The Consolations of Affliction.
I. _The Removal of Unhappiness._
Suffer we must. No position is exempt, no foresight can avoid it.
Neither the self-abnegation of asceticism nor the visions of
superstition relieve from that law. The latter do but deceive and the
former atrophies the soul. Far better to seek in the strength of our
own minds and in the helpful sympathy of others those sources of
Consolation which will enable us to bear pain and grief and
disappointment, without allowing them to pass into ennui, gloom, and
the distaste for life. Calm reflection, clear reasoning, and the
soothing kindness of those who love us, will prepare us to meet and
bear the evils of life, without having recourse to the illusions of
credulity or the aridities of stoicism.
The mind can be trained to forecast the probable good and ill of its
career, and thus prepare itself for even the worst of fates, without
being plunged into the hopelessness of despair. We can learn to
suffer, and to find even suffering good. To a trained mind, no
deprivation is an absolute misfortune.
What is more, this very training is the best of preservatives as well
as the best of alleviatives; for by it we are prompted and enabled to
take wise measures to avoid those evils which our forethought brings
to our mind.
Consolation we all need, all must have, all should give, if we would
develop the sweeter and nobler elements of our natures. He who through
mistaken pride or stubborn distrust refuses to seek it, does but dwarf
his powers and darken his perceptions to the beauties of the world
around him. To impart and to receive the solace of sympathetic words
and kindly offices belong to the highest ministrations of friendship
and love and charity. Those characters in history around whose faces
shines brightest the aureole of glory have been those who have soothed
the sorrows and bound up the wounds of the despairing sons of men.
Fortunately, if evils are many, so are the sources of consolation. We
may seek them in ourselves, from others, or from a correct
comprehension of the laws of nature; and when these prove inadequate,
we may still win the victory, by discovering that Sorrow itself is not
an enemy but a friend, a veiled and ghostly guide, who leads us, as
the spirit of Virgil led Dante, and as only Sorrow can lead, through
the realms of gloom and woe to undreamed-of fields of serenity and
light.
Only in hint and outline shall I sketch this part of my plan. It is
too vast to attempt more. Some of the reflections which in the sadder
hours of my own life I have found of avail I shall present in detached
fragments; for the spirit in the shadow needs but a single ray to
illume its path. The moods of sorrow are many, and one suggestion may
soothe where a score of others find no application. What I offer are
suggestions only, to be expanded by the reader as he finds one or
another of them suitable to his own case.
* * * * *
Two very consoling reflections are: First, how much of the unhappiness
of life springs from preventable causes, and next, how little of it
arises from actual evils. When we deliberately investigate, catalogue,
and analyze what we ourselves and our neighbors are distressed about,
we are inclined to say that the chief aim of human effort is not
happiness, but rather that each shall make himself as unhappy as
possible.
Look at the list! Desires and aims which are plainly inconsistent and
contradictory with each other; hopes which reason clearly shows are
doomed to disappointment, because they are unfounded or exaggerated;
anxieties which are visibly causeless or useless; mistaken estimates
of our own powers, which honest reflection would correct; envy of the
supposed better fortune of others, when often they are more unhappy
than ourselves; fears for a future which we may never reach; regret
for a past which we can never recall; open-eyed abuse or neglect of
opportunities; indulgence in passions or appetites which we know to be
harmful; needless risk or sacrifice of health or liberty or money.
Think of how much of your unhappiness has arisen from one or other of
these causes, and then take comfort in the thought how much it lies in
your power to be far happier than you are.
* * * * *
There is an advantage in the multiplicity of miseries. One deep
vexation is often more fatal to happiness than several. It becomes a
fixed idea, monopolizes the mind, and is more dangerous to its health,
than when one is obliged “to take up arms against a sea of troubles.”
Regret not, therefore, when clouds darken all the horizon; better
this, than the single sky-specter, in whose bosom is the whirlwind,
and on whose path follows destruction.
* * * * *
When little matters annoy you, remember that it is a proof that your
condition is a peculiarly happy one. Great sorrows leave no room for
slight irritations. The man on the rack does not feel the prick of a
pin.
* * * * *
Tears are the medicinal waters provided by nature for healing the
sickened spirit. They are the stream which by its overflowing renews
the fertility of the wastes left arid by woe. But, like these greater
streams, their excess brings devastation.
