Counsels and Maxims | Page 5

makes the excellent remark that
_society_--_les cercles, les salons, ce qu'on appelle le monde_--is like a
miserable play, or a bad opera, without any interest in itself, but
supported for a time by mechanical aid, costumes and scenery.
[Footnote 1: _Translator's Note_. Nicholas "Chamfort" (1741-94), a
French miscellaneous writer, whose brilliant conversation, power of
sarcasm, and epigrammic force, coupled with an extraordinary career,
render him one of the most interesting and remarkable men of his time.
Schopenhauer undoubtedly owed much to this writer, to whom he
constantly refers.]
And so, too, with academies and chairs of philosophy. You have a kind
of sign-board hung out to show the apparent abode of _wisdom_: but
wisdom is another guest who declines the invitation; she is to be found
elsewhere. The chiming of bells, ecclesiastical millinery, attitudes of
devotion, insane antics--these are the pretence, the false show of piety.
And so on. Everything in the world is like a hollow nut; there is little
kernel anywhere, and when it does exist, it is still more rare to find it in
the shell. You may look for it elsewhere, and find it, as a rule, only by
chance.

SECTION 2. To estimate a man's condition in regard to happiness, it is
necessary to ask, not what things please him, but what things trouble
him; and the more trivial these things are in themselves, the happier the
man will be. To be irritated by trifles, a man must be well off; for in
misfortunes trifles are unfelt.
SECTION 3. Care should be taken not to build the happiness of life
upon a _broad foundation_--not to require a great many things in order
to be happy. For happiness on such a foundation is the most easily
undermined; it offers many more opportunities for accidents; and
accidents are always happening. The architecture of happiness follows
a plan in this respect just the opposite of that adopted in every other
case, where the broadest foundation offers the greatest security.
Accordingly, to reduce your claims to the lowest possible degree, in
comparison with your means,--of whatever kind these may be--is the
surest way of avoiding extreme misfortune.
To make extensive preparations for life--no matter what form they may
take--is one of the greatest and commonest of follies. Such preparations
presuppose, in the first place, a long life, the full and complete term of
years appointed to man--and how few reach it! and even if it be reached,
it is still too short for all the plans that have been made; for to carry
them out requites more time than was thought necessary at the
beginning. And then how many mischances and obstacles stand in the
way! how seldom the goal is ever reached in human affairs!
And lastly, even though the goal should be reached, the changes which
Time works in us have been left out of the reckoning: we forget that the
capacity whether for achievement or for enjoyment does not last a
whole lifetime. So we often toil for things which are no longer suited to
us when we attain them; and again, the years we spend in preparing for
some work, unconsciously rob us of the power for carrying it out.
How often it happens that a man is unable to enjoy the wealth which he
acquired at so much trouble and risk, and that the fruits of his labor are
reserved for others; or that he is incapable of filling the position which
he has won after so many years of toil and struggle. Fortune has come
too late for him; or, contrarily, he has come too late for fortune,--when,
for instance, he wants to achieve great things, say, in art or literature:
the popular taste has changed, it may be; a new generation has grown
up, which takes no interest in his work; others have gone a shorter way

and got the start of him. These are the facts of life which Horace must
have had in view, when he lamented the uselessness of all advice:--
_quid eternis minorem Consiliis animum fatigas?_[1]
[Footnote 1: Odes II. xi.]
The cause of this commonest of all follies is that optical illusion of the
mind from which everyone suffers, making life, at its beginning, seem
of long duration; and at its end, when one looks back over the course of
it, how short a time it seems! There is some advantage in the illusion;
but for it, no great work would ever be done.
Our life is like a journey on which, as we advance, the landscape takes
a different view from that which it presented at first, and changes again,
as we come nearer. This is just what happens--especially with our
wishes. We often find something else, nay, something better than what
we are looking for; and what