“Thus, fear of danger is ten thousand times more terrifying than danger itself when apparent to the eyes; and we find the burden of anxiety greater, by much, than the evil which we are anxious about.”
The quote is taken from Daniel Defoe’s chef-d’œuvre, a mesmerizing piece of art, an account of survival, HOPE, man’s triumph over adversities, and optimism. Robinson Crusoe is the story of a young man who is ambitious enough to go on a sail despite his parents’ disapproval. The narrative unfolds with the protagonist facing challenge after challenge. Multiple times, he gets caught by pirates, escapes, and finds himself on a deserted island situated in a void. For once, he finds himself grappled by pessimism, forlornness, and despondency. The state of despondency is vivid in this quote:
“I was very pensive upon the prospect of my condition; for as I was not cast away upon that island without being driven, as is said, by a violent storm, quite out of the course of our intended voyage, and a great way, viz. some hundreds of leagues, out of the ordinary course of the trade of mankind, I had great reason to consider it as a determination of Heaven, that in this desolate place, and in this desolate manner, I should end my life.”
The novel, in the fourth chapter, shows the delicate yet sudden transformation from despondency and pessimism to the rise of will, hope, and optimism. In the same chapter, we find the protagonist regaining his composure and mentally preparing himself to accept what has happened. From this point onward, he relies solely on himself to define who he becomes in the situation. He invokes reason and begins to question himself instead of blaming fate or the heavens. In other words, while reading the novel, one can almost hear the protagonist reciting Shakespeare’s verses:
“The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars,
But in ourselves, that we are underlings.”
(Julius Caesar, Act 1, Scene 2)
Daniel Defoe gives voice to the protagonist:
“But something always returned swift upon me to check these thoughts, and to reprove me; and particularly one day, walking with my gun in my hand by the seaside, I was very melancholy, and, as it were, my thoughts were employed about my misery, when reason, as it were, expostulated with me the other way, thus: ‘Well, you are in a desolate condition, it is true; but, pray, remember, where are the rest of the crew? Did not you come eleven of you into the boat? Where are the ten? Why were they not saved, and you lost? Why were you singled out? Is it better to be here or there?’ And then I pointed to the sea. All evils are to be considered with the good that is in them and with what worse attends them.”
This idea of hope instigates a spark of effort and will in the protagonist, and he, despite the gauntlet of troubles, never looks back. He conquers. He triumphs over nature. Here, Defoe showcases the civilizational, primal nature of human beings. Humans have survived despite being small, vulnerable, and weak compared to many creatures. Defoe points toward the most powerful weapon in the world: the reasoning brain. It can literally triumph over everything-the human knack for order, command, domination, and creation. Crusoe creates his empire. His resolute steadfastness, belief, and hope make him richer than ever, and he eventually returns home. In the last chapter, the protagonist vocalizes:
“I gave humble and hearty thanks that God had been pleased to discover to me, even that it was possible I might be more happy in this solitary condition than I should have been in a liberty of society and in all the pleasures of the world; that He could fully make up to me the deficiencies of my solitary state and the want of human society by His presence and the communications of His grace to my soul.”
The entire story, written by one of the great adventure writers, Daniel Defoe, gives us an understanding of life and what we need to do in the face of adversities. I keep it as a manual of how not to lose hope and remain optimistic in the worst of times. It gives substance and courage to live a life full of meaning. Michel de Montaigne, another essayist and philosopher whom I admire the most, in his essay “That the Relish of Good and Evil Depends in a Great Measure Upon the Opinion We Have of Them”, says:
“If what we call evil and torment is neither evil nor torment of itself, but only that our fancy gives it that quality, it is in us to change it, and it being in our own choice, if there be no constraint upon us, we must certainly be very strange fools to take arms for that side which is most offensive to us, and to give sickness, want, and contempt a bitter and nauseous taste, if it be in our power to give them a pleasant relish.”
As perfectly put forward by Montaigne, the same case is with this: most of the time, we make things difficult, although in many cases, our problems and difficulties do feel overwhelming – that we believe we won’t be able to solve these Brobdingnagian challenges in life. Yet, at the end of the tunnel, there is always light.
As Muslims, we must never lose hope. Our religion does not allow us to do that. The Prophet (PBUH), in one of his hadith, said:
“The Messenger of Allah (PBUH) said: ‘How wonderful is the affair of the believer, for his affairs are all good, and this applies to no one but the believer. If something good happens to him, he is thankful for it, and that is good for him. If something bad happens to him, he bears it with patience, and that is good for him.'”
In the stillness of isolation, Robinson Crusoe becomes more than a novel – it becomes a philosophical anchor. Defoe offers not just a tale of survival but a quiet map of endurance, clarity, and awakening. What Crusoe goes through is not far from what we all experience in moments of despair – questioning fate, doubting purpose, yearning for rescue.
But like Crusoe, if we listen closely to reason, if we replace complaint with contemplation, strength rises quietly within. It is there, in the chaos of solitude and the noise of fear, that clarity is born. That’s what makes this novel timeless: its reflection of the human spirit’s refusal to surrender. And so, I return to it not merely as literature but as a guide, a mirror, and a prayer. It reminds me that adversity is not the enemy – hopelessness is. And if we can silence that, even for a moment, then, like Crusoe, we too can build an empire out of wreckage.
In the end, every storm reveals not just the world outside – but the island within. The storms don’t only make us astray, they come, perhaps most of the time, to make us understand ourselves.
