The way of the wise

Here is a story on Hippocrates and Democritus.
Once the people of Abdora ran to the famous physician of those days wailing like women and seeking his help. Hearing the terrible din Hippocrates became concerned. He put aside what ever he was doing and came out.
“Why what is the matter?”
The people lamented:
“O Hippocrates our Democritus has gone mad. He is doing nothing but cutting dogs open and scrawling something on a writing sheet.”
Hippocrates became intrigued and went with the people of Abdora. Like the people said he found Democritus engaged in the interesting activity of dissecting dogs.
Hippocrates began cautiously
“Well you gave these people a scare my man, what is with this cutting open of dogs.”
“Oh I was looking into the causes of madness in animals. Democritus said candidly. He continued. Well what took you so long to come and visit me?”
“Well Democritus you know how it is. Family problems, financial strains, you can name it. I could not come earlier.”
Democritus burst out laughing.
“The problems besting men, can you believe them? I am sorry to see the wise wasting their lives so pitifully …….
To marry women only to fight with them, to make more money than they can ever use, to create wars with no other purpose than to fight in them. What strange notions come into human heads?”
Hippocrates said to the people of Abdora.
“There is nothing to worry about. You can all return to your homes. Democritus is not mad. To tell you the truth he is the only person amongst us with a healthy mind that is not affected by any afflictions.”
Well to be like Democritus is bliss. But none of us can do that can we. We prefer to be like this, worrying about the silly, fidgeting about mere nothings, crying our hearts out for the most meaningless of happenings in life. Yes that is the word, we prefer it this way. We like being hunted by life in this manner. It gives a purpose to our lives. Every new and painful incident in our lives secretly makes us happy, for they give us the opportunity to complain.
Self pity is the most hated of all feelings in the world, why, no, not because of any pride as you may have thought, but from a sense of great pleasure in suffering. The more silently you suffer, the more pleasure you derive out of it. It is “My” pain, you know, it is my own.
What a sorry spectacle we are!