* * * * *
Unhappiness is sometimes only a bad habit. Weeping eyes are quick to
tears, and grief is a guest that stays on slight urging.
* * * * *
Ill-fortune and plenty of it is the very stimulus some natures need to
bring out the best that is in them. There is a dead weight about them,
and bad luck is the only lever that will lift it. Without its prod,
they would sink into lethargy and become like Chaucer’s
“Eclympasteyre,
That was the God of Slep’ is heire,
That slepte, and did none other worke.”
* * * * *
There are two inconsistencies of grief which surpass all others: the
one, when it leads us to regret that which we might have enjoyed, long
after the time when we could have enjoyed it is past; the other, when
it makes us the sadder to-day, because we enjoyed ourselves yesterday.
* * * * *
There is something humorous in the two most popular methods of
consolation. The one is, to show you how much worse off you might have
been; the other, to remind you how much more wretched others are.
When I was a boy, I was consoled for cutting my finger by having my
attention called to the fact that I had not broken my arm; and when I
got a cinder in my eye, I was expected to feel more comfortable
because my cousin had lost his by an accident.
The general opinion evidently is that the most agreeable consolation
in sorrow is a contemplation of the greater misery of others; and the
real ground of happiness is to know that others are suffering.
* * * * *
When a man in adversity complains of the demeanor of others toward
him, inquire of his actions toward them.
* * * * *
Talk it over. “Pull not your hat about your brows.” Seek a sympathetic
companion and pour your sorrows into his kindly ears; not so much for
the consolation he may administer, but because sad emotions assume
their right proportions only when shown to others. In the darkened
room of the mind they loom up like giants, when in the light they may
prove to be pigmies. But hide your sorrows from the general gaze;
sometimes the effort will conceal them from your own.
* * * * *
If we would only see it, there is a humorous side to nearly every
occurrence; and if we did see it, what a preservative from despondency
it would be!
* * * * *
Whatever happiness we get, we believe it is our own by right; when we
miss that which we expected, we consider ourselves robbed. What
impertinence! Does any one really pretend that because he wants
something he is therefore entitled to it? Because he covets my house
has he a fee in it? Suppose we give up for a while coveting and
wanting, and settle down to doing and thinking and bearing. Perhaps
that is the best way out, after all.
* * * * *
If you have no passions that you cannot conquer, you will have no
griefs that you cannot bear.
* * * * *
The human body has a surprising ability to adapt its functions to the
presence of permanent injuries and chronic maladies. Physicians call
this the “tolerance of disease.” The healthy mind has a similar power
to recover its cheerfulness in the presence of an abiding grief or
after an irreparable loss.
* * * * *
Indolence and Timidity are the jailers who rivet the fetters of
Despondency. Courage and Activity will deliver us if we choose to
summon them.
* * * * *
As the scars of battle are, in the opinion of the pious, proofs of the
protection of Heaven, so a keen sense of past calamities testifies to
a capacity for future enjoyment.
* * * * *
Between the leaves of the Book of Life why not press the violets, the
lilies, and the roses which we find on our path, rather than the
nettles and bitter weeds? We could then turn back its pages with
satisfaction, and live again long-since-vanished joys.
* * * * *
There are few more accurate standards of a man’s education, in the
widest sense of the term, than the quality of the consolation he
offers.
* * * * *
Would you learn the Universal Catholicon, the Balm for all wounds, the
Panacea for all sorrows? I will whisper it: Work――hard physical work,
arduous mental work. Try it; it will dry your tears, renew your love
of life, recall the light of hope, and exorcise the evil spirits.
* * * * *
Strengthen the Will. If you have any earnest business in life, and are
bound to carry it through, you will have no time for moping. If you
have none, find some.
* * * * *
Look before and after. Do not allow the present to cheat you. The
impression of the moment always claims more than it deserves, because
we have not time to modify it by other thoughts and images. A present
danger frightens us, though we may know it is infinitesimally small; a
parting brings tears, though we are aware it is for the good of all;
offensive words hurt us, though they may proceed from a contemptible
person. Hasten to evoke memories and summon hopes which will beautify
the incident, and strengthen the mind. Remember the slightness of the
peril, speak of the happy return, recall the praise you have received
from worthy lips.
* * * * *
The honey of life can be had only at the expense of some stings in its
collection.
* * * * *
Whatever happens, take it as a matter of course. You are not running
the world, nor born to set it right. You are not half so much the
master of your own actions as you think you are.
