"But," you say, "something will happen to it."
First of all, consider whether your proofs of future trouble are sure. For it is more often the case that we are troubled by our apprehensions, and that we are mocked by that mocker, rumor, which is wont to settle wars, but much more often settles individuals.
Yes, my dear Lucilius; we agree too quickly with what people say. We do not put to the test those things which cause our fear; we do not examine into them; we blench and retreat just like soldiers who are forced to abandon their camp because of a dust-cloud raised by stampeding cattle, or are thrown into a panic by the spreading of some unauthenticated rumor.
And somehow or other it is the idle report that disturbs us most. For truth has its own definite boundaries, but that which arises from uncertainty is delivered over to guesswork and the irresponsible license of a frightened mind. That is why no fear is so ruinous and so uncontrollable as panic fear. For other fears are groundless, but this fear is witless.
A sense of foreboding is a powerful feeling, even when, or perhaps especially when, the expectation is full of uncertainty.
I am not qualified to make any general claims about psychology, but my own experience has been that the unknown can be far more intimidating than the known. The very fact that I am not sure about what will happen itself becomes a source of terror.
The mind, of course, is made for knowing, and will become restless if its wants are not fulfilled.
Where I do not understand, I will be tempted to engage in crazy speculation, and then pretend as if this can take the place of understanding. It may take the form of superstition, or gossip, or wishful thinking, and I may actually come to believe in deceptions dressed up as answers.
Sometimes, I will find an odd sort of pleasure in claiming to “know” that something bad will occur, much like I can find a perverse comfort in feeling miserable. I am filling in the blanks, however sloppily, since anything seems preferable to the unintelligible. So I end up following my worst instincts, or listen to all of the wrong people.
Once again, some calm and patience are in order. Of all these things I am merely guessing at, is it really necessary for me to know them? Is it even possible for me to know them?
Yes, I should be familiar with my circumstances, and yet I cannot predict them with certainty at all, since I have no immediate power over them. Instead, the first object of my awareness should be my own soul, over which I do have some immediate power. My need for a sure thing has simply been misdirected.
A panic runs ahead of me, only when I have allowed an attention to my own character fall behind.
The captain might not know the state of the ocean for tomorrow, and he is left to rely just on his own seafaring skills to get him through, come what may.
No good can come from listening to the rumors of the crew, who have determined that there is a typhoon ahead, based on the entrails of a chicken they ate for dinner.
First of all, consider whether your proofs of future trouble are sure. For it is more often the case that we are troubled by our apprehensions, and that we are mocked by that mocker, rumor, which is wont to settle wars, but much more often settles individuals.
Yes, my dear Lucilius; we agree too quickly with what people say. We do not put to the test those things which cause our fear; we do not examine into them; we blench and retreat just like soldiers who are forced to abandon their camp because of a dust-cloud raised by stampeding cattle, or are thrown into a panic by the spreading of some unauthenticated rumor.
And somehow or other it is the idle report that disturbs us most. For truth has its own definite boundaries, but that which arises from uncertainty is delivered over to guesswork and the irresponsible license of a frightened mind. That is why no fear is so ruinous and so uncontrollable as panic fear. For other fears are groundless, but this fear is witless.
A sense of foreboding is a powerful feeling, even when, or perhaps especially when, the expectation is full of uncertainty.
I am not qualified to make any general claims about psychology, but my own experience has been that the unknown can be far more intimidating than the known. The very fact that I am not sure about what will happen itself becomes a source of terror.
The mind, of course, is made for knowing, and will become restless if its wants are not fulfilled.
Where I do not understand, I will be tempted to engage in crazy speculation, and then pretend as if this can take the place of understanding. It may take the form of superstition, or gossip, or wishful thinking, and I may actually come to believe in deceptions dressed up as answers.
Sometimes, I will find an odd sort of pleasure in claiming to “know” that something bad will occur, much like I can find a perverse comfort in feeling miserable. I am filling in the blanks, however sloppily, since anything seems preferable to the unintelligible. So I end up following my worst instincts, or listen to all of the wrong people.
Once again, some calm and patience are in order. Of all these things I am merely guessing at, is it really necessary for me to know them? Is it even possible for me to know them?
Yes, I should be familiar with my circumstances, and yet I cannot predict them with certainty at all, since I have no immediate power over them. Instead, the first object of my awareness should be my own soul, over which I do have some immediate power. My need for a sure thing has simply been misdirected.
A panic runs ahead of me, only when I have allowed an attention to my own character fall behind.
The captain might not know the state of the ocean for tomorrow, and he is left to rely just on his own seafaring skills to get him through, come what may.
No good can come from listening to the rumors of the crew, who have determined that there is a typhoon ahead, based on the entrails of a chicken they ate for dinner.
Written in 6/2012
IMAGE: Norman Rockwell, The Gossips (1948)
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