There is something infinitely beautiful, and at the same time painful, in the human ability to feel. We cry, we love, we grieve, we forgive. And yet, when we look back through history, it often seems as if these emotions were locked away — as if humanity, for long periods, lived with a sealed heart. I think about this often when I read about the cruelty people have inflicted upon one another: torture, executions, persecution.
Where was empathy then? Were humans less human back then — or has our understanding of emotion simply changed over time?
The Origin of Emotion
Emotions are not a human invention. They are older than language, older than civilization, older than the religions that came and went.
Even our earliest ancestors reacted with fear, anger, sadness, and joy — not out of culture, but survival.
The one who didn’t feel fear, died. The one who didn’t seek belonging, disappeared from the tribe.
Empathy — the ability to feel with someone else — is as ancient as our common ancestors. Scientists have even observed apes comforting one another, dolphins protecting the injured, and rats helping trapped companions escape.
So when we cry over someone else’s pain, we carry something primordial — a biological code that says: you belong to me, and I belong to you.
Antiquity – Between Reason and Tears
But human emotion has never been merely biological. It has been interpreted, judged, and shaped by the age we’ve lived in.
In ancient Greece and Rome, emotion was both strength and danger.
Great philosophers — Aristotle, Seneca, Epictetus — saw passions as something to be mastered. The Stoics taught that humans should not be ruled by sorrow or anger. To cry was a sign of weakness, a failure of reason.
Yet Homer wrote of Achilles’ tears — of sorrow and friendship, of emotions that drove heroes to both greatness and ruin.
Even then — in a world of warriors and emperors — there was an understanding that to stop feeling was to stop being human.
But it was a privilege of the free men. The emotions of slaves, women, and enemies did not count.
Empathy had borders, and they were sharply drawn.
The Church and the Value of Suffering
When the Middle Ages arrived, religion reshaped emotional life.
The Church taught that suffering was the road to salvation.
To weep before God was no longer weakness but humility.
The saints were described in tears, in pain, in compassion with Christ — divine suffering became a virtue.
And yet, the same Church allowed torture and executions.
Here lies the paradox: people could speak of love and mercy, while inflicting pain in God’s name.
Empathy was conditional — it applied to the faithful, not to the human being.
Humanity had not yet learned to separate feeling from obedience. One could feel deeply — but only within the limits of power.
The Enlightenment – When Emotion Was Dissected
In the 17th and 18th centuries, thinkers began dissecting the inner life of humankind.
Descartes described emotions as “passions” — bodily reactions to be governed by reason.
David Hume argued the opposite: that it is our emotions that drive our actions, not logic.
For the first time, feelings became something one could analyze scientifically.
But as understanding deepened, distance grew.
That is why portraits of the era show so few smiles. Emotions were to be restrained, not revealed.
It is ironic — the more humans learned about themselves, the further they drifted from their own hearts.
Romanticism – When Tears Became Truth
In the 19th century, the tide turned.
The Romantics — poets, painters, philosophers — celebrated emotion as the truest expression of humanity.
To cry, to love, to suffer became marks of authenticity.
Feeling deeply was no longer shameful — it was noble.
Tears gained new value. They were no longer failures of self-control but proof of the soul’s depth.
Love became sacred, sorrow necessary, compassion moral.
From this era comes our modern idea of empathy — the belief that one should feel for others.
But as industrialization advanced, emotion slowly gave way to efficiency. Machines entered the factories — and the human heart learned to keep pace with them.
The Modern Coldness
In the 20th century, psychology claimed the emotions.
Freud explored the unconscious, behaviorists measured reactions, and humanists tried to restore human dignity.
Yet alongside this came the rise of bureaucracy — systems that treated people as numbers, not beings.
It was in this cold machinery that the century’s greatest atrocities could occur: concentration camps, genocide, totalitarianism.
Hannah Arendt called it “the banality of evil” — the idea that ordinary people could participate in cruelty not out of hatred, but out of obedience.
That is the opposite of empathy: not hate, but indifference.
History, then, is not only a story of violence — it is also a story of emotional shutdown.
The Civilizing of Empathy
Sociologist Norbert Elias described how Western society gradually “civilized” through emotional control.
We moved from public executions to closed courtrooms.
From vengeance to justice.
From screams to silence.
And in that silence, new feelings arose: shame and compassion.
When we no longer saw violence openly, we became more sensitive to it.
Those who once watched beheadings without blinking would today feel sick at the sight.
That is not evolution — it is civilization.
But when violence moved from the square to the screen, distance returned.
Today we can watch wars unfold live — and still finish dinner.
Empathy became abstract once more.
The Digital Paradox
Today, emotions are everywhere.
Social media has made them visible — and yet more superficial.
We send hearts, likes, emojis — but seldom presence.
We display our tears but rarely let anyone wipe them away.
Studies show empathy has declined in recent decades, especially among younger generations.
Not because they cannot feel, but because they feel too much.
Overexposed to the pain of others, they must numb themselves to survive.
Psychologists call it “compassion fatigue.”
It’s as if our hearts are tired.
But maybe in that exhaustion lies the next step in emotional evolution:
to return to what is small, near, and human.
Tears as Resistance
To cry for someone else is not weakness.
It is resistance.
Every tear is proof that we still feel.
That we refuse to let indifference win.
Emotions are not private — they are political, social, civilizational.
Empathy is not a luxury — it is the foundation of being human.
When I look at history, I do not only see cruelty.
I also see every outstretched hand.
Every person who refused to join the violence.
Every voice that said: “This is wrong.”
Those moments, small and often invisible, are humanity’s true victories.
From Stone to Heart
We have come a long way — from the stone’s coldness to the warmth of tears.
From executions in the square to hospitals.
From torture to understanding.
But empathy is never guaranteed. It must be cultivated.
We must dare to feel, even when it hurts.
Because without feeling, there is no understanding — and without understanding, there is no humanity.
To cry for someone else, then, is not a sign of weakness.
It is the ultimate proof that we are alive.
By Chris...
Add comment
Comments