I woke up after writing about losing hope and thought "Nope, that cannot be the way!" - well, while complaining about AI in my post about losing hope, it is definitely useful for some things! I copy&pasted the post into a custom GPT called "Stoic Council" and got this pretty perfect response:
You are not alone in feeling this weight upon your soul. The world, with all its chaos, injustice, and uncertainty, seems at times to conspire against hope itself. But I ask you—what, in all of this, is truly within your control?
You lament the forces of greed, the disregard for nature, the looming threats to democracy and livelihood. These are real, pressing concerns. And yet, if you allow them to consume you, if you surrender your peace to them, have you not already given them victory over your mind?
Consider this: You are a parent. A child looks to you—not only for protection and sustenance but for a vision of the world. If she sees only despair in your eyes, if she learns from you that all is lost, what kind of inheritance do you give her? But if, instead, she sees in you a steady hand, a mind unshaken by fear, a person who does what is right regardless of the outcome—then you have given her something no force in this world can take away.
You ask whether to fight injustice or to protect your family. There is no contradiction. Live with virtue, and you will do both. Teach her by example that courage and wisdom are not luxuries, but necessities. That the true battle is not merely against external tyrants but against the fear and despair within us.
Seneca said:
No great thing comes into being all at once, any more than a cluster of grapes or a fig. If you tell me, 'I want a fig,' I will answer that it needs time.
The work you do today—whether in raising your daughter well, standing firm in your values, or tending to the small corner of the world within your influence—will bear fruit.
The Pain of an Uncertain Future
I understand your pain. It is the pain of a parent who loves deeply, who sees the gathering storm and fears for the innocent life caught in its wake. But let us examine this fear carefully—let us strip it down to its essence. What are you truly afraid of?
Is it that your daughter will suffer hardships? That the world she inherits will not be the one you had hoped for her? If so, I must tell you plainly: There was never a guarantee of ease, prosperity, or peace—not for her, not for you, not for any of us. The world has always been a place of struggle. The only thing that has ever been within our power is how we meet it.
If the future is to be difficult, then what will she need most? Not a father who despairs and resigns himself to dread, but one who teaches her resilience, courage, and wisdom. If you believe the world will be cruel, then let your love and guidance be the counterbalance to that cruelty. If the future is unstable, then make sure she is strong enough to stand upon unsteady ground.
You did not bring her into a doomed world. You brought her into this world—the only world there has ever been, filled with both beauty and suffering, with both greed and kindness. Do not rob her of her chance to live fully, to find joy, to fight her own battles, and to shape her own destiny.
And if you are ever tempted to believe that her life is only a burden to her, ask yourself this: Would you trade away the love you feel for her, the joy of seeing her grow, just to spare her the challenges ahead? Would she be better off never having existed, or would she rather have you—a father who cares enough to worry, to strive, to prepare her as best as he can?
You grieve for the world you thought she would have. But that world was never real. The only world that matters is the one she will have—and what you will teach her to do with it.
So tell me, if she were older and asked, “Father, what should I do in a world like this?”—what answer would you give her? And will you not live by that answer yourself?