“Misophorism is the absolute reality that misathymia (which is Misery—which is Death—which is Truth) is everywhere, the ubiquitous constant—it is inescapable. Reality is naught but misathymia. It inheres within every facet of life.
We must thus consider its avenues and disabuse ourselves of petty nothings, for if the ultimate goal of life is comfort and joy, it is ill-suited for existence, as all Life Forms must toil. A worm, with no cerebrations whatever, must, by its ingrained nature, suffer to survive, lest it starve or be devoured. Higher statures face the same. An ape; it must protect its territory lest it too starve or be maimed. What of their assailants? Has the Creator (whatever form it takes!) bequeathed to them unique ataraxy?
The barbaric slaughter of prey betrays the starvation of the predator. Should it fail to nourish itself, desperation irrupts into its withering form, until, at last, it betakes itself to cannibalism. Nature’s brutality is manifest. No creature knows peace; fear inheres within each.
And what of Man, the highest stature of all? Within him misathymia is inordinate. His intellect has rendered him beyond all other creatures, doubtless a bitter Curse. Consciousness educes the silent agony from within him, for when he finds shelter and nourishment, his mind ambles about, his atavistic nature befuddled with none to Kill and none to flee from. In this, greater forms of misery may be achieved. The Brutish Man cannot conceive of the miseries of homelessness, nor of the agonies of ostracization, of exile, of impoverishment. A man without the conception of wealth cannot comprehend the loss of it, nor the torment it educes. The Ancient Man cannot fathom the Array of New Horrors that assail him today. This betrays the cruelty of all things; life’s predilection for suffering is unquestionable. All Good exists to further life’s affinity for greater forms of horror. For this, Sane men have but one choice: to destroy oneself.”