But I wish to share with you today's profit also. I find in the writings of our Hecato that the limiting of desires helps also to cure fears: "Cease to hope," he says, "and you will cease to fear."
"But how," you will reply, "can things so different go side by side?" In this way, my dear Lucilius: though they do seem at variance, yet they are really united. Just as the same chain fastens the prisoner and the soldier who guards him, so hope and fear, dissimilar as they are, keep step together; fear follows hope.
I am not surprised that they proceed in this way; each alike belongs to a mind that is in suspense, a mind that is fretted by looking forward to the future. But the chief cause of both these ills is that we do not adapt ourselves to the present, but send our thoughts a long way ahead.
And so foresight, the noblest blessing of the human race, becomes perverted. Beasts avoid the dangers which they see, and when they have escaped them are free from care; but we men torment ourselves over that which is to come as well as over that which is past.
Many of our blessings bring bane to us; for memory recalls the tortures of fear, while foresight anticipates them. The present alone can make no man wretched. Farewell.
Hope and fear would at first seem to be opposites, the comfort of the former as a remedy for the suffering of the latter.
From a different perspective, however, they can be seen as being quite similar, both as expressions of expectation. In one case, I am eagerly awaiting what might happen, and in another case, I am absolutely terrified of what might happen.
For the Stoic, both hope and fear can be twisted into equally dangerous things, because they may not rest upon who we can be now, by what is within our power, but may rely upon what may or may not come to us, by what is well beyond our power.
I shudder when I think of how often I have allowed my happiness to depend almost exclusively on the whims of fortune. I would gladly claim credit if it went as I hoped it could, and I would resentfully cast blame elsewhere if it went as I feared it could. In most every case, my error was in surrendering my life to a concurrence of circumstances.
Fear can be my downfall, and hope can be my downfall just as well, if I am fearing or hoping about what isn’t mine to begin with. This leaves me only with a life of anxiety, a constant state of worry, chained to future events instead of finding peace of mind in the here and now.
"But how," you will reply, "can things so different go side by side?" In this way, my dear Lucilius: though they do seem at variance, yet they are really united. Just as the same chain fastens the prisoner and the soldier who guards him, so hope and fear, dissimilar as they are, keep step together; fear follows hope.
I am not surprised that they proceed in this way; each alike belongs to a mind that is in suspense, a mind that is fretted by looking forward to the future. But the chief cause of both these ills is that we do not adapt ourselves to the present, but send our thoughts a long way ahead.
And so foresight, the noblest blessing of the human race, becomes perverted. Beasts avoid the dangers which they see, and when they have escaped them are free from care; but we men torment ourselves over that which is to come as well as over that which is past.
Many of our blessings bring bane to us; for memory recalls the tortures of fear, while foresight anticipates them. The present alone can make no man wretched. Farewell.
Hope and fear would at first seem to be opposites, the comfort of the former as a remedy for the suffering of the latter.
From a different perspective, however, they can be seen as being quite similar, both as expressions of expectation. In one case, I am eagerly awaiting what might happen, and in another case, I am absolutely terrified of what might happen.
For the Stoic, both hope and fear can be twisted into equally dangerous things, because they may not rest upon who we can be now, by what is within our power, but may rely upon what may or may not come to us, by what is well beyond our power.
I shudder when I think of how often I have allowed my happiness to depend almost exclusively on the whims of fortune. I would gladly claim credit if it went as I hoped it could, and I would resentfully cast blame elsewhere if it went as I feared it could. In most every case, my error was in surrendering my life to a concurrence of circumstances.
Fear can be my downfall, and hope can be my downfall just as well, if I am fearing or hoping about what isn’t mine to begin with. This leaves me only with a life of anxiety, a constant state of worry, chained to future events instead of finding peace of mind in the here and now.
Many of us have dreams about a perfect professional career, for example, and we work on it for years and years. If it doesn’t come, we feel like we are failures, and if it somehow does come, it is never as satisfying as we wanted it to be. The older hope is then replaced with a newer one, promised even further down the line, and we continue dreaming about something that never quite arrives.
Many of us have nightmares about being abandoned by the ones we love, for example, and we engage in valiant efforts to keep their affections. If they walk away, we are heartbroken, and if they stick with us for one more day, our nervousness will continue on the morning of the next day. The game of doubt, flattery, and second-guessing never ends.
Maybe it is better for me to just be a decent man today, instead of planning on being a rich and powerful man in ten years.
Maybe it is better for me to just love another person without conditions right now, with no terms attached, instead of asking for any further compensation in return.
I have a guarantee that I can give of myself immediately, but no guarantee that I will ever receive anything at all, at any time whatsoever.
The future, whether it be the future of my hopes or the future of my fears, will unfold on its own terms. The philosopher’s mean focuses on being myself, not wanting to be someone else.
Written in 3/2012
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