* * * * *
Deal justly by yourself. Few do. They regret making that decision, or
performing the other action, or neglecting such or such an
opportunity. They reproach themselves for their hastiness or
carelessness.
What folly! far worse results might have attended a different course.
We can see but a very little way in life, and that very darkly. We can
neither forecast events, nor predict our own decisions in new
circumstances.
If we act at the time with reasonable prudence, we need never waste
later moments in self-reproach. Any other decision than the one we
adopted would likely enough have brought still more dismal
consequences.
* * * * *
Remember that you are never deserted by all until you have deserted
yourself.
* * * * *
Do not confound a decision with its results. The former may have been
at the time the wisest possible, although the latter were disastrous.
* * * * *
What you consider a life-long mistake, your biographer may regard as
the most fortunate decision of your life.
* * * * *
Grief lies in ambush. Its attack is like the spring of a lion. Its
onset is the crisis that calls for the most heroic resistance. Despair
seizes its victim in the first moments of a great sorrow.
* * * * *
Life is like a game of whist. Luck deals the cards, but we have the
lead. We may receive a poor hand, but by playing it carefully win the
odd.
* * * * *
Physical pain is an excellent antidote for mental pain. The hair shirt
and the scourge were positive pleasures to the ascetic, because they
distracted his thoughts from hell-fire.
* * * * *
The incivility of others is a frequent source of keen pain to
sensitive dispositions. Socrates’ advice was to look on an impolite
person as on one deformed or repulsive in appearance; to be borne with
when necessary, and fit to excite our pity rather than our anger. When
some one asked Descartes how he met discourtesies he replied, “I try
to live so high that they cannot reach me.” The impoliteness of small
children does not hurt our feelings; we should look on the uncivil
generally with the same consciousness of our own superiority.
* * * * *
Grieve not at the ingratitude of others, even of your children. Much
that looks like ingratitude is only forgetfulness. Again, what you
think is a favor conferred, others may regard as a right respected. To
some minds a sense of obligations received is really painful, and
their ungrateful demeanor is an effort to escape this feeling. Perhaps
you conferred the favor in a manner to induce such a feeling. When
ingratitude pains you, overhaul your books and see if you find any
debt of gratitude unpaid.
* * * * *
Do you seek consolation for the loss of a loved one? Call to mind, not
the pleasant hours you passed together, but the kind actions, the
proofs of affection, you received from him. Thus his personality will
be idealized, and will become a sweet memory instead of a bitter
regret.
* * * * *
I have repeatedly noticed, in my own life and in others, that the
failure of a plan led to a success in another direction far greater
than that anticipated from the original project. Two of the most
eminent surgeons in the United States became physicians only in
consequence of early failures in small business. When misfortunes
happen, therefore, they may be paving the way for great successes. Our
failure may be due to our superiority. Milton failed as a teacher of
small boys, and Dr. Marion Sims as keeper of a country store. The
Chipeways have a story of a man who could do no work, because he was
so strong that he broke every tool he took up.
* * * * *
Are you vexed by some persistent anxiety, haunted by some ugly
thought? Learn the secret, that the only way to stop thinking of
anything is to think of something else. You cannot banish care by an
effort of the will; but you can drive it away by changing the
associations of your ideas, by engaging in some occupation which
demands your constant and close attention.
* * * * *
Always keep in mind the uselessness of contending with the inflexible
and inevitable processes of nature; but never let them become your
masters when you can make them your servants.
* * * * *
Resignation is the more of a virtue the less it is exercised. A
healthy tree bends before the blast, but straightens itself the moment
the wind lulls. Resignation to evils that can be avoided is indolence
or apathy.
* * * * *
When the world seems a desert to you and life a blank, reflect whether
you have not had just such feelings before, and overlived them to
enjoy happy days and smiling seasons.
* * * * *
Seek sympathy for your losses from a woman, for your failures from a
man. A woman will not understand why you tried, if you failed.
* * * * *
Half of happiness is the recognition that we are happy; and half of
misery is the forgetting how many causes of happiness we have.
* * * * *
Be sure you are more doleful than you need be. There is no liar like
low spirits. Melancholy is a sort of mental stagnation; and stagnant
pools are soon filled with foul growths.
