No man can be said to be perfectly happy that runs the risk of disappointment: which is the case of every man that fears or hopes for anything. For hope and fear, how distant soever they may seem to be the one from the other, they are both of them yet coupled in the same chain, as the guard and the prisoner; and the one treads upon the heels of the other. The reason of this is obvious, for they are passions that look forward, and are ever solicitous for the future; only hope is the more plausible weakness of the two, which in truth, upon the main, are inseparable; for the one cannot be without the other: but where the hope is stronger than the fear, or the fear than the hope, we call it the one or the other; for without fear it were no longer hope, but certainty; as without hope it were no longer fear but despair.
No one can be perfectly happy if they risk disappointment. This applies to everyone who fears or hopes for anything. Hope and fear may seem opposite, but they're linked together like a guard and prisoner. One always follows the other. The reason is clear. Both emotions look toward the future and worry about what's coming. Hope is just the more appealing weakness of the two. In reality, hope and fear can't be separated. You can't have one without the other. When hope is stronger than fear, we call it hope. When fear is stronger than hope, we call it fear. Without fear, hope would become certainty. Without hope, fear would become despair.
We may come to understand whether our disputes are vain or not, if we do but consider that we are either troubled about the present, the future or both. If the present, it is easy to judge, and the future is uncertain. It is a foolish thing to be miserable beforehand for fear of misery to come; for a man loses the present, which he might enjoy, in expectation of the future: nay, the fear of losing anything is as bad as the loss itself. I will be as prudent as I can, but not timorous or careless; and I will bethink myself, and forecast what inconveniences may happen before they come. It is true, a man may fear, and yet not be fearful; which is no more than to have the affection of fear without the vice of it; but yet a frequent admittance of it runs into a habit. It is a shameful and an unmanly thing to be doubtful, timorous, and uncertain; to set one step forward, and another backward; and to be irresolute. Can there be any man so fearful, that had not rather fall once than hang always in suspense?
We can figure out whether our arguments are pointless by looking at what troubles us. We worry about the present, the future, or both. If it's the present, that's easy to judge. The future is uncertain. It's foolish to make yourself miserable now because you're afraid of future misery. You lose the present moment, which you could actually enjoy, by worrying about what's coming. The fear of losing something is just as bad as actually losing it. I'll be as careful as I can, but I won't be fearful or careless. I'll think ahead and prepare for problems before they happen. It's true that you can feel fear without being fearful. That means having the emotion without letting it control you. But if you give in to fear too often, it becomes a habit. It's shameful and weak to be doubtful, scared, and uncertain. Taking one step forward and another backward shows you can't make decisions. Is there anyone so fearful that they wouldn't rather fall once than live in constant suspense?
Our miseries are endless, if we stand in fear of all possibilities; the best way, in such a case, is to drive out one nail with another, and a little to qualify fear with hope; which may serve to palliate a misfortune; though not to cure it. There is not anything that we fear, which is so certain to come, as it is certain that many things which we do fear will not come; but we are loth to oppose our credulity when it begins to move us, and so to bring our fear to the test. Well! but “what if the thing we fear should come to pass?” Perhaps it will be the better for us. Suppose it be death itself, why may it not prove the glory of my life? Did not poison make Socrates famous? and was not Cato’s sword a great part of his honor? “Do we fear any misfortune to befall us?” We are not presently sure that it will happen. How many deliverances have come unlooked for? and how many mischiefs that we looked for have never come to pass? It is time enough to lament when it comes, and, in the interim, to promise ourselves the best. What do I know but something or other may delay or divert it? Some have escaped out of the fire; others, when a house has fallen over their head, have received no hurt: one man has been saved when a sword was at his throat; another has been condemned, and outlived his headsman: so that ill-fortune, we see, as well as good, has her levities; peradventure it will be, peradventure not; and until it comes to pass, we are not sure of it: we do many times take words in a worse sense than they were intended, and imagine things to be worse taken than they are. It is time enough to bear a misfortune when it comes, without anticipating it.
Our miseries are endless if we live in fear of every possibility. The best approach is to drive out one nail with another. We should temper our fear with a little hope. This may help ease a misfortune, though it won't cure it. Nothing we fear is as certain to happen as the fact that many things we fear will never come to pass. Yet we're reluctant to challenge our fears when they start to move us. We avoid putting our fears to the test. But what if the thing we fear actually happens? Perhaps it will be better for us. Suppose it's death itself. Why couldn't it prove to be the glory of my life? Didn't poison make Socrates famous? Wasn't Cato's sword a great part of his honor? Do we fear some misfortune will befall us? We can't be sure it will happen. How many unexpected rescues have come? How many disasters we expected never occurred? There's time enough to grieve when trouble arrives. In the meantime, we should expect the best. What do I know? Something might delay or prevent it. Some people have escaped from fires. Others have suffered no harm when buildings collapsed on them. One man was saved with a sword at his throat. Another was condemned but outlived his executioner. So we see that bad fortune, like good fortune, has its whims. Perhaps it will happen, perhaps not. Until it comes to pass, we can't be certain. We often interpret words more harshly than intended. We imagine things are worse than they really are. There's time enough to bear a misfortune when it comes, without anticipating it beforehand.
