In an age increasingly defined by polarization, tribalism, and moral confusion, one of the most disquieting developments has been the growing backlash against empathy. Once considered a foundational virtue in both civic and religious life, empathy—understood as the capacity to feel with and for another—has come under sustained assault from across the ideological spectrum. From voices on the secular left that twist empathy into moral relativism, to conservative thinkers who see it as emotionally manipulative or morally weak, the virtue of empathy is being recast as a liability. It is no longer merely neglected; it is vilified.
This cultural shift is not merely semantic. It reflects a hardening of public conscience and a retreat from the moral imagination. It marks the decline of a shared understanding that human dignity demands emotional investment in others’ suffering. And for Christians, especially members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, this trend cannot be seen as anything less than a spiritual crisis. The erosion of empathy is not just a societal loss; it is a betrayal of the gospel of Jesus Christ.
Empathy’s cultural downgrade stems from a broader disillusionment with what is often perceived as soft morality. In a society increasingly suspicious of emotion, empathy is dismissed as sentimental, irrational, or even dangerous. Critics from the secular right accuse empathy of undermining justice with softness, of encouraging feelings over facts, and of justifying personal or social dysfunction. In this framing, empathy is seen not as a moral guide, but as an obstacle to truth, order, and objectivity.
On the other hand, the secular left has not so much rejected empathy as co-opted and diluted it. In its modern, ideological form, empathy often morphs into a mandate for affirmation. To feel another’s suffering, in this worldview, means one must also validate their every belief, behavior, or identity. Moral distinctions are erased in the name of solidarity. If you refuse to affirm the decisions or lifestyles of others, no matter how divergent from eternal truths, you are accused of lacking compassion. Thus, empathy becomes divorced from moral judgment and repurposed as a political cudgel.
The result is paradoxical. Empathy is condemned by some as a manipulative emotion and demanded by others as unconditional affirmation. In both cases, its true spiritual purpose is lost.
The confusion stems, in part, from a cultural conflation of empathy with a sentimentalized form of compassion. In contemporary discourse, compassion often means something like, “You must agree with me or you are unkind.” This understanding lacks the moral grounding that Christian love demands. It is not enough to feel for someone; one must also will their good.
This distinction matters. As Christians, we are called not to affirm every choice, but to love every soul. This love—agape—is not passive acceptance. It is the active, sometimes painful, labor of seeking another’s eternal well-being. It involves truth, accountability, and grace. It is the love that Christ showed the woman caught in adultery—neither condemning her nor condoning her sin, but calling her to transformation (John 8:11).
Contemporary compassion, untethered from this divine framework, often leads to moral incoherence. Consider these modern dilemmas:
If I oppose assisted suicide, am I heartless toward those in pain?
If I resist allowing men in women’s sports, am I transphobic?
If I want public spaces protected from crime or encampments, am I indifferent to the homeless?
Such questions reveal the weaponization of compassion. We are told love must be indulgent, mercy must be silent, and kindness must mean consent. But true Christian empathy—rooted in divine love—insists truth and mercy must walk hand in hand. Christ’s compassion was never an endorsement of sin—it was a summons to something higher.
For members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, this issue goes beyond cultural critique. It touches the very core of covenant identity. Latter-day Saint scripture and doctrine teach that empathy is not optional—it is sacred. As Mosiah 18 guides, those who enter the waters of baptism covenant “to mourn with those who mourn and comfort those who stand in need of comfort.” These are not social niceties. They are divine expectations.
Moreover, the Book of Mormon repeatedly emphasizes the spiritual necessity of “succor[ing] those who stand in need” (Mosiah 4:16) and “bearing one another’s burdens” (Mosiah 18:8). These are not metaphors—they are commandments. Ministering, missionary work, and temple covenants are all undergirded by empathy—not the world’s version, but God’s.
Jesus Christ Himself is the exemplar of divine empathy. The Atonement is not merely a redemptive transaction—it is an act of infinite feeling. As Alma teaches, Christ suffered not just for sins, but for “pains and afflictions and temptations of every kind…that His bowels may be filled with mercy” (Alma 7:11–12). He did not come to sympathize from a distance. He entered into our experience so He might redeem it.
This is the empathy we are called to emulate—not a shallow emotion, but a divine willingness to walk with others in their suffering and lead them toward healing. As President Russell M. Nelson has emphasized, discipleship must be characterized by “compassion and love—even for those who are different from us.” That is not permissiveness. It is godliness.
The cultural rejection of empathy does not come without cost. As empathy erodes, so too does the fabric of civil society. Without empathy, democracy devolves into domination, dialogue becomes impossible, and disagreement escalates into dehumanization.
Social media exemplifies this collapse. Outrage is rewarded, tribalism reinforced, and nuance destroyed. Algorithms encourage not understanding, but escalation. People become avatars of ideology, not human beings with stories, pain, and potential.
In such a world, religious communities must resist the drift toward cold-hearted correctness or sentimental permissiveness. We must reclaim empathy as holy work. We must teach our children that feeling another’s pain is not a sign of weakness but of strength. We must model love that does not flatter but transforms.
Empathy is not a luxury of the soft-hearted. It is the oxygen of Zion. Elder Jeffrey R. Holland reminds us that the first great truth of eternity is God’s love—and that love must be the foundation of all we do. That love, if taken seriously, will lead us to weep, to lift, to correct, and to serve.
To reject empathy is to reject the very heart of the gospel. To sanctify empathy is to follow the path of Christ. This path does not excuse sin. But it never stops believing in redemption. If we are to call ourselves disciples, we must do more than speak doctrine—we must feel doctrine. We must enter the lives of others, not to be swallowed by their pain, but to offer a hand toward the Savior.
Empathy, properly understood, is not sentimentality, nor surrender. It is the divine capacity to connect, to feel, to lift, and to lead others toward eternal truths. In a time when empathy is derided as weak or misused as relativism, Christians—and particularly Latter-day Saints—must reclaim it. Not as a political position or cultural posture, but as a sacred duty. For to mourn with those who mourn is to stand beside Christ. And to reject empathy is to risk rejecting Him.
Let us not fear empathy. Let us fear its absence. For in a world that exalts the self and dismisses the soul, empathy is not the enemy. It is the antidote. The world may mock or misuse empathy. But Zion cannot be built without it.
