He begged them to believe that lentil beans were steaks, that cauliflowers were chops.

As a third course he placed before them a mixture of carrots and savoury herbs, and urged them to imagine they were eating saveloys.
"Now, you all like saveloys," he said, addressing them, "and the palate is but the creature of the imagination.

Say to yourselves, 'I am eating saveloys,' and for all practical purposes these things will be saveloys." Some of the lads professed to have done it, but one disappointed-looking youth confessed to failure.
"But how can you be sure it was not a saveloy ?" the host persisted.
"Because," explained the boy, "I haven't got the stomach-ache." It appeared that saveloys, although a dish of which he was fond, invariably and immediately disagreed with him.

If only we were all daemon and nothing else philosophy would be easier.

Unfortunately, there is more of us.
Another argument much approved by philosophy is that nothing matters, because a hundred years hence, say, at the outside, we shall be dead.
What we really want is a philosophy that will enable us to get along while we are still alive.