This linguistic tool kit provides us with the opportunity to clarify, and refine our emotional lives. It also helps us articulate and evaluate things in a way that transcends laughter and tears.

Read more at: https://www.fresnobee.com/opinion/article287422570.html#storylink=cpy

April 4, 2021April 4, 2021

Compassion and Suffering: Tears and Laughter

Fresno Bee, April 4, 2021

Pope Francis once said that compassion is the language of God. Let’s seek it this Easter

Compassion is celebrated by most of the world’s moral traditions. Compassion is the source of human connection. Some think it even goes beyond that. Pope Francis once said that compassion is the language of God. But philosophers worry that compassion is too passive, subjective and melancholic.

The Dalai Lama is an important voice of compassion. He explains that as compassion grows, we develop “both genuine sympathy for others’ suffering and the will to help remove their pain.” Compassion is more than passively feeling the other’s pain. It is also an active response that wants to alleviate suffering.

Buddhist teachings about compassion are often oriented around suffering. A colleague of the Dalai Lama’s, Thupten Jinpa, explains, “At its core, compassion is a response to the inevitable reality of our human condition— our experience of pain and sorrow.”

This is obviously important in a world that includes far too much pain. If we were all more concerned with the suffering of others, the world would be a better place. And while this focus on suffering can seem gloomy, the Buddhists connect compassion with tranquility and happiness. The Dalai Lama says, “The more we care for the happiness of others, the greater our own sense of well-being becomes.”

This may seem paradoxical. But it is only a paradox if compassion is understood as shared suffering. Melancholic compassion is only half of the story. Compassion is also at play in laughter and love-making. Compassion shares joy as well as tears.

To keep compassion too tightly bound to suffering and grief is like having Good Friday without Easter. The point of the Easter story is not to wallow in the darkness, but to re-emerge into the light.

Compassion shares “passion” or emotional experience with others. Our passions are not only negative. Grief, mourning, and despair are certainly important emotions. But wonder and delight are also powerful experiences. Compassion moves us to share the passions of the other person, in sadness and in joy.

Compassion feels good because we are social beings. The receptiveness of compassion is wired into our brains by evolution. As social beings, we enjoy sharing in play, poetry, music, and in the rituals of social life. We do better when we do things in common. Compassionate activity overcomes loneliness and despair. It also allows us to share in playful fun.

One recipe for happiness is found here: if you want to be happy, hang out with happy people who are doing happy things. Happiness — like sadness — is contagious.

Compassion is only melancholic when it is confused with pity. Pity dwells in the negative. We don’t pity people who are doing well. Pity is reserved for the suffering.

The philosopher Immanuel Kant warned against pity. Compassionate pity can “infect” us with the suffering of others, he said. If I suffer because another person is suffering, the result is simply more suffering.

Compassion is better understood as a natural urge to help those who suffer. And while this urge can lead us to act, Kant thought it was insufficient. Sometimes our compassionate urges prevent us from doing our duty. This occurs, for example, when mercy prevents us from punishing those who deserve to be punished. Kant thought that compassion had to be guided by justice.

A similar problem holds for the famous Golden Rule. Love of the neighbor is important. But this does not mean you ought to give the neighbor anything he wants. Love without justice is blind. But justice without mercy is cruel.

A further problem occurs when compassion becomes intrusive. Sometimes we want companionship in our suffering. We cry better (and laugh better) in the company of friends. But sometimes, we simply want to be left alone.

Of course, compassionate people understand all of this. Truly compassionate people have a knack for knowing what is needed. They hold us when we need to cry. They offer laughter when the time is right. They leave us alone when we need solitude. And they try to connect justice and mercy in a world where suffering is common.

January 29, 2016February 11, 2016

The power of tears

Big Boys Do, and Should, Cry

Fresno Bee, January 29, 2016

Politicians weigh in on the power of tears
Our ideas about crying men have changed
Can tears be faked and how would we know?

