There exists a certain kind of person who thrives on trouble and quarrel. They cannot survive for long without stirring conflict, without creating discord. Even if those around them do nothing to provoke such strife, these people will manufacture it themselves—they will do something equally provoking or behave in ways so disagreeable that anger and argument become inevitable. If necessary, they will pick fights over nothing at all, and they will do so. The words “living in peace” or “living in comfort” do not exist in their personal lexicon. At regular intervals, they hunt for an issue, a cause for trouble. When no issue presents itself, they fabricate one; sometimes they resurrect old grievances, fanning the embers until chaos flares anew. If they cannot crack someone else’s head, they crack their own—they summon trouble like an invited guest. Their tranquility arrives only when they have orchestrated some grand disorder. They are, in fact, made uneasy by peace itself. They cannot rest until they have damaged someone, harmed someone in some way. When they see others suffer, they feel joy. This—this joy—is what they seek. For it, they will waste their own time; they will expend effort and money, if necessary, in the pursuit of others’ ruin. Their targets are usually those who surpass them—socially, intellectually, financially. Sometimes they hold back their contemporaries, grabbing their ankles to keep them from advancing. Having failed themselves, despite much effort or because they scarcely tried at all, they are consumed by the thought that others too must not succeed, must not reach where they could not. They despise those in higher positions almost without reason, as though they were born with infinite capacity for hatred. Often, they manufacture absurd justifications for this hatred, and they spend countless hours, tirelessly and with relish, spreading this contempt among others. They are losers by nature, and losers have no shortage of company. The world is always heavy with their numbers.
There exists another breed of human being—those who erupt in fury at the slightest provocation, who seize upon trivial matters and stretch them grotesquely out of proportion. They drift willingly through a realm of unbridled, incoherent speech and endless chatter. These are people of feeble spirit. To mask their own weakness, they resort to shouting and shrieking. It is an ancient and failed technique. In those of genuine strength, the capacity of the mind typically exceeds the power of the mouth. Thus, when strong people witness such clamor, they fall silent and withdraw. The weak then imagine this as their victory! To preserve such easily won success, they continue down the same path of destruction and tumult. They harbor no objection to rendering themselves base and contemptible in pursuit of immediate gain. They can descend to such depths and remain there eternally—a thought that fills one with revulsion. Observing how their shrieking leaves others mute with fear and apprehension, they derive a peculiar satisfaction. But if such a person is someone close to you—someone you can neither abandon nor endure—then no greater helplessness exists than to live in such a circumstance. Toward them, both anger and compassion arise, yet nothing remains but to clench one’s teeth and accept in silent resignation. Perhaps their hands itch if they cannot break something at regular intervals! Accepting this harsh reality, we cannot break their hands; so they conclude their hands possess immense power. Sometimes they convince themselves that come what may, they will prove themselves innocent, or else they will destroy the entire world in their rampage. To escape the wrath of such anger, everyone appeases them, keeps them calm. Only those who have suffered know the torment of such acceptance. They believe themselves omniscient, their judgment infallible, and that the entire world must bow to their decree. They do not follow the principle of “as many minds, as many paths.” Their creed is singular: one view, one path—theirs. Everyone must walk that path, embrace that view! Those who will not are simply wrong; everything about them is mistaken. These sick individuals, if they observe someone not bending to their will, immediately assume it is that person’s error, and in that very instant believe they must go and beat that person into submission—or even kill them. Such is how they think! In their eyes, only they are right; all others are wrong. Only they understand; the rest merely chew grass. They harbor not the slightest tolerance for any view but their own!
