Weaponising Empathy: The Subtle Temptation of Virtue Signalling
“When the Tao is lost, there is goodness. When goodness is lost, there is morality. When morality is lost, there is ritual. Ritual is the husk of true faith, the beginning of chaos.”
— Lao Tzu, Tao Te Ching
In my previous post on toxic empathy, I explored how empathy, when taken too far, can prevent people from being honest with one another. At one end of the spectrum, we become so empathetic that we censor ourselves for fear of causing pain; at the other, we lose empathy entirely and treat people inhumanely. The wisdom of Wing Tsun—and of much of Chinese philosophy—is to walk the centre line.
Yet beyond this spectrum lies something more insidious: the weaponisation of empathy. This is when empathy is used, not to understand, but to manipulate. And in our current age, it often takes the form of virtue signalling—a race to prove moral superiority, sometimes to the detriment of actual progress or support.
The Spectrum of Empathy
Empathy is a deeply human quality. It helps us connect, bond, and support one another. But when empathy becomes a currency—something to be displayed or performed—it loses its essence. Lao Tzu alludes to this in the Tao Te Ching (verse 38) above, and Alan Watts paraphrased it perfectly when he said, “Goody-goodies are the thieves of virtue.” When we perform goodness rather than live it, our empathy risks becoming a theatre rather than a service.
True virtue is quiet. It does not announce itself. When we seek to be seen as good, rather than do good, it inevitably takes us away from this path.
Virtue Signalling and the Celebration of Victimhood
This can be seen in the growing cultural phenomenon where identity and victimhood are worn as badges of honour. The intention may be noble—to recognise injustice and call for change—but when the narrative becomes more about being seen to care than solving the underlying issue, it limits growth. It creates an identity around the problem rather than the overcoming of it.
The danger is we end up celebrating hardship rather than helping people move through it. We reward people for having problems, not for developing solutions. While acknowledging and recognising hardship is an essential first step—both individually and collectively—the next question becomes: how do we transform it? How do we respond in a way that uplifts not only the individual, but the community and culture around them? The way we approach suffering shapes whether it becomes a source of strength or an identity we remain trapped within. Our true admiration is almost always reserved for those who overcome adversity. This is the essence of the hero’s journey: the descent into difficulty, and the rise with wisdom. From Shakespeare to Dickens to every enduring story we love, the protagonists are not praised for suffering alone, but for transforming that suffering into power.
My own teacher, Grandmaster Norbert, once told me, “Every kick in the ass makes you take one step forward.” It’s crude but it encapsulates a profound truth: life’s punches are often the very force that move us onward. And we must be careful not to disempower others by holding them in their wounds. True empathy wants the best for someone. It doesn’t enshrine their pain; it supports their path beyond it.
The Media and Emotional Manipulation
It’s important to recognise that empathy, especially when unexamined, can be quietly exploited, not only by individuals but also by institutions. One of the most powerful platforms for this is the media.
I remember speaking with my cousin, a former Liberal Democrat MP for Cardiff Central, about a study where a newspaper attempted to publish only positive news. The intention was noble: uplift, inspire, and inform without fear or outrage. Yet within two weeks, they had to abandon the experiment—it nearly bankrupted the paper.
That story has always stayed with me, because it demonstrates something we often don’t want to admit: the media, like any system, is shaped by the commercials of attention. And what draws attention, engagement, and, frankly, clicks, is not reasoned analysis or quiet optimism. It’s emotion.
This doesn’t just mean anger or fear. Empathy itself is frequently used as a lever—framing stories in a way that provokes guilt, outrage, or performative solidarity. The result is not necessarily deeper understanding or wiser action, but a reactive emotional posture: a kind of weaponised goodness. As with all manipulation, the driver is rarely the content itself—it’s how the content is framed and where it directs our attention.
Different frameworks describe this phenomenon. At one extreme, there’s the lens of narcissistic manipulation, where empathy is consciously used to influence and control. But it’s not always that intentional. The more important truth is this: when we are led entirely by our emotions, we become easy to manipulate.
This connects to what I discussed in my previous piece on toxic empathy—when emotion overrides clarity, it blinds rather than illuminates. The more emotionally reactive we are, the more our responses can be steered, consciously or unconsciously, by those who understand that emotional reactions are more powerful drivers than pure facts.
In many ways, the way a story is told becomes more influential than the story itself. Which is why the skill of holding both compassion and clarity—both feeling and discernment—is not just a personal practice, but a vital discipline for modern life.
Finding the Centre Line
As always, the answer lies not in abandoning empathy but in integrating it with wisdom. We must care, but not blindly. We must feel, but not be ruled by feeling. We must support others, but always in a way that points toward their strength, not their helplessness.
In Wing Tsun this is the deeper meaning of the centre line. Not a compromise between extremes, but a higher path above them. A way of acting that combines the heart of empathy with the clarity of truth. When we can walk that path, we stop weaponising our goodness—and start embodying it.
This applies as much in our organisations as in our personal lives. Emotions are powerful drivers in business. Understanding how we make people feel, internally and externally, is critical. But it’s easy to fall into either extreme: a culture so rational it forgets people, or one so emotionally reactive it loses clarity. Leadership is the art of walking that line.
So I invite you to ask yourself:
Where have you mistaken emotion for truth?
Where do you feel compelled to signal virtue, rather than simply act with integrity?
Do you act from fear of judgement—or from clarity of purpose?
Be kind to yourself when looking at these - these aren’t questions to judge yourself. They’re invitations—for awareness, refinement and greater authenticity.
And, like the other Wing Tsun teachings I write about, they offer not just a commentary on the world, but a mirror for greater growth.
Sifu