I have often been told that hatred is natural, that to rejoice when an enemy falls is simply part of the human condition. Some even claim that the sweetness of revenge is a flavor one must savor to fully experience life.
Yet I cannot, and will not, take delight in the suffering of others. Not because I am naïve, nor because I lack passion, but because I have come to see that cruelty corrodes not only its target but also the hand that applauds it.
When I watch the world, I notice how quickly people become intoxicated by misfortune—not their own, of course, but that of those they oppose. A rival stumbles, a politician gets sick, a public figure dies, and instantly, the celebrations erupt. The laughter, the jeering, the triumphant cries—these are meant to signify justice. But they are hollow. They reveal not victory, but a wound in the heart of our shared humanity.
The Universal Application of Compassion
Compassion is not meant to be selective. If it is, it ceases to be compassion and becomes tribal favoritism. If I extend empathy only to my friends, my family, or those who share my worldview, then what I am practicing is not love but allegiance. True compassion is universal, or it is nothing at all.
Why does this matter? Because humanity is one vast organism comprised of individuals, all with human rights. Every cruelty inflicted, every suffering cheered, is not isolated—it reverberates through the whole. To mock an enemy’s pain is to mock pain itself. To laugh at their tragedy is to laugh at tragedy itself. And tragedy, unlike people, does not discriminate. It will come for me, for those I love, for those I defend. If I train myself to celebrate its arrival in another, I will have prepared my soul to betray myself when sorrow inevitably knocks on my own door.
When I look at an enemy, I do not deny their faults. Perhaps they are cruel, corrupt, or even dangerous. But when illness strikes them, or when misfortune overtakes them, I cannot summon joy from their downfall. To celebrate cancer, robbery, or murder in any form—even when directed at those I dislike—is to join in chorus with the very forces I claim to abhor.
"Rudeness is the weak man's imitation of strength" - Eric Hoffer.
The Logical Consequence of Delight in Suffering
This is not mystical, not karmic retribution. It is simple logic. If my enemy is robbed and I clap my hands with glee, I have lent my voice to the celebration of robbery. If my rival is murdered and I cheer, then I have cheered for murder. If my opponent is stricken with disease and I smile, then I have become an advocate for disease.
How can I condemn robbery if I celebrate it when it benefits me? How can I speak against violence if I grin when it strikes someone I resent? How can I pray for cures, for medicine, for the defeat of sickness, if in secret I applaud the suffering of those I dislike? I would be caught in contradiction, my values dissolved by convenience.
When we delight in suffering, we do not merely harm the enemy—we harm ourselves. We corrode our moral consistency, we diminish our dignity, and we sharpen the very blades we fear. We become advocates for the ugly, vile things we pretend to hate. In applauding destruction, we give it legitimacy. In celebrating cruelty, we give it life.
Humanity as Wholeness
To be human in the fullest sense is to recognize the thread of commonality that runs through us all. Not sameness—we are not identical, nor should we be—but the shared vulnerability that makes us kin. The body breaks, the mind falters, the heart aches; no banner, no ideology, no tribe is exempt from these truths.
If we are to be whole as a species, compassion must be whole. Fragmented compassion is as useless as a fractured bone—it cannot hold the body together. A civilization that delights in the pain of its “others” is not strong but brittle, not proud but pitiful. It gnaws at its own foundation until all that remains is rubble and resentment.
When I refuse to delight in another’s pain, I do not excuse them, nor do I absolve them. What I do is protect the integrity of my own humanity. I choose to remain whole, to remain unbroken, to stand against the contagion of cruelty. My refusal is not weakness, but strength—the strength to say, “I will not support what I hate, even when it serves my bitterness.”
The Quiet Discipline of Compassion
Compassion is not always grand. Often it is quiet, invisible, unseen. It is the simple decision not to laugh when tragedy falls on an enemy. It is the restraint that holds back a cruel word. It is the sober recognition that suffering is not a trophy but a wound, and wounds are not to be admired.
This discipline is not easy. Hatred tempts like fire, promising warmth, promising light. But it burns indiscriminately. To feed it is to risk being consumed. Compassion, on the other hand, builds slowly, like the dawn. It is patient, gentle, and it allows me to live without contradiction, without cheering on the very horrors I despise.
Closing Thoughts
I, as a Libertarian, believe in the universality of peace and human dignity. I do not take delight in the suffering of others because to do so would betray both logic and love. It would corrode the very values I claim to uphold, turning me into a silent ally of cruelty. To be fully human is to extend compassion universally—even when it costs me my pride, even when it denies me the pleasure of petty triumphs.
When enemies fall, I may breathe easier. I may feel relief that their power has waned. But I will not cheer for their wounds. For suffering is never a victory, and delight in suffering is never human. It is a shadow of humanity, a distortion, a loss. And I refuse to lose myself.
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