He that would deliver himself from all apprehensions of the future, let him first take for granted, that all fears will fall upon him; and then examine and measure the evil that he fears, which he will find to be neither great nor long. Beside, that the ills which he fears he may suffer, he suffers in the very fear of them. As in the symptoms of an approaching disease, a man shall find himself lazy and listless: a weariness in his limbs, with a yawning and shuddering all over him; so it is in the case of a weak mind, it fancies misfortunes, and makes a man wretched before his time. Why should I torment myself at present with what, perhaps, may fall out fifty years hence? This humor is a kind of voluntary disease, and an industrious contrivance of our own unhappiness, to complain of an affliction that we do not feel. Some are not only moved with grief itself, but with the mere opinion of it; as children will start at a shadow, or at the sight of a deformed person. If we stand in fear of violence from a powerful enemy, it is some comfort to us, that whosoever makes himself terrible to others is not without fear himself: the least noise makes a lion start; and the fiercest of beasts, whatsoever enrages them, makes them tremble too: a shadow, a voice, an unusual odor, rouses them.
If you want to free yourself from all worries about the future, start by accepting that all your fears will come true. Then examine and measure the evil you're afraid of. You'll find it's neither as bad nor as lasting as you think. Besides, the troubles you fear you might suffer, you already suffer just by fearing them. When a disease approaches, a person feels lazy and listless. Their limbs grow weary, and they yawn and shudder all over. The same thing happens with a weak mind. It imagines disasters and makes a person miserable before their time. Why should I torture myself now with something that might happen fifty years from now? This habit is like a voluntary disease. It's our own clever way of making ourselves unhappy by complaining about pain we don't actually feel. Some people are moved not just by grief itself, but by the mere idea of it. Children will jump at a shadow or at the sight of someone who looks different. If we fear violence from a powerful enemy, we can take some comfort in this: whoever makes himself terrible to others is not without fear himself. The smallest noise makes a lion jump. Even the fiercest beasts tremble when something angers them. A shadow, a voice, an unusual smell can startle them.
The things most to be feared I take to be of three kinds; want, sickness, and those violences that may be imposed upon us by a strong hand. The last of these has the greatest force, because it comes attended with noise and tumult; whereas the incommodities of poverty and diseases are more natural, and steal upon us in silence, without any external circumstances of horror: but the other marches in pomp, with fire and sword, gibbets, racks, hooks; wild beasts to devour us; stakes to impale us; engines to tear us to pieces; pitched bags to burn us in, and a thousand other exquisite inventions of cruelty. No wonder then, if that be the most dreadful to us that presents itself in so many uncouth shapes; and by the very solemnity is rendered the most formidable. The more instruments of bodily pain the executioner shows us, the more frightful he makes himself: for many a man that would have encountered death in any generous form, with resolution enough, is yet overcome with the manner of it. As for the calamities of hunger and thirst, inward ulcers, scorching fevers, tormenting fits of the stone, I look upon these miseries to be at least as grievous as any of the rest; only they do not so much affect the fancy, because they lie out of sight. Some people talk high of danger at a distance; but (like cowards) when the executioner comes to do his duty, and show us the fire, the ax, the scaffold, and death at hand, their courage fails them upon the very pinch, when they have most need of it. Sickness, (I hope) captivity, fire, are no new things to us; the fall of houses, funerals, and conflagrations, are every day before our eyes. The man that I supped with last night is dead before morning; why should I wonder then, seeing so many fall about me, to be hit at last myself? What can be greater madness than to cry out, “Who would have dreamed of this?” And why not, I beseech you? Where is that estate that may not be reduced to beggary? that dignity which may not be followed with banishment, disgrace, and extreme contempt? that kingdom that may not suddenly fall to ruin; change its master, and be depopulated? that prince that may not pass the hand of a common hangman? That which is one man’s fortune may be another’s; but the foresight of calamities to come breaks the violence of them.
I believe there are three main things we should fear: poverty, sickness, and violence from those in power. The last one frightens us most because it comes with noise and chaos. Poverty and disease are more natural. They creep up on us quietly, without any outward signs of terror. But violence arrives with great ceremony, bringing fire and sword, gallows, torture racks, and hooks. It brings wild beasts to devour us, stakes to impale us, machines to tear us apart, tar-covered sacks to burn us in, and a thousand other cruel inventions. No wonder this is the most terrifying to us. It presents itself in so many horrible forms and becomes the most frightening through its very ceremony. The more instruments of torture the executioner shows us, the more terrifying he becomes. Many people who would face death bravely in any noble form are still overcome by the manner of dying. As for the suffering of hunger and thirst, internal ulcers, burning fevers, and agonizing kidney stones, I consider these miseries at least as terrible as any others. They just don't affect our imagination as much because we can't see them. Some people talk boldly about distant danger. But like cowards, when the executioner comes to do his job and shows us the fire, the ax, the scaffold, and death at hand, their courage fails them at the crucial moment when they need it most. Sickness, captivity, and fire are nothing new to us. Houses collapse, funerals happen, and fires burn every day before our eyes. The man I had dinner with last night is dead before morning. Why should I be surprised then, seeing so many fall around me, to be struck down myself at last? What could be greater madness than to cry out, "Who would have dreamed of this?" And why not, I ask you? Where is the fortune that can't be reduced to poverty? What position can't be followed by exile, disgrace, and complete contempt? What kingdom can't suddenly fall to ruin, change its ruler, and lose its people? What prince can't end up in the hands of a common executioner? What happens to one person can happen to another. But expecting future disasters reduces their impact when they come.