* * * * *
You there, you on the verge of despair, sit down, take a pen, and
write me off a list of your sorrows and misfortunes; and follow it
with a faithful inventory of what you have left on the side of
possible happiness, your faculties, your possessions, your friends and
relatives, your acquirements, your tastes, your healthful activities,
your probability of life, your reasonable expectations, not forgetting
your duties to others and the gratification their fulfillment will
give. Then I am ready to adjust the account.
* * * * *
Plato says that nothing in human life is worth much trouble; certainly
many things give us more trouble than they are worth.
* * * * *
How small is your grief if you measure it by the standards of the
universe! Look up at the calm and silent stars; they are billions of
miles away. Notice that piece of sandstone; fifty million years have
passed since the primeval tide washed its grains together. Is there
not something in such thoughts that makes you a little ashamed of the
preoccupation of your mind with its petty present cares?
* * * * *
Do you reflect sometimes that you are but one of fifteen hundred
millions of human beings, fifty millions of whom die every year? Is it
worth while passing your invisibly small share of life in worrying
about trifles?
* * * * *
The only malady all covet is the only one which is absolutely
fatal,――old age.
* * * * *
Death is the most and the least feared of any event. Seven of my most
intimate friends committed suicide for various reasons, all good
enough in their opinions. “No passion is so weak,” remarks Bacon, “but
that a little pushed it will master the fear of death.”
* * * * *
The visits of death seem always inopportune. Dickens tells of a visit
he paid to an Old Man’s Home. He found that, in the opinion of the
inmates, every old man died prematurely. They invariably said, “He
brought it on hisself.”
* * * * *
He who is haunted by the dread of dying makes himself miserable for
fear he cannot make himself miserable longer.
* * * * *
When death is natural, that is, in extreme old age, it is neither
feared nor felt. That it is so little a thing when natural, suggests
that at all times we may deem it too great.
* * * * *
If we understood Death, we should no longer care for Life.
II. _The Inseparable Connection of Pleasure and Pain._
The hard and strange lesson that I would teach in this chapter is,
that dreams of unalloyed bliss are not merely fanciful, they are
impossible of realization under any known conditions of life; that
pleasure requires pain, joy demands sorrow, as the very condition of
its existence; and that these pairs are inseparable twins, the
presence of one being bound up in that of the other.
I here promulgate no new discovery in the science of mind, though it
has been much overlooked by physiologists, and quite put one side by
sanguine optimists in their rosy paintings of the future
perfectibility and universal happiness of the human race. More than
two thousand years ago Socrates dwelt upon this same uncanny blending
of contraries. The jailer, as we are told in the “Phædo,” of Plato,
removed the galling iron fetters from the philosopher’s ankles shortly
before the cup of hemlock was handed him; and in this brief interval
his friends gathered around him for the last farewell.
“And Socrates, sitting on the side of the bed, bent his leg
and rubbed it with his hand, and in doing so said,――'How
strange a thing, my friends, is that which is called
Pleasure! and how oddly it is connected with what is called
Pain! Pleasure and Pain do not come to man together; but if
a person runs after the one and catches it, he almost
immediately catches the other too, as if they were fastened
together at one end. I think if Æsop had noticed this he
would have compiled a fable to this effect: That the gods
tried to reconcile these two opposites, and not being able
to do this, fastened their extremities together so that when
you take hold of one it pulls after it the other. And so it
happens to me now; there was pain in my leg when the chain
bound it, and now comes pleasure following the pain.’”
A law of physiology, a law of the whole universe, underlies these
homely reflections of the ancient Greek.
On the one side, pleasure and pain are states of feeling totally
opposed to each other both in sensation and in physical effect,
pleasure being concomitant with an increase, pain with a decrease, of
the vital functions; and yet, on the other, there is a unity, or, at
any rate, a close analogy of action, under these contrary conditions
of mental life. Each is a stimulus to new forms of mental change and
biotic motion, though in the one instance the tendency of the new
activity is toward a higher concentration of the individual life, and,
in the other, toward its diminution or its disaggregation into other
and lower forms.
A feeling of pleasure is an exaltation of sensation in some special
set of nerves. These are stimulated to an unwonted exercise of their
functions; but they can provide this disproportionate energy only by
drafts on the general resources of the nervous system; and this must
be paid back through exhaustion, fatigue, or, perhaps, actual pain.
