Perfect nonviolence does not flinch, does not yield to hatred, does not inflict suffering even when it is possible. Courage is measured not by the harm we can cause, but by the suffering we refuse to inflict. In a world that rewards aggression, this is revolutionary.

 

By George Cassidy Payne

Violence is everywhere.

It echoes through the headlines of our newspapers, the walls of our schools, the streets of our cities and the policies of our governments. It is the drone strike that kills innocent families, the police officer’s knee on a neck, the wage theft that keeps parents working two jobs while their children go hungry.

Violence is not an anomaly; it is a pattern, a structure, a habit we inherit and perpetuate. Philosophers and historians have tried to explain it. Karl Marx called it inevitable, the engine driving the overthrow of one class by another. Georges Sorel framed it as the raw material of creation, the necessary destruction in every act of building or invention.

Jean-Paul Sartre argued that violence is existential—it is the act through which humans define themselves. Hannah Arendt warned of its allure, the ecstasy of force and spectacle. Connor Cruise O’Brien revealed the inheritance of violence: we live on the spoils of wars, colonial conquest, and oppression. Robert Lowell reminded us that humans are inconsistent, easily swayed by fear, passion, and the instinct to dominate.

All these explanations are true. Violence is seductive, inherited and immediate.

It promises quick results. It gratifies our anger and satisfies our desire for control. And yet, for every justification, there is a moral choice: to perpetuate the cycle of harm or to step onto a different path, one defined not by destruction but by courage, compassion and moral discipline. That path is nonviolence, not as naïve idealism, but as radical, deliberate action grounded in moral clarity.

Nonviolence is a way of life for the courageous. Gandhi wrote that nonviolence and cowardice are contradictory; to act nonviolently in the face of harm is the highest bravery. Perfect nonviolence does not flinch, does not yield to hatred, does not inflict suffering even when it is possible. Courage is measured not by the harm we can cause, but by the suffering we refuse to inflict. In a world that rewards aggression, this is revolutionary.

The act of standing against violence without matching it blow for blow transforms both the individual and the world.

Nonviolence envisions a future built on the beloved community, a society in which justice, equity, and care are not abstract concepts but lived realities. Where Sorel celebrated creation through destruction—the tree felled to build the table, the egg cracked to make the omelet—Kingian nonviolence reframes creation as service, as the deliberate cultivation of connection and empathy. Gandhi observed that service is its own reward: it makes not only the individual happier but also the world at large. In choosing nonviolence, we build rather than destroy. We imagine a world in which our labor, energy and courage create structures of care, not structures of harm.

Nonviolence also insists that we attack forces of evil, not the people enmeshed in evil.

Sartre suggests violence defines the self through the harm done to others, yet Gandhi and King insist: moral action distinguishes between sin and sinner. To act nonviolently is to refuse revenge and retribution, to resist oppression without dehumanizing the oppressor. Hatred spreads like a poison; resistance grounded in love and moral clarity spreads like a river cutting through stone. The goal is not to punish but to transform, not to destroy the individual but to dismantle unjust systems.

Accepting suffering without retaliation is central to nonviolence.

Arendt showed that violence is seductive, offering the thrill of power. Nonviolence demands a strength counterintuitive in a world that glorifies force: endurance, patience, and the courage to withstand pain without returning it. Gandhi wrote that humans live freely only when they are willing to face death without killing in return. Freedom, in this sense, is moral rather than merely physical. It is liberation from the cycle of harm that defines so much of our history. To resist nonviolently is to claim power not through coercion but through the integrity of conscience.

Yet nonviolence is not merely external; it begins within.

O’Brien and Lowell remind us that humans inherit violent systems and instincts. Our societies are structured around past bloodshed, and our own hearts are rarely pure. Nonviolence demands internal reform; discipline, reflection and the cultivation of ethical awareness. The freedom we seek in the world is only meaningful when it mirrors an inner freedom from hatred, fear, and the compulsion to dominate. This self-mastery allows nonviolence to scale from personal practice to systemic change.

Faith is what sustains nonviolence when violence seems inevitable. Tyrants appear invincible; oppressive systems feel permanent. Gandhi wrote that when he despaired, he remembered that truth and love always prevail. This is not blind optimism but recognition of historical patterns: the ways of compassion, justice, and truth endure. Faith fuels courage, reinforces discipline, and provides the moral energy to act when every instinct might demand retaliation. In nonviolence, hope is both weapon and shield, the anchor of moral action in the face of despair.

To practice nonviolence in today’s world is to reject the temptations of immediacy, aggression, and spectacle. It is to recognize the seduction of violence in headlines, in history, and within our own hearts. In the face of police brutality, systemic oppression, war, and climate devastation, nonviolence is not passive; it is radical, transformative, and demanding. It requires courage far beyond the average human instinct, and yet it is the only sustainable path to justice.

Nonviolence is hard, but violence is easy.

Violence may provide instant gratification, immediate results, or the thrill of dominance, but it creates nothing lasting. Nonviolence transforms both the actor and the world. It builds communities rooted in care, dismantles systems of oppression without perpetuating cycles of harm, and demonstrates a moral power that brute force cannot match. To choose nonviolence is to step into the radical courage of loving one’s enemies, serving one’s community, and fighting for justice without inflicting harm.

Understanding violence, its historical, social and psychological justifications, is the first step toward nonviolence. Only by confronting the birth pangs of history, the creative allure of destruction, the intoxication of spectacle, and the inheritance of oppression can we fully embrace the radical discipline of nonviolent action.

Choosing nonviolence is not an abstract moral exercise.

It is a conscious, deliberate struggle against both external injustice and the internal tendencies toward harm. It is the labor of courage, love, and faith, the only path that bends toward lasting justice.

In a world structured by cycles of violence, nonviolence is a radical, revolutionary act. It demands more than courage; it demands transformation. It demands that we see every person as both a victim and a participant in the systems we inherit. It demands that we act, not from hatred or fear, but from moral clarity, compassion, and hope.

The path of nonviolence is difficult, but it is the only path that can truly break the cycles that have bound humanity for centuries. To choose nonviolence is to declare, with unwavering resolve, that we will not be defined by the violence we inherit.

We will define ourselves by the courage to love and the faith that justice will prevail.
 

Photo: Pixabay

Editor: Dana Gornall

 

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