To speak of the ethics of compassion is not merely to define an emotion; it is to examine how we conceive of good and evil when concrete lives are at stake. From Schopenhauer's metaphysics of the will to the contemporary reflections of Joan-Carles Mèlich, and including the proposals of José Antonio Marina and Jesús Mosterín, a map emerges in which sensitivity to suffering is as crucial as any abstract principle.
This journey has one foot in philosophy and the other in historical experience. Auschwitz becomes a turning point that forces us to reconsider whether there are universal duties valid in all circumstances, or whether ethics arises from the situated response to the suffering of others. And all of this affects our daily lives and organizations, which need a moral compass, even more so in times of smart technologies.
What is the ethics of compassion?
Compassion, in its ethical sense, is neither pity nor condescension: it is, literally, 'suffering with'. It implies recognizing shared vulnerability and allowing oneself to be affected by the suffering of others in order to guide one's actions. To have compassion is to be beside those who suffer , not to take their place or present oneself as a moral example; it is to accompany them without appropriating pain that does not belong to us.
This way of understanding ethics emphasizes that affective experience is not merely an embellishment of reason. As Jesús Mosterín argued, moral emotions count in ethical reasoning as much as perceptions count in science: they are first-order data that inform our judgment. If empirical facts reshape scientific theories, the evidence of suffering can and should reshape our moral convictions.
Along these lines, José Antonio Marina has drawn attention to the evolution of feelings throughout cultural history. His interest in a genealogy of emotions shows that, as our sensibilities change , so do our ethical frameworks. Understanding how we feel, and why, is key to knowing how we coexist and what our limits are.
Furthermore, there is an operational aspect: Marina himself distinguishes between the legal and ethical dimensions of conflict resolution. The legal dimension operates through coercion and sanctions; the ethical dimension, through conviction and social pressure. The law is imposed; ethics persuades . Compassion, in this sense, mobilizes a type of conviction that cannot be imposed from the outside, but which transforms practices from within.
Foundations: Schopenhauer and the metaphysical root
For Arthur Schopenhauer, the key to understanding ethics lies in his metaphysics: the phenomenal world (that which appears) is governed by space, time, and causality, while at its core lies the Will, a single, blind drive that manifests itself in all things. The plurality of beings is merely the diversity of appearances of that same original force. This ontology has profound moral consequences.
If the Will is one and identical in all, the separation between individuals is an effect of the forms of representation. Hence, compassion is possible: by intuiting in the other the same essence that constitutes us, the suffering of others is not indifferent to us . Ethics, therefore, is not deduced from formal commands, but from an experience that recognizes unity in diversity.
From this perspective, Schopenhauer is skeptical of prescriptive, formal, or deontological ethics, which base morality on abstract duty. His proposal is rather descriptive: authentic morality arises when, in fact, the veil of individuation loosens and we are affected by the pain of others. It is not a 'you have to,' but a 'this is how one feels and acts' when the common thread of life is grasped.
This approach also opens up an aesthetic and pedagogical path. The figure of the sage and the artist appears as one who is capable of suspending, even for a moment, the tyranny of the Will or of revealing it in new forms. In this reception, Iris Murdoch emphasized the role of art and literature as exercises in moral awareness: learning to see well is also learning to live better.
Marina and Mosterín: reason, science and emotions
José Antonio Marina, in his praise of compassion, insists on the need to revalue moral sentiments within a culture that has sometimes treated them as secondary elements. His project of chronicling cultural evolution by incorporating the evolution of emotions suggests that without mapping emotions we cannot truly understand the ethical changes in our societies.
Mosterín, for his part, proposes expanding the sphere of moral consideration to encompass any being capable of suffering. This idea of “widening the circle” goes hand in hand with something key in his thinking: that advances in science and objective knowledge can justify revisions of our ethical assumptions. Empirical evidence not only informs us about what exists ; it can also guide us toward what we must change.
Both agree, with some nuances, that understanding what is happening in our society requires solid arguments and verifiable data . Thanks to scientific research, public discourse can better deliberate on complex dilemmas and, consequently, promote fairer frameworks. More knowledge does not guarantee better decisions , but it reduces the blindness with which we sometimes make them.
This approach has practical implications in a world permeated by technology, automation, and artificial intelligence. Marina points out that organizations need to revive their conversations about values, consistency, and ethics—topics sidelined for years by technical enthusiasm. If we want healthy internal ecosystems , moral clarity is essential to face unexpected challenges to coexistence.
Joan-Carles Mèlich: vulnerability, evil and situated response
At the heart of Mèlich's proposal lies the experience of the 20th century and, in particular, the lesson of the Holocaust. After such a profound tragedy, speaking of a universal morality of duties valid in any time and place becomes problematic. For him, ethics is not a catalog of pre-existing commandments , but rather the capacity to respond to a specific individual in a unique and unrepeatable situation.
What makes us human is not obeying a code, but recognizing our shared fragility. In his words, the human condition is vulnerability, desire, and suffering; therefore, ethics must be sensitive to those excluded from supposed “dignity.” Compassion is directed toward the excluded , not toward those already fully integrated into the category of “our own.”
In contrast to the capitalized "Good," Mèlich proposes thinking from the experience of evil; in contrast to Duty, he advocates for an appropriate response that can never be entirely so; in contrast to "Dignity," he suggests an ethics of sensitivity toward those considered unworthy. These formulas, far from banal relativism, demand humility: in ethics there are no perfect answers , and sometimes being ethical means going against one's own morally formed conscience.
