Suffering is often seen as something imposed upon us—a force of fate, an injustice of the world, a misalignment of circumstances. But is suffering truly external? Or is it, more often than not, the result of a man’s own tools turned against him? His mind, his body, his emotions, his wealth, his power, his politics—none of these are inherently destructive. Yet when misused, they erode the very foundation upon which he stands, until one day, it collapses beneath him.
Take greed, for instance. It is easy to condemn it, to call it the root of all evil. But is greed truly the problem? To hoard is to decay, but to expand is to include. A ruler may seek to dominate for personal pleasure, or he may seek to rule so that chaos does not reign. One is self-serving; the other is the foundation of civilization itself. A leader who desires to encompass the whole world, not to exploit it but to uplift it, is not consumed by greed but guided by a hunger that serves a greater purpose. The problem, then, is not greed itself, but how it is wielded.
And power—what is it but a mirror? A man may grip it tightly, believing it is his to command, yet power shifts beneath him, ungoverned by his will. He may enforce obedience, but does obedience build permanence? He may rule, but does rule ensure stability? A leader who believes he holds power rather than merely channels it will one day find himself abandoned by the very force he thought he controlled.
Then there is politics, the illusion of control. A man may twist laws and people alike to his advantage, shaping systems to serve him. But every action ripples outward, carrying unintended consequences back to him. What is a law today is resistance tomorrow. What is strength in one era is collapse in the next. The ruler who divides to secure his rule forgets that division sharpens the very blade that will one day cut him down. He who bends a system in his favor forgets that no system is static—it moves, it shifts, it ultimately turns against those who fail to understand its nature.
Even destruction itself is not the problem. To destroy is not necessarily to harm. But to destroy without understanding is blindness. A civilization may shape itself in countless ways, but what it is built upon determines whether it stands or falls. The tiger does not serve, but is it dispensable? The forest does not yield to man’s plow, but can he truly thrive without it? To erase what one does not understand is not progress; it is a slow act of self-annihilation.
And then there is knowledge—the most deceptive tool of all. It gives direction, but it does not walk for a man. It provides insight, but it does not ensure wisdom. A man may know everything and still fail, because knowledge alone does not grant the ability to wield it. A scholar may understand the principles of war but lead his men into slaughter. A philosopher may comprehend virtue but fail to embody it. A leader may study history and yet, with perfect clarity, repeat its mistakes. Knowledge is a lantern, but it does not illuminate the road if the one holding it does not look where he is going.
So what, then, is suffering? Is it truly misfortune? Or is it the gap between what a man holds and what he is capable of wielding? A man may live his entire life without ever realizing the weight of what he possesses. And if he never learns, never refines, never corrects his course, he will erode his own foundation—slowly, imperceptibly—until one day, it collapses beneath him.
All suffering, in the end, is the failure to hold what is already in one’s hands.