How many things are there that the fancy makes terrible by night, which the day turns into ridiculous! What is there in labor, or in death, that a man should be afraid of? They are much slighter in act than in contemplation; and we may contemn them, but we will not: so that it is not because they are hard that we dread them, but they are hard because we are first afraid of them. Pains, and other violences of Fortune, are the same thing to us that goblins are to children: we are more scared with them than hurt. We take up our opinions upon trust, and err for company, still judging that to be best that has most competitors. We make a false calculation of matters, because we advise with opinion, and not with Nature; and this misleads us to a higher esteem for riches, honor, and power, than they are worth: we have been used to admire and recommend them, and a private error is quickly turned into a public. The greatest and the smallest things are equally hard to be comprehended; we account many things great, for want of understanding what effectually is so: and we reckon other things to be small, which we find frequently to be of the highest value. Vain things only move vain minds. The accidents that we so much boggle at are not terrible in themselves, but they are made so by our infirmities; but we consult rather what we hear than what we feel, without examining, opposing, or discussing the things we fear; so that we either stand still and tremble, or else directly run for it, as those troops did, that, upon the raising of the dust, took a flock of sheep for the enemy. When the body and mind are corrupted, it is no wonder if all things prove intolerable; and not because they are so in truth, but because we are dissolute and foolish: for we are infatuated to such a degree, that, betwixt the common madness of men, and that which falls under the care of the physician, there is but this difference, the one labors of a disease, and the other of a false opinion.
How many things the imagination makes terrible by night that the day makes ridiculous! What is there in labor or in death that a man should fear? They are much lighter in the doing than in the thinking. We could despise them, but we will not. So it is not because they are hard that we dread them. They are hard because we are first afraid of them. Pains and the other violences of Fortune are to us what goblins are to children. We are more frightened by them than hurt. We take our opinions on trust and go wrong along with the crowd, always judging that to be best which has the most people competing for it. We miscalculate matters because we consult opinion and not Nature. This leads us to value riches, honor, and power more than they are worth. We have been used to admiring and praising them, and a private error quickly turns into a public one. The greatest and the smallest things are equally hard to grasp. We count many things great because we do not understand what truly is great. And we count other things small that we often find to be of the highest value. Vain things move only vain minds. The accidents we shy at so much are not terrible in themselves. Our weaknesses make them so. But we go by what we hear rather than what we feel, without examining, resisting, or discussing the things we fear. So we either stand still and tremble, or else run straight away, like those troops who saw dust rising and took a flock of sheep for the enemy. When the body and mind are corrupted, it is no wonder if all things prove unbearable. That is not because they are so in truth, but because we are dissolute and foolish. For we are so infatuated that between the common madness of men and the madness the physician treats, there is only this difference. The one suffers from a disease, the other from a false opinion.
The Stoics hold, that all those torments that commonly draw from us groans and ejaculations, are in themselves trivial and contemptible. But these high-flown expressions apart (how true soever) let us discourse the point at the rate of ordinary men, and not make ourselves miserable before our time; for the things we apprehend to be at hand may possibly never come to pass. Some things trouble us more than they should, other things sooner; and some things again disorder us that ought not to trouble us at all; so that we either enlarge, or create, or anticipate our disquiets. For the first part, let it rest as a matter in controversy; for that which I account light, another perhaps will judge insupportable! One man laughs under the lash, and another whines for a fillip. How sad a calamity is poverty to one man, which to another appears rather desirable than inconvenient? For the poor man, who has nothing to lose, has nothing to fear: and he that would enjoy himself to the satisfaction of his soul, must be either poor indeed, or at least look as if he were so. Some people are extremely dejected with sickness and pain; whereas Epicurus blessed his fate with his last breath, in the acutest torments of the stone imaginable. And so for banishment, which to one man is so grievous, and yet to another is no more than a bare change of place: a thing that we do every day for our health, pleasure, nay, and upon the account even of common business.
The Stoics believe that all the suffering that usually makes us groan and cry out is actually trivial and worthless. But let's set aside these lofty ideas for now, no matter how true they might be. Let's talk about this like ordinary people and not make ourselves miserable before we need to be. The things we fear might happen may never actually occur. Some things trouble us more than they should. Others trouble us sooner than they should. And some things upset us when they shouldn't bother us at all. So we either make our problems bigger, create new ones, or worry about them too early. Let's leave the first point as something people can debate. What I consider minor, someone else might find unbearable. One person laughs while being whipped, while another cries over a light tap. How terrible poverty seems to one person, while another finds it more desirable than troublesome. The poor man who has nothing to lose has nothing to fear. Anyone who wants to truly enjoy life must either be genuinely poor or at least appear to be. Some people become extremely depressed by sickness and pain. But Epicurus blessed his good fortune with his dying breath, even while suffering the worst kidney stone pain imaginable. And exile, which devastates one person, is nothing more than a change of location to another. We do this every day for our health, pleasure, and even ordinary business.