A sensation of pain also demands for its presence special and unusual
conditions of nervous activity, which also result in exhaustion of the
powers of sensation, but, unfortunately, much later than in conditions
of pleasure. Pain seems in some sort more our natural element, for we
can bear it much longer than pleasure in equal degree. Generalizing on
this fact, Schopenhauer reached the dismal conclusion――“The essential
elements of all Life are pain and sorrow.”
The mere cessation of pain is in itself a pleasure of considerable
degree, as in the case of Socrates relieved from the chafing of his
irons; indeed, probably some of the intensest moments of delight are
those experienced on a sudden relief from acute suffering, or during
the reaction from long privations.
It may not be quite correct to say that all pleasurable sensations are
immediately derived from or directly lead to others of a painful
character. There are some belonging to the organic life, such as the
satisfaction of the desire for food or for muscular exercise, in which
mere repose or remission is enough to repay the nervous drafts. But
how close these are to pain is visible from the acuteness of the pangs
of hunger, or the painfulness of prolonged positions of restraint.
Even exalted esthetic and intellectual pleasures, which seem to leave
no sting behind and to require no goad for their advance, constantly
make unfelt though heavy drafts on the nervous centres, the results of
which, under the various forms of cerebral and spinal exhaustion and
degeneration, physicians are obliged to take cognizance of only too
often.
So close is the analogy between the two antagonistic sensations, that
the one becomes merged into the other without our being able to mark
the dividing line between them. A moderate pain may by its active
diffusion actually bring a surplus of pleasure, as Professor Bain has
remarked; and that an acute sensation of pleasure may pass into one of
pain is matter of common observation. Thus, Pain is born of Pleasure,
Pleasure of Pain; and memory and association have a tendency to
diminish the extremes of each by recalling to the mind the sources
from which it sprang. Some physiologists, therefore, refuse to
discriminate between such inseparable feelings, and prefer to regard
them both as manifestations of the same, calling it the “Pleasure-Pain
sensation.”
In all these respects what is true of these sensations also holds good
of their analogues in the realm of emotions, as joy and sorrow, mirth
and sadness, hope and fear, and the like. Each of these exercises, and
by exercising exhausts, some fibres of the nervous system, and thus
tends to develop its contrary.
The general law which, as far as it goes, explains these facts is that
of the alternation or periodicity of the manifestations of force. This
is the fundamental law of the Universe, beyond which no analysis has
proceeded. Force, or Power, or Energy, wherever we discern it and
under every one of its exhibitions, expresses itself in undulatory or
rhythmical movements, pulsations of the primal potency, vibrations of
the central harmony, of the universe. In the rise and fall of
sensation and emotion the sequences of height and depth are as closely
related as are the proportions of the crest and trough in the waves of
the ocean, or those of the vibration of the strings of a musical
instrument.
Such considerations as these, drawn from the unalterable laws of
nature and life, show how short is the sight of those who look upon
happiness as the uninterrupted continuance of pleasurable sensations,
or would seek it in a ceaseless round of gayety. Far clearer was the
vision of Pindar when he exclaimed, with the inspiration of a
poet,――“Beneath every true pleasure hides the sense of a past pain.”
The dark background of sorrow can alone give full relief to the bright
figure of joy. Grief is a part of gladness, and that life is not
happy which has no unhappiness. So Browning, with characteristic
insight and strength, puts in the mouth of one of his intensest
characters,――“Naught is lacking to complete our bliss, but woe.”
These are not mere paradoxes and literary refinements on scientific
facts. All who have entered sympathetically into the deep and tender
emotions of the human heart have felt and seen this mysterious and
inseparable connection. It is so beautifully set forth in reference
to one of the saddest griefs of life by Leigh Hunt, that I must quote
his words. They are in his essay on the “Deaths of Little Children.”
“Pain softens into pleasure as the darker hue of the rainbow
melts into the brighter.… Made as we are, there are certain
pains without which it would be difficult to conceive
certain great and overbalancing pleasures. We may conceive
it possible for beings to be made entirely happy; but in our
composition, something of pain seems to be a necessary
ingredient in order that the materials may turn to as fine
an account as possible. The loss of children seems to be one
of those necessary bitters thrown into the cup of humanity.
