Sym and Em

Yiyun Li’s recent memoir, Things in Nature Merely Grow, made it onto my book group’s (I should say, “one of my book groups’ lists”) 2025-2026 reading list, and I’ve been thinking about it in respect to a request to discuss the words empathy and sympathy here. I know Yiyun Li’s story, having read an excerpt from her book in the New Yorker, and she’ll serve as a good example of what I want to say about empathy and sympathy.

First, as to etymology, -pathy derives from the Greek word pathos, meaning “feeling, suffering, emotion.” Think pathology, pathogenic, and psychopath. Falling rain in a sad movie is called pathetic fallacy, because it pretends that the weather reflects the characters’ feelings. The sym- in sympathy, means “with” or “together.” When you’re sympathetic with a grieving friend, you’re feeling their grief along with them. This English word dates from the 16th century.

Empathy was created by an art critic in 1908. German philosopher Rudolf Lotze combined the Greek prefix em-, meaning “in,” with the Greek word for suffering, modeling his term after the German Einfuhling, literally, “feeling in.” The idea is that you enter into the feelings of the grieving friend; you feel what they’re feeling. You enter into a work of art, according to Rudolf, and feel the artist’s feelings.

You can see that based on their roots and word history, there’s little difference between the two words. But influencers have recently turned a so-called difference into a big deal. I always enjoy disagreeing, especially with pop culture and conventional wisdom (unless the conventional wisdom is mine). What follows here is mostly my opinion, so, as we say nowadays, do your own research.

In popular culture, sympathy has turned into a bad word. It’s equated with pity, with its connotations of condescension, distance, and superiority. This take is recent. Throughout its long history sympathy had to do with feeling right along with your friend, used in a similar way as compassion, yet another word whose roots mean “suffering with.” Laudable emotions. Now, sympathy is to be eschewed.

Let us use Brené Brown, author of Dare to Lead and other books, as an exemplar. She claims that empathy drives connection, whereas sympathy drives, you guessed it, disconnection. Sympathy sets you apart. From a distance, you call out, “Oh, gosh. Your dog died. That’s too bad.” An empathetic person, holding your hand, says, with tears in her eyes, “Oh, gosh. My dog died too. I feel your pain.”

Here’s where my opinion comes in. First, Brown and other influencers are making stuff up. No need to differentiate the words this way. We already had pity to fill the bill for condescension. Second, I don’t think empathy is such a great thing if it means you’re telling people you know exactly how they feel, you’re feeling their pain, you know how hard it is, I’m right there with you, honey.

Here’s why I bring up Things in Nature Merely Grow, a memoir about Yiyun Li’s grief: both of her adolescent sons committed suicide within a few years. I most definitely sympathize with this unfathomable loss, but note the unfathomable. I’m never going to know fully (if I’m lucky) what it’s like to be Yiyun. It’s good to try to empathize, to try to imagine her suffering, but I’m pretty sure I’m going to fall short. Saying, “Oh, Yiyun, I know exactly how you feel. I’ve lost people too. I’ve known three people in my life who’ve committed suicide,” strikes me as Insensitivity 101.

I suggest you go ahead and express sympathy and/or empathy if you want. The two words are virtually synonymous. But you possibly want to lean on empathy because some podcast junkies might jump on you for expressing mere sympathy.

(Thanks, Jewel)