Chapter 7: What Will People Think?

The Idea That Was Never Spoken

Ravi is twenty-six and joined a small engineering team six months ago. He is good at his work. He checks his calculations carefully, and his manager has praised his reports. Yet in the weekly team meeting, Ravi almost never speaks. He sits at the end of the table, taking notes, while others share ideas and argue about plans.

It is not that he has nothing to say. A few weeks ago, during a discussion about a delayed project, he had a clear idea for solving the problem. He could feel it in his chest, ready to come out. But then the questions began. What if it is a stupid idea? What if someone has already thought of it? What if my voice sounds nervous? What if the senior engineers think I am showing off? While he was still deciding, someone else made a different suggestion, and the moment passed.

Two weeks later, the team met exactly the problem Ravi had foreseen. In the meeting, a senior engineer said, "If only someone had thought of this earlier." Ravi felt his face burn. He had thought of it. He had simply been too afraid of what people would think to say it.

Ravi's fear is one of the most common worries in human life. We worry about how we look, how we sound, what others will say about us when we leave the room. We worry before we speak, while we speak and after we speak. Sometimes this worry keeps us silent when we should speak. Sometimes it makes us say yes when we want to say no. Sometimes it makes us pretend to be someone we are not.

There is a reason for this worry. Human beings have always lived in groups, and for most of history, being accepted by the group mattered very much. So it is natural to care about what others think. But natural does not always mean helpful. The Stoics had a lot to say about this particular worry, and much of it is surprisingly kind.

Reputation Belongs to Other People

Let us go back once more to the first lines of the Handbook. Among the things that are not up to us, Epictetus lists our reputation (Epictetus, Enchiridion 1). This is very clear, but its meaning is easy to miss. Your reputation is what other people think of you. It lives in their minds, not in yours. You can influence it through your actions, but you cannot decide it. Two people can watch you do exactly the same thing and form completely different opinions.

This means that when we worry about what people think, we are trying to manage something that is located inside other people's heads. That is an impossible task. We cannot see what they think, we cannot be sure we have guessed correctly and we cannot change their opinions directly. No wonder the worry never seems to finish.

What is up to us? Our own actions, our own honesty and our own effort. Ravi cannot decide what the senior engineers think of his idea. But he can decide whether to share it, how clearly to explain it and how calmly to accept the response. Those are his. The opinions that follow are theirs.

Seen this way, Ravi's silence in the meeting looks different. He believed he was protecting himself. But what was he protecting? Not his work, which was good. Not his character, which was honest. He was protecting an image of himself in other people's minds, something he could never fully control anyway. And the price of that protection was high. He lost the chance to help his team, the chance to learn whether his idea was good and the chance to be seen as he really is: a careful engineer with useful thoughts.

Marcus Aurelius noticed something odd about human beings in this area. In my own words, he wrote that he had often wondered how it is that every person loves themselves more than anyone else, and yet values their own opinion of themselves less than the opinions of others (Marcus Aurelius, Meditations 12.4). He pointed out that if a god appeared and told us to say aloud every thought as soon as we had it, we could not bear it for a single day. We are so worried about what our neighbours would think of our inner lives that we hide them. Yet we rarely ask what we think of our inner lives ourselves.

Marcus also told himself not to waste the rest of his life in thoughts about other people, unless those thoughts served some shared good (Marcus Aurelius, Meditations 3.4). Wondering what someone is doing, saying, thinking or planning, he wrote, takes us away from attending to our own mind. For an emperor surrounded by advisers, rivals and flatterers, this was hard advice. That is perhaps why he wrote it down.

Being Willing to Look Foolish

Epictetus gave his students advice that sounds almost shocking. If you want to make progress, he said, be content to be thought foolish and ignorant about outside things. Do not try to seem to know everything. And if some people think you are important, do not trust that opinion either (Epictetus, Enchiridion 13).

What does he mean? Epictetus saw that many of his students wanted two things at once. They wanted to become wise, and they wanted to look wise to others. But these two goals often pull in opposite directions. Becoming wise means asking questions, admitting mistakes and trying things you are not yet good at. Looking wise means hiding questions, hiding mistakes and sticking to what you already know. A person who is always protecting their image cannot learn freely.