Another profoundly terrible thing is doubt—the kind that festers endlessly, small doubts and large ones alike, meaningless suspicions about everything. Some people exist solely by suspecting others; it is their only occupation. They are forever hunting for flaws in everyone, seeing a rope and calling it a snake, watching someone sleep and believing them dead. A person clears their throat and coughs—they find something sinister in it, something deliberate behind the act. People fear even to look in their direction, wondering what dark conclusions they might draw. Everyone around them lives in dread, unable to be themselves. It is impossible to move through life with them naturally. One must perform constantly, live in perpetual discomfort, unable to trust even the most innocent of actions. In their presence, guilt blooms from nowhere. They speak ill of one person to another. If someone has earned a place on their list of suspects, they resent anyone who speaks well of that person. Those who hunt for flaws as obsessively as they do, who live by suspicion as they do—only such people do they befriend. Such people convince themselves that the entire world would abandon character the moment opportunity arose, that everyone except themselves is morally corrupt. They alone are virtuous; everything about them is good. In this world, only one perfect human has been created, and that person is themselves. They are masters of extraordinary cruelty. They never examine the scars on their own backs, only search relentlessly for blemishes on others’. They believe people can be deceived in countless ways, and they are certain that everyone in the world except themselves is deceitful—though naturally, they alone possess perfect knowledge of these deceptive methods! They wish to bind people through force, and they cannot accept that no one can truly be held captive. And even if they could be, no healthy, normal person could survive such captivity. To force someone to live day after day in discomfort and pain is a kind of sin—and they feel no remorse about this sin whatsoever. Through the tyranny of their gaze, through harsh words, through arrogant conduct, through creating trouble by any means necessary, through gathering crowds to humiliate others—they are experts at all of this. It is the gentle, the peaceful, the modest who fall most easily into their grasp. Everyone submits to them out of fear for their reputation, their desire to avoid conflict. When speaking with them, people find themselves speaking falsehoods about things that were never lies to begin with; unnecessary elaborations tumble from their lips, awkward exaggerations dance at the corners of their mouths. And their suspicion only deepens. This is a terrible disease—both the afflicted and everyone around them suffer its torment! Perhaps they believe that binding others is the natural order, or that people thrive only under constraint. And for the sake of keeping others bound, they pull every string they can find, employ every strategy they know, inflict whatever psychological torture is necessary, and do whatever else it takes. They are willing to descend as low as required, and then lower still. If needed, they fabricate lies about others without hesitation, spreading them freely—their conscience offers no resistance. Some people live by suspicion, and some must live under the weight of being suspected. Both kinds of people are truly miserable. Most of the time they wish to die, but something—some tether—keeps them from it, traps them in this living death.
These three habits become problematic the moment they exceed their measure—at which point they can no longer be called normal. They transform into phobia, into illness. Any excess is phobia. When something crosses into the territory of phobia, it requires treatment. For that, one needs a doctor’s counsel. From what I understand, a person with a healthy mind and a person with an unhealthy mind can never truly function together. If they must, then the unhealthy person needs treatment, or else the healthy one will sicken too. A person with a sound mind cannot, even if they wish, avoid all the mentally unwell in the world. Trapped by the weight of society, custom, convention, family, relationship—no matter how much suffering it brings—one cannot simply decide, by preference alone, whom to avoid. Inevitably, one must live carrying resentment and contempt for one’s own existence. What other choice is there? Two healthy minds can coexist. Two unhealthy minds can coexist. But can a healthy mind and an unhealthy mind truly exist together? Is it possible at all? Yet many lives persist somehow within this very condition. Whether from shame before society, or to avoid family turmoil; whether to ward off the uncertainty that might come from breaking a bond or habit; or simply because things are working, so let them work, what does it matter—from some such comfort or inertia, many relationships endure. One side suffers, the other inflicts suffering. Everyone watches them, sees them smile, thinks they are well. But they are not well. They cannot share this with anyone, so the pain and silent anguish only deepens. The relationship between them is not healthy; it survives only on habit, routine, fear. The distance they have constructed while standing side by side will not let them be. It is like cancer, growing day after day. There is no chemotherapy for this cancer, because no one truly tries to cure it. The fear of exposure, of fresh troubles, of uncertainty about what a new life might bring—from a thousand such doubts and hesitations, two people carry an uncomfortable bond toward death, walking hand in hand into the darkness.