Last week, I wrote about empathy—how it feels like a disappearing virtue in today’s polarized, frantic world. The post was heartfelt, and the response affirmed what I suspected: many of us are feeling the same tension. Tired of the screaming. Tired of the cruelty. Tired of pretending that caring is a political liability.
But over the past few days, I’ve found myself asking a deeper question:
Is it really empathy we’re missing most?
Or is it something underneath it? Something more foundational?
Because as much as I believe empathy is essential—more than kindness, more than emotion, more than “being nice”—I also believe it cannot stand alone.
Empathy without moral imagination becomes sentiment without substance.
Empathy without discernment becomes noise.
Empathy without truth becomes manipulation.
Empathy without courage becomes silence in the face of injustice.
We’re living in a time where empathy is mocked, truth is bent, and rage is rewarded. What’s missing? Here’s what I’ve come to see.
We’re missing moral imagination.
Empathy lets me feel what you’re going through.
Moral imagination lets me envision a world where we both flourish—and then do something about it.
Moral imagination is what allowed Dr. King to see a different future and call us toward it. It’s what peacemakers carry into war zones. It’s what Jesus embodied.
Without it, empathy stays trapped in emotion, never transforming into action.
We’re missing discernment.
The algorithms don’t reward nuance. They reward rage.
But discernment is the quiet practice of choosing what’s worth saying, sharing, and standing for.
It means asking:
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Is this true?
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Is this helpful?
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Is this mine to say?
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Is it worth the cost of division?
Discernment is moral clarity with humility. And we need it more than ever.
We’re missing a shared accountability to truth.
We have become tribal. We pick sides. And we believe our side’s narrative even when it contradicts reality.
But truth doesn’t bend to political convenience.
I’ve built a career uncovering deception. I’ve seen what happens when truth is manipulated, ignored, or spun for personal gain.
If empathy is the heart, truth is the spine. Without both, we collapse.
We’re missing courageous civility.
Not politeness. Not appeasement. But the courage to stand in disagreement and still see the other as human.
I want to say:
“I disagree. Deeply. But you’re still a person. Still loved. Still worthy of dignity.”
We’ve forgotten how to do that. Or maybe we’ve just stopped trying.
But until we recover the ability to disagree without destroying, we will never heal.
We’re missing shared responsibility.
We act like life is a solo sport. It’s not.
We owe something to each other—not out of guilt, but out of humanity.
What I’ve seen on mission trips—what I’ve seen in underserved communities here at home—is that compassion has to show up tangibly. It has to do something.
Freedom without responsibility is selfishness. And we’re watching that play out on a national scale.
So no—empathy is not enough.
Not if it’s untethered from moral courage, accountability, and imagination.
But it’s still the place to begin.
And I’ll keep beginning there. Even when it feels ineffective. Even when it goes unnoticed. Even when it brings unwanted attention or makes people uncomfortable.
Because I believe in something better than this.
And I believe it starts not in Congress or courtrooms—but in the quiet corners of individual conscience. The kind that reminds us who we are… and who we’re meant to be.
I chose this image of an empty chair at sunset because it quietly holds everything I’ve been feeling: grief, stillness, and the silent weight of what remains to be done. It reminded me of both grief and the responsibility we carry forward—what we choose to see, how we choose to respond, and who we choose to become. It’s a visual pause, a gentle space to remember that empathy may begin the journey, but it is courage that carries us forward.