The same is true in ordinary life. A person learning to dance must be willing to step on someone's foot. A person learning a language must be willing to make mistakes in front of native speakers. A person sharing a new idea in a meeting must be willing to be wrong. If we cannot bear to look foolish for a moment, we will stay exactly where we are.

Later in the Handbook, Epictetus describes some signs that a person is making progress. Such a person, he says, blames no one and praises no one. They do not talk about themselves as if they were someone important. If someone praises them, they smile inwardly at the praise. If someone blames them, they do not rush to defend themselves (Epictetus, Enchiridion 48). This is not coldness. It is a kind of inner quietness. The person still listens to others, and may learn a great deal from them. But praise does not inflate them, and blame does not knock them over.

Marcus added a reminder about how short-lived all opinions are. The people who praise or blame us, he reflected, will soon be gone, and so will those who remember them (Marcus Aurelius, Meditations 4.19). This might sound gloomy, but it can be freeing. The worry that someone will think badly of us often feels permanent and enormous. When we remember how quickly opinions change and fade, it shrinks to its true size.

None of this means that the opinions of others are worthless. Sometimes other people see things in us that we cannot see ourselves. Honest feedback from someone who cares about us is a gift. The Stoic point is to listen to such feedback as information, not to live in fear of judgment. We can ask, "Is this true? Can I learn from it?" without asking, "Does this mean I am worthless?"

Zainab and the Photograph

Zainab is fourteen. Last weekend she posted a photograph of herself with her new haircut. She had been excited about the haircut, and she liked how she looked in the picture. Then she waited. An hour later, the picture had only a few responses. Her friend's picture, posted the same day, had many more.

Zainab's excitement turned into a heavy feeling. She looked at the photograph again and began to see problems with it. The light was wrong. Her smile looked strange. Maybe the haircut did not suit her after all. Maybe people were laughing at her. That evening she deleted the photograph and spent an hour looking at other people's pictures, comparing herself with each one.

For young people especially, the world of images and responses can make the worry about others' opinions very strong. Every picture becomes a kind of small vote. It is easy to start believing that the number of responses tells us something true about our worth. But think about what Epictetus would say. The responses belong to other people. They depend on what time the picture was posted, who happened to be looking, how busy people were and many other things that have nothing to do with Zainab.

When Zainab talked about this with her older cousin, the cousin asked her a simple question: "Before you posted it, did you like the picture?" Zainab said yes. "And did you like your haircut?" Yes. "So the only thing that changed was a number." Zainab thought about this for a long time. Her opinion of herself had been clear and happy. Then she had handed it over to other people and let their silence decide.

Zainab did not stop sharing pictures. But she began a small practice. Before posting anything, she asks herself whether she is happy with it, and she decides that her own answer is the one that counts. She also tries not to check for responses again and again. Some days, this is easy. Some days, it is hard. But she has started to take back her own opinion, which, as Marcus noticed, we so often give away.

Zainab's parents helped too, in a quiet way. Instead of praising only her looks, they began to notice and mention other things: how kind she had been to her little brother, how hard she had worked on a school project, how funny her stories were at dinner. Slowly, Zainab began to see that her worth was made of many things, most of which no photograph could show. Adults can do a great deal for young people simply by showing them that they are valued for who they are, not for how they appear.

Emeka Learns to Dance

Emeka is sixty-eight and was a lorry driver for most of his life. A year after his wife died, his daughter suggested that he join a dance class at the community centre. He laughed at the idea. He had never danced in his life, apart from a few awkward steps at weddings. But he was lonely, and his daughter insisted, so one Tuesday evening he went.

The first class was very hard. Emeka was the oldest man there, and the stiffest. He kept going left when everyone went right. He felt sure that the others were watching him and laughing. Halfway through, he nearly walked out. What stopped him was a memory of something his wife used to say: "Nobody is watching you as closely as you are watching yourself."

