Compassion, Empathy, and Activism Without Burnout

yuval bloch

August 30, 2025

As the war in Israel drags on, I see many friends—especially peace activists—feeling burned out. It’s not surprising. Carrying so much pain for so long takes a toll. But psychology, neuroscience, and ancient traditions offer an insight that can help: a deeper understanding of empathy and compassion, and how they shape our inner lives.

The Problem with Empathy

Imagine this: you trip and hurt yourself, then a friend hugs you. Suddenly, you feel a little better. Simple enough, but your brain is doing something extraordinary. Professor Simone Shamay-Tsoory’s research helps explain it. By having people hold hands while one was in pain, and using fMRI to scan their brains, she found that their brain activity actually synchronized, lighting up the same neuron patterns in both sides. The closer their brains “mirrored” each other, the less pain the person felt. This is the neurological basis of empathy: we don’t just imagine another person’s feelings; we simulate them inside our own brain. We run their pain through our own neural circuits, and by doing so, reduce our partner’s suffering. This is why empathy motivates us to help and why it can alleviate feelings of isolation.

But here’s the catch: the same mechanism that makes empathy powerful can also overwhelm us. Absorbing too much of other people’s pain leads to empathic distress, the feeling of burnout, or worse, secondary trauma.

Empathy in the Age of Media

Things are even harder today because we’re no longer limited to the pain of people around us. News, social media, and endless videos expose us to suffering on a massive scale, but without giving us the power to reduce it by feeling with the victims. Sometimes it makes us shut down and feel numb. Other times, we’re flooded and break down. This is why the distinction between empathy and compassion matters so much.

Empathy is the ability to feel another person’s pain as if it were our own.
Compassion transforms that feeling into the motivation to help—without drowning us in distress.

Compassion adds something crucial: cognitive empathy—the capacity to step back, understand what’s happening, and see how we might constructively respond. It’s not just about “feeling with” someone; it’s about holding the bigger picture and choosing action.

Cultivating Compassion Over Empathic Distress

So how do we shift from empathy (which can hurt us) to compassion (which sustains us)? Research suggests a clear pathway:

1. Safety and Security

When we feel secure and supported, we’re more open to compassion. The researchers Mario Mikulincer and Phillip Shaver conducted a groundbreaking experiment at the Hebrew University. They asked Jewish students to grade the résumés of applicants, who had been randomly assigned either a Jewish or an Arab name. Initially, students tended to give higher scores to the Jewish applicants. However, when they were first prompted to recall a time in their lives when they felt safe and supported, they graded both groups equally. This research shows that a sense of inner security is a necessary prerequisite for our ability to extend compassion to others.

2. Common Humanity

Recognizing that even people unlike us share basic hopes and struggles helps bridge divides. This was demonstrated in a study conducted in the United Kingdom. Soccer fans were approached after a match and saw a person trip who was wearing the jersey of a rival team. The fans who had just been discussing soccer in general were more likely to help than those who had been talking only about their own team. This research shows that adopting a broader identity—such as “soccer fans” rather than just “our team’s fans”—leads to greater openness and compassion.

3. Warmth and Concern

Instead of copying pain, we cultivate a feeling of warmth and concern.

4. Understanding

Recognizing the causes of suffering naturally motivates us to act.

And here’s the key: You don’t need to suffer to be compassionate. In fact, suffering often blocks compassion by pushing us into a state of distress. This is why many activist messages—such as “Imagine if it were you” or “What will you tell your grandchildren?"—can be ineffective. They may spark urgency, but they also exhaust people. If we want sustainable activism, we need something deeper.

Learning from Tradition

The idea that morality requires suffering has deep roots, especially in Christianity, where enduring pain is often seen as echoing Jesus’ sacrifice. But other traditions view it differently.

In Buddhism, the Buddha is often depicted with a gentle smile—aware of suffering, but not consumed by it. That calm awareness gave him the strength to keep teaching.

When I look at our tradition, I can also see a model of compassion that does not involve self-suffering. When my grandfather passed away recently, people came during shiva not to suffer with us, but to sit with us, share their presence, and, honestly, bring far too many cakes. Compassion meant showing up, not mirroring our pain.

These ancient insights helped inspire modern research. The Mind and Life Institute—a collaboration between the Dalai Lama and neuroscientists—was founded on the belief that contemplative traditions had already mapped paths to compassion. Their studies confirm it: meditation and mental training can strengthen compassion without leading to empathic burnout.

Toward Sustainable Activism

So what if activism drew on this? Imagine movements not fueled by guilt, shame, or empathic distress, but by compassion, safety, and shared humanity. Activism that doesn’t eat away at our mental health but sustains us—and makes it easier for others to join. We can’t control every feeling. But we can create conditions that guide our emotions toward compassion rather than distress. That’s how we stay whole and keep working for peace in the long run.

Practicing Compassion Without Burning Out

I began writing about this because shifting from guilt and empathic distress toward compassion is still a struggle for me. However, by exploring the research and experimenting with various practices, I can cultivate greater compassion within myself.

One lesson stands out: guilt and pain don’t have to be the driving forces behind activism. When they arise, we don’t need to cling to them. As Archbishop Desmond Tutu and the Dalai Lama write in The Book of Joy, these feelings are natural; we can’t avoid them, but they don’t make us more compassionate. We need to let them go.

Before taking action—especially if it means confronting stories or images of suffering—pause for a grounding practice. Meditation, breathing, a moment of gratitude, or anything that works for you. It can create a sense of safety that makes compassion easier to sustain.

Be gentle with yourself when things don’t go as Planned. Working for peace is among the most challenging things anyone can do, and social change takes time—often longer than we would wish. Yes, the situation is urgent, but it doesn’t mean we can solve it fast.

Finally, choose your activist messages wisely. Use words that cultivate compassion, not guilt or shame. The goal isn’t to make others suffer with us; it’s to invite them into a space where compassion feels natural, empowering, and sustainable.