We all have enough strength to endure the misfortunes of others.

Hear the voice of the French sage, François de La Rochefoucauld, who wrote with piercing clarity of the human heart: “We all have enough strength to endure the misfortunes of others.” These words are not clothed in gentleness but in sharp truth, for they unveil the hidden selfishness within mankind. He speaks not of the noble strength that carries a friend through sorrow, but of the cold detachment by which men find it easy to bear suffering when it does not fall upon themselves. Thus, his words are both mirror and rebuke, calling us to examine what kind of strength we truly possess.

The meaning is this: when pain strikes another, we can watch from afar with patience, even calm, for it is not our own soul that bleeds. We may speak words of comfort, offer gestures of kindness, yet within, our spirit is not crushed. It is only when misfortune pierces our own house, our own flesh, our own heart, that we taste the bitter cup fully. La Rochefoucauld’s observation of human nature is both cynical and true: we often overestimate our compassion, forgetting that endurance is easy when the weight rests upon another’s shoulders.

The ancients knew this irony well. In the tale of Job, his friends sat with him in silence as he grieved, appearing wise and patient. Yet their calmness was possible only because his misfortunes were not theirs. When they spoke, they judged rather than wept, for they could endure his trials from the safety of their own lives. Here is La Rochefoucauld’s truth: endurance of another’s pain is no great feat, for it does not cut the marrow of our own bones.

History too provides a sharp example. During the Great Depression, many who were not touched directly by poverty spoke lightly of those who suffered, saying they should work harder, save better, endure longer. It was easy for them to advise, for their bellies were not empty and their children were not cold. Yet when financial ruin came to their own households, their words faltered, and they felt what they once dismissed. Thus, we see that strength in the face of another’s misfortune is often only the mask of distance.

But let us not despair in cynicism alone. There is wisdom hidden here, for by recognizing this weakness of the human heart, we may strive to grow beyond it. La Rochefoucauld teaches us that our first impulse is self-centered, but the noble soul resists this, choosing to bear the burdens of others as though they were its own. The great challenge is not merely to endure another’s misfortune at a safe distance, but to step into their suffering, to carry part of their weight, to let their tears become our own. Compassion is the strength that bridges the gulf between “their sorrow” and “our sorrow.”

The lesson for us is clear: beware the ease with which you endure another’s pain, for it may reveal not strength but indifference. Test your heart. Ask yourself—do I truly grieve with those who grieve, or do I merely watch with calm because I am untouched? Seek to go deeper, to cultivate empathy that feels the wound of others as your own. Only then will endurance become compassion, and compassion become love.

Practical actions follow. When you see another in misfortune, do not stand afar and admire your own calm. Draw near. Offer more than words: give time, aid, presence. When tempted to judge the afflicted, remember that strength in their place might not be so easily found within you. Train your heart to feel, your hands to act, and your spirit to share in the burden. In this way, you rise above mere endurance of another’s misfortune and step into the higher calling of shared humanity.

For remember this: it is easy to be strong when the wound is not your own. But the measure of a true soul is to let another’s misfortune pierce you, to bear it with them, and to turn selfish endurance into selfless compassion. Enduring another’s misfortune is simple; embracing it as your own is divine.