Emeka's wife had found, in her own words, a truth that fits the Stoic teaching well: our fear of other people's judgment is usually far larger than their actual attention. Each person in that room was busy with their own steps, their own worries and their own wish not to look foolish. Most of them had no time to watch Emeka. The judging audience he imagined existed mainly in his own head.

Emeka kept going to the class. He was willing to look foolish, as Epictetus advised, because he wanted the thing that came after looking foolish: learning, company and a little joy. By the end of the year, he could do several dances reasonably well. More importantly, he had made friends. On Tuesday evenings, he now helps new members who look nervous at the door. "Everyone starts by going the wrong way," he tells them. "That is how you find out which way is right."

His story shows something important about the fear of others' opinions. Often the thing we fear is the price of something we want. To learn, to grow, to make friends or to share an idea, we have to accept that some people may think we look silly. If we refuse to pay that price, we keep our image safe, but we lose the thing we wanted.

Emeka also discovered something that surprised him. Once he stopped worrying so much about how he looked, he began to enjoy the music. He noticed the rhythm, the other dancers, the warmth of the room. The worry had been taking up so much of his attention that there had been no room left for pleasure. This is one of the hidden costs of the fear of others' opinions. It does not only make us anxious. It also steals our attention from the moment we are living.

Freya and the Unkind Comment

Freya is thirty-nine and writes short stories in her spare time. A few months ago, she shared one of her stories on a website for amateur writers. Most of the responses were kind. Several readers said the story had moved them. But one comment was cruel. It said that the story was boring, badly written and a waste of time.

Freya found that she could not stop thinking about the cruel comment. She read the kind comments once and forgot them. She read the cruel one twenty times. It came back to her while she was cooking, while she was falling asleep and when she sat down to write. She began to wonder whether she should stop writing altogether.

This is a very common experience. The mind gives more weight to criticism than to praise, perhaps because criticism once signalled danger. But Epictetus would ask Freya to look closely at what happened. A stranger, whom she has never met, wrote a few words about her story. Those words are an impression. Whether they hurt her depends on the judgment she adds. Elsewhere in the Handbook, Epictetus says that when someone speaks badly of you, remember that they believe they are right, and they can only follow what seems right to them. If their view is mistaken, the harm is theirs, because they are the one who is deceived (Epictetus, Enchiridion 42).

Freya also tried a simple test. She asked herself whether the comment contained anything useful. Was there a specific point she could learn from? She read it once more, calmly, and found nothing specific, only general unkindness. That told her something. Useful criticism usually points to particular things that could be better. This comment pointed to nothing. It was more about the writer of the comment than about her story.

Freya kept writing. She still feels a small sting when she remembers the comment, but it no longer decides whether she sits down at her desk. She has also started to read the kind comments more slowly, giving them the same attention she once gave to the cruel one. Both kinds of opinion belong to other people. But if she is going to listen to opinions at all, she wants to listen fairly.

Practical Steps: Taking Back Your Own Opinion

The first step is to remember where reputation lives. When you notice yourself worrying about what someone thinks, say to yourself: "Their opinion is in their mind, not mine. My actions are in my hands." Then turn your attention to the actions. What would you do here if you were not afraid of being judged? Is that action honest, kind and sensible? If so, it is probably the right thing to do.

The second step is to practise being willing to look foolish in small ways. Ask a question in a meeting. Try a new activity where you will be a beginner. Admit, once, that you do not know something. Each small experience teaches the mind that looking foolish for a moment is survivable, and often much less noticed than we fear. Ravi began by asking one question in each meeting. After a month, sharing an idea felt much less frightening.

The third step is to check criticism for usefulness. When someone criticizes you, ask: "Is there something specific here that I can learn from?" If there is, take it gratefully and use it. If there is not, let the criticism go, as you would let go of a passing noise in the street. In both cases, your worth is not decided by the comment.

The fourth step is to give praise and criticism equal weight. If you tend to remember every unkind word and forget every kind one, practise doing the opposite for a while. Write down kind words when you receive them. Read them again on hard days. This is not vanity. It is a way of correcting a mind that listens unfairly.

The fifth step is to ask Marcus' question: what do I think of myself? Not what do others think, but what do I, honestly and fairly, think of the way I am living? Am I trying to be honest, kind and brave? If the answer is yes, even partly, then you have something steady to stand on. Other opinions can come and go around it.

