Empathy means bringing to the forefront an understanding of loss and fear, a sense of helplessness and anger. It is the quiet flutter in the heart that sees not the resume of the lost but the rip in the social fabric this act of violence has left behind.

By Kellie Schorr

 

If you’ve ever taken a course in ethics or philosophy, it’s likely you have encountered the Trolley Problem.

Developed in 1967, the Trolley Problem is a scenario used to explore utilitarianism vs. deontological ethics. It has varying aspects but goes something like this:

A runaway trolley is heading toward 5 people tied to the tracks. You can pull the lever and divert it to another track, but on that track is one person. Would you do nothing and let five die, or you would pull the lever and actively kill one person to save five?

Then, if that’s not hard enough, the problem begins to change aspects to identify our values. On one track are five convicted criminals and on the other is a nun. One track has five elderly people and the other has a child. There is no “one way” to think about it.

The five criminals deserve to die, so you save the nun, or… the nun has lived a blameless life, so you save the criminals to give them a second chance to do good. The elderly people have lived full lives and the child deserves a chance to live  or…the elderly people have gathered family, friends and merit and the child doesn’t have as many strings in the world.

With every decision you engage in an ethical, moral judgement. You are assigning value to human life based on your own criteria.

It’s an uncomfortable position to be the person holding the lever.

On September 10, 2025 at 12:20 PM in Orem, Utah, conservative political activist Charlie Kirk was shot and killed while engaging in a campus event.

Shocking. Tragic. It’s a lot to unpack. Within hours, however, people began to go on social media and take the lever into their hands.

To some Charlie Kirk was the victim of an unprovoked crime who deserves all the credit, passion, and honor we can give him. He was a good Christian, a father, and a family man. He died because of his political opinions, a martyr for the right wing. To others he was a pundit who traded in hate, eschewed diversity, and once callously said after a school shooting took the lives of three children, “it’s the price we pay for the Second Amendment” (paraphrase). He deserves no laurels, had no sense of Christian mercy, and pretty much perished from the very thing on which he profited. Chickens home to roost.

Was Charlie Kirk the victim of an intolerant society, or an intolerant person meeting the inevitable end of a life promoting guns and hateful, exclusive ideas? Standing at the lever, thinking critically, feeling compassionately, taking it all in—I have made my decision:

It. Does. Not. Matter.

Charlie Kirk was a being with a precious human life, and the only reasonable response to this entire situation is empathy.

We don’t “earn” empathy

Empathy is the capacity to sense, imagine, and emotionally resonate with what another person is experiencing—to feel, in ourselves, something of what happens in them. It’s less about judging whether someone “deserves” our care, and more about recognizing our shared humanity and allowing that recognition to shape how we respond.

Empathy means bringing to the forefront an understanding of loss and fear, a sense of helplessness and anger. It is the quiet flutter in the heart that sees not the resume of the lost but the rip in the social fabric this act of violence has left behind.

Empathy is not a currency.

You don’t earn empathy by good actions, being young, being religious or being a parent. It doesn’t matter who he is or why this happened. What matters is the rupture of security and goodness we feel around us. Empathy recognizes lost dreams, unspoken words, and future experiences left behind. Empathy is feeling the wetness of his loved one’s tears on your cheek, letting that salt sting your eyes, and then imagining the helpless frustration or anger of the shooter who thought this was the only way to stop suffering.

What?

Yep, that’s the thing. Empathy is for everyone. It isn’t a “prize” or a cookie you give to “good people.” It is a practice of connection that reminds us that suffering is universal. When you let go of the lever of duality, the choosing of who’s right and wrong, and reach out with empathy, you share it across the board.

Having empathy for Charlie Kirk and his family, for the people who were inspired by his message and now feel a void in their lives also means having empathy for the shooter and the feelings that caused him to lash out and end the life of another. It is acknowledging the pain of a community that has been trampled under other people’s prejudices for so long they have become confused about how to process the death of their bully.

True empathy practices equanimity, a sense of balance based on equality. It is taking your hand off the trolley lever and feeling the weight of the entire situation. We don’t need to measure the life of anyone to feel empathy about the suffering that is occurring.

Empathy doesn’t erase justice.

Because empathy is based on our interdependence on each other, we can hold compassion for a person without condoning their actions or absolving them of accountability. Empathy for all involved—the victim, the perpetrator, bystanders, first responders—doesn’t erase justice. It creates the soil where real accountability and transformation can grow.  Empathy empowers a just resolution rather than perpetuating cycles of vengeance and endless retaliation.

There are no saints or sinners; just humans responding to the causes and conditions of our time. Empathy doesn’t hand out “get out of consequence” passes. It just acknowledges that the road of suffering is hard.

I know, even as I write this, that Charlie Kirk would hate it.

He once famously said, “I can’t stand the word empathy. I think it’s a made-up, new-age term that does a lot of damage.” It summed up a world view based on absolutes, prejudices, conspiracy tropes and bold political lines that justified emotional cruelty and selfish aggression.

I don’t care if he hates it. It’s my choice to give it. I’m the person with the decision, the woman at the lever with a trolly heading for either calloused disregard of life or romanticization of harmful views. I am going to give empathy. Not because he has or hasn’t “earned it” but because it is basic  goodness to extend it. I choose to drop the lever and embrace our shared humanity.

In the end, the Trolley Problem doesn’t resolve itself by making one person righteous and another disposable. It reminds us that every human life carries weight. To practice empathy is to honor that truth, to respond not with vengeance or approval, but with the simple recognition that suffering anywhere calls forth compassion everywhere.

 

Were you moved by this post? You may also want to read:

Finding Your Lion’s Roar in Political Times

The Apocalypse Will Not be Televised, it Will be Live (and unexpected)

 

 

 

Photo: Pixabay

Editor: Dana Gornall

 

 

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