To illustrate the limits of any overly general morality, he resorts to extreme cases like "Sophie's Choice": faced with the coercion of choosing which of her children will die, what universal norm applies? None. The situation overwhelms any regulation , and the decision tragically rests in the hands of the individual, without the support of principles that would relieve them of the burden.
Compassion is not pity: a key distinction
One of Mèlich's incisive contributions is the distinction between compassion and pity. Pity, understood as a gesture that places you above the other, can increase the power imbalance: it offers help from a position of superiority that humiliates. Compassion, on the other hand, is sensitivity that reduces the distance between two vulnerable people . It doesn't demand reciprocity or seek to show off: it accompanies, listens, and supports.
Therefore, compassion is never paternalistic or theatrical. It's not about lecturing or feeling "good," but about being present without intruding. "Standing beside" someone who suffers implies respect for their uniqueness and their pain, which is theirs alone. It's not about appropriating suffering , but about offering hospitality to it.
Ethics, morals and law: between norm and conviction
Returning to Marina, it's important not to confuse these two realms. Law operates through mechanisms of coercion and punishment, essential for public life. Ethics appeals to conviction and social pressure, which cannot be decreed. A mature society recognizes that laws without human virtues fall short; and that virtue without laws can become powerless.
Mèlich, in his own way, warns of a danger: an excess of morality without room for ethical response. “Beware of the overly obedient,” he says, the one who acts with a clear conscience because “he did what he had to do.” This person can be the most dangerous, for he disregards the concrete suffering that challenges his decision. Blind compliance with the rule is not the same as justice.
The example is harsh but relevant: “Even the Nazis treated their own kind well.” Ethics are tested by those who are not like us, nor will they ever be. Therefore, any dogmatism or totalitarianism “only has morality” and does not allow for an ethical response. Human life exists in a tension between morality (norms) and ethics (response), and this tension is never fully resolved.
Organizations, technology and ethical culture
In times of automation and algorithms, organizations need to update their conversation about values, consistency, and coexistence. Codes of ethics and compliance manuals are not enough: “nothing replaces ethics.” Protocols are necessary , but insufficient if no one continues to consider the other person in unforeseen situations.
The so-called “internal ecosystem” of companies and institutions should be able to respond to increasingly complex challenges of coexistence. This requires reliable data, informed public deliberation, and, above all, habits of genuine compassion. Science provides evidence , and ethics guides action—a combination that avoids both empty sentimentality and cold technocracy.
Moral education: the role of art and literature
Beyond theory, the Schopenhauerian tradition has influenced contemporary pedagogies. Iris Murdoch emphasized that art and literature can be practices of moral education because they train attention. Seeing others well, without projecting so much of ourselves, is already an ethical exercise . Literary imagination expands the possible worlds of care.
In the classroom, these ideas encourage the development of critical empathy: learning to listen to accounts of suffering without egocentric absorption or sensationalizing pain. This pedagogy of observation prepares students for situated ethical responses, where there are no universal solutions , but rather practical commitments to the person in front of them.
Dignity, limits and expansion of the moral circle
Mèlich questions the usefulness of the concept of “dignity” when it is used ambiguously. Where does it begin and end? Does it include the fetus, the incapacitated elderly, animals? The controversy surrounding the “dignity of the bull” shows that we sometimes mix terms and generate confusion. Hence his preference for speaking of sensitivity toward the excluded. Instead of arguing over a label , we look at those who have been left out of it.
With Mosterín, compassion expands to encompass all beings capable of suffering, reopening debates about the boundaries of the moral community. This doesn't impose rigid decisions, but it does guide priorities: wherever there is avoidable suffering, there is an ethical justification. The moral circle broadens with better data and greater emotional clarity.
Examples and dilemmas: when the standard is not enough
Extreme cases—like Sophie's—remind us that there are situations where no rule offers protection. Fanatical violence and psychological abuse also demonstrate this: "the Al-Qaeda fanatic has so much moral obligation" that he doesn't see the child suffering before him. Here, compassion is not weakness, but the bare minimum of humanity that prevents us from objectifying others.
In everyday life, the ethics of compassion operate in less dramatic decisions: company policies toward vulnerable employees, city design for people with reduced mobility, person-centered healthcare, and the treatment of migrants and minorities. In all these scenarios, rising to the occasion is rarely perfect , but it is possible to come close if we maintain a sensitivity to concrete harm.
All of this also requires institutions that don't reward blind compliance, but rather thoughtful judgment. It's about creating cultures where "doing what was required" doesn't mask the suffering caused. Evaluating real impacts and correcting course when something causes unjust harm is the core of this ethic.
Ultimately, bioethical debates about the beginning and end of life, or about the moral status of animals, gain rigor when they incorporate both scientific evidence and compassionate care for those affected. Neither data without compassion, nor compassion without data, is sufficient. Mature public discourse thrives on both.
The ethics of compassion, as outlined by Schopenhauer, Marina, Mosterín, and Mèlich, is neither sentimentality nor a renunciation of thought: it is a demanding way of looking at suffering and responding with prudence and courage. Between the profound unity of life, the evolution of our sensibilities, the historical experience of evil, and the need to act in concrete situations, a practical compass emerges: to stand beside those who are suffering, with clarity and respect , knowing that no rule exempts us from deciding, and that deciding well involves both reason, facts, and an attentive heart.