If worry about what others think is so strong that it keeps you from going out, working or seeing people for a long time, it may help to talk with a doctor or another qualified professional. This kind of worry is very common, and there are good ways to work on it with support.

Caring About Others Without Fearing Them

It would be a mistake to read this chapter as advice to stop caring about other people. The Stoics believed deeply in human connection. Marcus wrote that we are made for working together, like hands, feet or eyelids, which each have their task in one body (Marcus Aurelius, Meditations 2.1). Caring about how our actions affect others is part of a good life.

The difference lies in what we are caring about. Caring about others means asking, "Am I treating them well? Is my work useful to them? Have I been fair, honest and kind?" These questions are about our own actions, and they are up to us. Fearing others' opinions means asking, "Do they like me? Do they approve of me? What are they saying about me?" These questions are about the inside of other people's minds, and they are not up to us.

Interestingly, the first kind of question often leads to better relationships than the second. A person who is always worried about approval may become hesitant, may agree to things they do not mean or may hide their real thoughts. People sense this, and it can make trust harder. A person who focuses on treating others well, honestly and kindly, tends to be trusted, even when they sometimes disagree.

So the aim is not to become indifferent to other people. It is to move our attention from their opinions to our own conduct. When we do that, we usually find that we care about others more, not less, because we are no longer using them as mirrors.

A Short Exercise: A Ladder of Small Courage

Epictetus told his students to be willing to look foolish. This exercise helps you practise that willingness in small, safe steps, so that the fear of others' opinions gradually loses some of its power.

Take a page and write down five to eight situations in which you usually hold back because you worry about what people will think. Choose ordinary situations, not dangerous or extreme ones. For example: asking a shop assistant for help, asking a question in a meeting or a class, wearing a colour you like but rarely wear, saying "I do not know" when you do not know, giving your honest opinion about a film, joining a group activity as a beginner.

Next, put them in order from the least frightening to the most frightening. This is your ladder. The bottom step should feel only slightly uncomfortable. The top step may feel quite hard for now. You do not need to reach the top quickly, or at all.

Over the next two or three weeks, try the bottom step several times, until it begins to feel ordinary. Then move up one step. After each attempt, write one or two lines: what you did, what you feared would happen and what actually happened. Most people discover that the reactions they feared are much rarer and milder than expected, and that most people are too busy with their own concerns to pay much attention. When an attempt does go awkwardly, write that down too, and notice that you survived it.

Be kind to yourself during this exercise. If a step feels much too hard, find a smaller step in between. If you have a bad day, rest and return to an easier step. The point is not to force yourself through fear, but to show your mind, a little at a time, that looking foolish for a moment is safe. If you find that even the smallest steps are overwhelming, that is a sign that working with a qualified professional could help more than a book can.

Ravi's ladder began with "ask one question in the team meeting" and ended with "present my own proposal to the whole department". It took him three months to reach the top. On the day he presented, his voice shook for the first minute. Then he forgot about his voice, because he was thinking about the work. Afterwards, one of the senior engineers stopped him in the corridor and said, "We should have heard from you sooner." Ravi smiled. He agreed.

Chapter Summary

Our reputation lives in other people's minds, and so it is not up to us (Enchiridion 1). Marcus Aurelius noticed that we love ourselves more than anyone, yet trust others' opinions of us more than our own (Meditations 12.4), and he warned against spending our lives wondering what others think (Meditations 3.4). Epictetus advised his students to be willing to look foolish if they wanted to grow (Enchiridion 13), and he described a person making progress as someone whom praise does not inflate and blame does not overturn (Enchiridion 48).

Ravi with his unspoken idea, Zainab with her photograph, Emeka at his dance class and Freya with her unkind comment all show that the fear of others' opinions can keep us from the things we want most. Taking back our own opinion of ourselves, checking criticism for usefulness and being willing to look foolish in small ways can loosen that fear.

In the next chapter, we will look at a related challenge: not just what people think of us, but how they treat us, and how to keep our inner peace when dealing with difficult people.