I was watching a drama series on TV the other evening and for the first (and probably last) time I found myself sympathizing with a man in lace cuffs and velvet pantaloons. The dapper gent in question was Charles Stuart, king of England, Scotland and Ireland, and he was being sentenced to death for crimes against his people. I sympathized with Charlie not because of what he did but because he clearly went out to face the axe man on that cold January morning in 1649 in Whitehall, London still puzzled about what he had done wrong. As far as he was concerned he had just been doing his kingly duty.

And nowadays I find myself in the same position. No, I’m not a king, nor am I about to face a masked man with a shiny axe. Heck, I don’t even wear velvet pantaloons. In fact the only thing I have in common with Charles Stuart is that he was Scottish and I am Scottish. But like the king I find myself puzzled why doing what we think is the right thing can make so many people so mad so often.

My problem seems to be that after many years of emotional turbulence in my life I slowly got myself together, and did so without any help from counselors or drugs. It wasn’t easy, but eventually, through self-reflection, willpower and cold-blooded honesty, I got myself to a place of calm and contentment where I was focused on the present and free from the past. It was a good place to get to and I’m still there. So why is this a problem?

It’s a problem because I am apparently too good to be true! I am even considered by some to be dangerous. “You’re very cheerful today,” people say with a quizzical frown. The implication is clear: I’m just putting on a brave face. I’m not, of course. I really AM a happy and contented guy and nowadays that is a dangerous sort of guy to be. I’m dangerous because I provoke doubts in the minds of the neurotic masses around me. Is life really so bad? Are we really so powerless and helpless? Do we really need years of expensive therapy to help us cope with the inevitable ripples of life?

But, dear reader, these questions are heresy. The habit of emotional helplessness that has so successfully blossomed in us over the last few decades is now so strongly ingrained that to even consider using our inner strengths and capabilities to transform ourselves, even heal ourselves, is to spit in the face of progress. When I smile and tell people not to worry and that things are often not as bad as they first seem I am criticized for being unsympathetic. I am, apparently, a man not in touch with his feelings, a man in denial. It seems that nowadays we are like helpless chicks and must always seek help from others, from professionals, and that such help must always involve a credit card.

And so the doubts arise. Perhaps I AM unfeeling and deluded. But no. I can confidently hit that ball out of the park immediately. I know my own mind and I know I am compassionate and honest. I can feel; there’s no doubt about that. Yet compassion is an interesting virtue because it is so often confused with its mischievous cousin, sentimentality. And perhaps that is where so many people go wrong: they think being sentimental is the fast track to compassion. It isn’t.

Sentimentality is selfish. Sentimentality is about me, me, me. We are compassionate when we think of others, and compassion is a great deal more difficult than sentimentality. If I don’t weep for the easy self-indulgence of others then somehow I am harsh and uncaring; but should we really sympathize with people who cannot be bothered to help themselves emotionally or otherwise, or who habitually lay their problems at the feet of others?

When I declined professional help to deal with my troubles (I suffered a great loss in my life) it was the best thing I ever did. I learned self-reliance and was able (admittedly after many a long dark night of the soul) to develop emotional strength and gain valuable personal insights when free of the fog of self-pity. Yet I do not lack compassion: I am more than willing to give whatever help I can to anyone who asks for it. But I do see our modern obsession with sub-contracting our psyches to any old therapist as dangerous and irresponsible. Yet I seem to be in the minority on that one; although if pessimism ever got a hold of me I might come to think that we will reap a painful harvest in the years to come.

So am I right or am I wrong? Well, that is for others to judge. All I can say is that emotional strength cannot be given to us by others; we must develop it ourselves. I just have this nagging feeling that nowadays there are those who have a special interest, a financial interest, in persuading us that such a strength can only be developed with their expert help and that any attempts to develop it for ourselves will harm rather than heal. I might beg to differ, but as the tide is against me on that one I must fall back on the only strength I have in my defense. Whether that strength will hold, only time will tell. But I’m confident. Experience has taught me that at least.