There comes a time in life, often when the body begins to grumble and the horizon draws in, when a man might pause and ask, “What kind of creature am I, really?” It is a quiet question. No crowd cheers for it. It arrives not with ceremony, but with creaking knees and early waking thoughts. And for some, tragically, it never arrives at all. We live in a moment where performative cruelty is rising again in public life, and among the least expected cheerleaders are men old enough to know better. I don’t mean those who are simply afraid or confused by change. I mean those who relish the sight of others being humiliated, dragged through the mud by someone with power, and mocked by his obedient flying monkeys. You’ve seen them: laughing online, nodding along on cable news, grinning at the cruelty like a cat toying with a wounded mouse. What sort of legacy does this leave? At a certain point in a man’s life, the question isn’t what can I take, but what have I become? To be so close to the end of one’s years and to choose mockery over mercy feels like a tragic final act. These men are not building anything. They are not mentoring, guiding, or sheltering. They are reveling in the breakdown of decency, as if it were a prize. And perhaps worst of all, they were not always like this. Some were kind once. Some were fathers who wept quietly at their child’s birth, or friends who brought soup in a storm. But now they hoot along with the mob. They cheer for vengeance dressed as justice. They applaud suffering as long as it happens to someone “other.” And when reminded of past cruelties, like those visited on the Central Park Five, young and innocent, slandered and ruined, they shrug, or they laugh, or they say, “They probably deserved it anyway.” What kind of man dies in his bed with that on his conscience? Reflections from Others. This isn’t a new question. Writers and thinkers through the ages have grappled with the tension between cruelty and compassion, conformity and conscience, especially as one nears life’s end. A few worth remembering: Hannah Arendt – Eichmann in Jerusalem: A Report on the Banality of Evil Arendt warned us that evil is often not monstrous, but mundane, committed by those who simply stop thinking critically. “The trouble with Eichmann was precisely that so many were like him… terribly and terrifyingly normal.” The men who nod along today, laughing at others’ pain, may think themselves removed from horror. But it begins with that laugh, that shrug, that failure to think. Albert Camus – The Plague Camus asked what kind of people we become in the face of suffering. His answer: choose compassion. “There are sick people and they need curing.” Even if you don’t know what awaits after this life, choose to be kind in this one. Leo Tolstoy – The Death of Ivan Ilyich As death nears, Ivan realizes his life, chasing comfort and status, was hollow. “What is right? What is wrong? What should one love, what hate?” It’s a reminder: you may not get the chance for that reckoning. Better to start asking now. Dietrich Bonhoeffer – The Cost of Discipleship A man who faced death for resisting cruelty wrote: “Silence in the face of evil is itself evil… Not to act is to act.” To cheer cruelty is worse than silence. It makes you a volunteer. So if you are an old man, reading this, and feel that nudge of discomfort... good. That may be your last chance to answer the question: what kind of creature am I, really? Before the curtain, choose decency.