Our image of masculinity has evolved. Men used to avoid crying in public. But those days are over.

Male politicians have shed gallons of tears. John Boehner cried more than once, including during the pope’s visit to Congress. Chris Christie recently admitted to crying during Hurricane Sandy and after sharing a hug with Bruce Springsteen.

President Barack Obama cries during a Jan. 5 news conference to announce executive actions intended to expand background checks for some firearm purchases and step up federal enforcement of the nation’s gun laws.

President Barack Obama shed a tear recently while announcing his gun control initiative. Supporters celebrated the depth of Obama’s emotion. Conspiracy theorists claimed he was faking it.

Many men – from Bill Clinton to Justin Bieber – have been accused of faking tears. Women also have been accused. But there is something about a man’s tears that connect to our ideas about sincerity, authenticity and truth.

Masculine tears carry special weight as an exception to the rule that big boys don’t cry. We think that male weeping is a psychological achievement indicating depth of soul.

That’s why phony tears are cynical and opportunistic. Counterfeit crying is disturbing because a man’s tears send a message of spiritual depth.

It is usually callous to doubt the sincerity of those who weep. Tears usually are beyond reproach, as a moist manifestation of emotional life.

Tears can be faked. Parents learn to navigate the swamp of their kids’ crocodile tears. But in order to weigh the salt in someone’s tears we need experience and personal contact. We lack such insight into the emotional lives of celebrities and politicians. It is impossible to plumb the depths of a stranger’s eye water.

That doesn’t stop us from judging. While the cynics doubted Obama’s tears, Donald Trump came to the rescue, declaring that Obama’s tears were sincere. It’s a mystery, of course, how Trump could know this.

Trump is not fond of crying. He recently made fun of Glenn Beck for being a “weird dude” who is “always crying.” Trump claims that he personally hasn’t cried since he was a baby.

Long-held standard

The idea that men shouldn’t cry has deep roots. When Socrates drank the hemlock, he berated his male friends for crying. “Keep quiet and be brave,” he said, suggesting that crying is for women.

Men did cry in the ancient world. Odysseus wailed and sobbed. Even Jesus wept. His tears are celebrated as a sign of his humanity. The ancients understood the force and beauty of tears. The Roman poet Ovid encouraged men to learn to weep – or to fake weeping – as a useful tool in the art of seduction.

Tears are an effective form of communication. They express sincerity and authenticity. Simply saying what we mean is often not enough. Tears communicate emotional commitment that goes beyond language and argument.

Tears also provoke a visceral and empathetic response. Like sneezing and laughter, tears are contagious. We cry when others cry.

We also cry when we put important ideas into words. My students often choke up when discussing ethical and religious topics. When we realize the meaning of deep ideas, our emotional reservoirs swell and overflow.

It’s only human

Crying exposes part of the mystery of being human. Men are not robots. We cry and laugh and sing and make love. And we live in bodies that are often beyond our control. Weeping overwhelms us. The voice cracks. The lip trembles. The eyes fill with water. Tears are a glistening glimmer of spirit breaking through the facade of composed rationality.

Because of their connection with sincerity and depth of spirit, tears are often connected to truth. Tears flow, we think, when the criminal confesses, when a heartfelt apology is given, or when a repressed individual finally lets down his guard. Phony tears betray these expectations, leaving us unable to distinguish truth from trickery.

For most men, these salty gushers of emotion are unpredictable and uncontrollable. Sometimes we cry at the right times. Other times, we cry too much or at the wrong things. Sometimes we don’t cry, when we should. And icy-hearted men occasionally melt.

It is hard enough to control our own emotional lives. It is nearly impossible to judge the sincerity of other men’s tears. And in fact, their tears are usually none of our business.

Sometimes men cry. Sometimes men should cry. But our tears are less important than our ideas, our actions, and the consistency of our character.

Read more here: http://www.fresnobee.com/living/liv-columns-blogs/article57273573.html#storylink=cpy