How terrible is death to one man, which to another appears the greatest providence in nature, even toward all ages and conditions! It is the wish of some, the relief of many, and the end of all. It sets the slave at liberty, carries the banished man home, and places all mortals upon the same level: insomuch, that life itself were a punishment without it. When I see tyrants, tortures, violences, the prospect of death is a consolation to me, and the only remedy against the injuries of life.
How terrible death seems to one person, yet to another it appears as nature's greatest gift to people of all ages and situations! Some people wish for it, many find relief in it, and it comes to everyone in the end. Death frees the slave, brings the exile home, and puts all people on equal ground. Life itself would be a punishment without it. When I see tyrants, torture, and violence, the thought of death comforts me. It's the only remedy for life's injuries.
Nay, so great are our mistakes in the true estimate of things, that we have hardly done any thing that we have not had reason to wish undone; and we have found the things we feared to be more desirable than those we coveted. Our very prayers have been more pernicious than the curses of our enemies; and we must pray to have our former prayers forgiven. Where is the wise man that wishes to himself the wishes of his mother, nurse, or his tutor; the worst of enemies, with the intention of the best of friends. We are undone if their prayers be heard; and it is our duty to pray that they may not; for they are no other than well-meaning execrations. They take evil for good, and one wish fights with another: give me rather the contempt of all those things whereof they wish me the greatest plenty. We are equally hurt by some that pray for us, and by others that curse us: the one imprints in us a false fear, and the other does us mischief by a mistake: so that it is no wonder if mankind be miserable, when we are brought up from the very cradle under the imprecations of our parents. We pray for trifles, without so much as thinking of the greatest blessings; and we are not ashamed many times to ask God for that which we should blush to own to our neighbor.
Indeed, our mistakes in judging the true worth of things are so great that we have hardly done anything we have not had reason to wish undone. And we have found the things we feared more desirable than the things we craved. Our very prayers have done us more harm than our enemies’ curses, and we must pray to have our former prayers forgiven. Where is the wise man who wishes for himself what his mother, his nurse, or his tutor wish for him? They are the worst of enemies, with the intentions of the best of friends. We are ruined if their prayers are heard, and it is our duty to pray that they are not, for they are nothing but well-meaning curses. They take evil for good, and one wish fights against another. Rather, let me despise all those things of which they wish me the greatest plenty. We are hurt equally by some who pray for us and by others who curse us. The one stamps a false fear on us, and the other does us harm by mistake. So it is no wonder if mankind is miserable, when we are raised from the very cradle under the curses of our parents. We pray for trifles without so much as thinking of the greatest blessings. And we are often not ashamed to ask God for what we would blush to admit to our neighbor.
It is with us as with an innocent that my father had in his family; she fell blind on a sudden, and nobody could persuade her she was blind. “She could not endure the house,” she cried, “it was so dark,” and was still calling to go abroad. That which we laughed at in her we find to be true in ourselves, we are covetous and ambitious; but the world shall never bring us to acknowledge it, and we impute it to the place: nay, we are the worse of the two; for that blind fool called for a guide, and we wander about without one. It is a hard matter to cure those that will not believe they are sick. We are ashamed to admit a master, and we are too old to learn. Vice still goes before virtue: so that we have two works to do: we must cast off the one, and learn the other. By one evil we make way to another, and only seek things to be avoided, or those of which we are soon weary. That which seemed too much when we wished for it, proves too little when we have it; and it is not, as some imagine, that felicity is greedy, but it is little and narrow, and cannot satisfy us. That which we take to be very high at a distance, we find to be but low when we come at it. And the business is, we do not understand the true state of things: we are deceived by rumors; when we have gained the thing we aimed at, we find it to be either ill or empty; or perchance less than we expect, or otherwise perhaps great, but not good.
It is with us as with a simple-minded woman my father kept in his household. She suddenly went blind, and nobody could persuade her she was blind. “She could not bear the house,” she cried, “it was so dark,” and she kept calling to go out of doors. What we laughed at in her we find to be true of ourselves. We are greedy and ambitious, but the world will never bring us to admit it, and we blame it on the place. Indeed, we are the worse of the two. For that blind fool called for a guide, and we wander about without one. It is hard to cure those who will not believe they are sick. We are ashamed to accept a master, and we are too old to learn. Vice always comes before virtue, so we have two tasks to do. We must cast off the one and learn the other. By one evil we make way for another, and we seek only things that should be avoided, or things we soon tire of. What seemed too much when we wished for it proves too little when we have it. It is not, as some imagine, that happiness is greedy. Rather, it is small and narrow and cannot satisfy us. What we take to be very high from a distance, we find to be low when we reach it. And the trouble is that we do not understand the true state of things. We are deceived by rumors. When we have gained what we aimed at, we find it either bad or empty. Or perhaps it is less than we expected. Or perhaps it is great, but not good.