If none at all ever took place, we should regard every
little child as a man or a woman secured; and it will easily
be conceived what a world of endearing cares and hopes this
security would endanger. The very idea of infancy would lose
continuity with us. Girls and boys would be future men and
women, not present children. They would have attained their
full growth in our imaginations, and might as well have been
men and women at once. On the other hand, those who have
lost an infant are never, as it were, without an infant
child. They are the only persons who, in one sense, retain
it always; and they furnish their neighbors with the same
idea. The other children grow up to manhood or to womanhood
and suffer all the changes of mortality. This one alone is
rendered an immortal child. Death has arrested it with his
kindly harshness, and blessed it into an eternal image of
youth and innocence.
“Of such as these are the pleasantest shapes that visit our
fancy and our hopes; they are the ever-smiling emblems of
joy; the prettiest pages that wait upon imagination; lastly,
'Of these are the Kingdom of Heaven.’”
Something akin to the sweetness of these touching reflections is found
in Sir Richard Steele’s essay on “The Death of Friends,” whose stately
and gracious style seems ever treading a minuet at the court of good
Queen Anne:――
“When we are advanced in years, there is not a more pleasing
entertainment than to recollect the many we have parted with
that have been dear to us.… It is necessary to revive the
old places of grief in our memory, to lead the mind unto
that sobriety of thought which poises the heart and makes it
beat with due time, without being quickened by desire or
retarded by despair from its proper and equal motion.”
Thus it is that sadness is ofttimes a necessary and the best
preparative for gladness. The blacker the shadow, the brighter is the
light that casts it. In all pleasurable feelings there must be the
alternations from exercise to remission and repose; and in proportion
as such feelings are keen, will pain take the place of simple
exhaustion. When the waves of emotion are but ripples on the surface
of life, stirred by the zephyrs of light desires, the remission will
be but a passing sense of fatigue; but when the sensitive heart is
shaken to its depths by the mighty winds of passion, then the reaction
will be not less profound, and the moments of wild joy will be repaid
to the uttermost by periods of dejection and despair. In such
temperaments there is danger of the morbid persistence of the period
of depression, and ready recourse must be had to diversion and
occupation to avoid this considerable peril.
There is a singular but comforting contrast in the influence of time
on pleasure and pain and the mental states which correspond to them.
Through repetition and habitual exercise we may become passionately
fond of what at first was painful or disgusting. Witness the use of
tobacco and all other so-called “acquired tastes.” The physician
becomes enamored of the studies of the hospital ward and the
dissecting room; persons who are at first sight repulsive become
tolerable and then companionable; studies which we take up with
dislike later on fascinate us.
How different with pleasures! Their tendency is not upward but
downward, gravitating ever toward the lower and painful strata of
sensation. Those built on a foundation of previous pain alone escape a
merely evanescent existence. How quickly facile loves are sated! Ennui
arrives never earlier than when enjoyment is gratuitous. The law,
alas, holds good even for our dearest joys; as Mrs. Browning wrote:――
“Entertain
Your best and gladdest thoughts but long enough,
And they will all prove sad enough to sting.”
* * * * *
Time, transmuter of all things, turns delight into disgust, and
aversion into love, but his metamorphoses constantly warn us that
permanence is related to painfulness and duration depends on
endurance.
* * * * *
Pain is more natural to us than pleasure. We bear it better. Bad
fortune is easier sustained than good. The hour of prosperity is more
trying than that of adversity. These are commonplaces, and speak for
the universal recognition of this feature of mind.
* * * * *
Our first language is wailing, and our most hilarious laughter brings
tears.
* * * * *
Do you say that had the Creative Hand been yours, pain would not have
been in the world? Compel my belief in your words by seeing you
relieve all pain now in your power to relieve.
* * * * *
The abrupt ending of any deep emotion is unpleasant, even though a sad
one. When we have been sailing in the clouds, the descent to earth is
always a shock.
* * * * *
Any action, however trifling, assumes an immeasurable significance
when we know it is performed for the last time. It evokes the idea of
the Irrevocable and the Infinite, of Death and Destiny. Our souls hear
the distant dirge, _Vale, vale, eternumque vale_.
* * * * *
We can always explain our merriment, but often not our melancholy.
Glee is concrete and affirmative; dejection is vague and negative; and
the negative is unlimited.
* * * * *
The drama of life is a tragedy, for its last scene is always that of
the death of the title-role. We take the greatest interest in the
spectacle, but rarely care to remember the denouement.
* * * * *
If you love life so much, why complain of ennui? There is nothing like
it for lengthening the hours, and thus giving you longer to live.
* * * * *
The more pleasant the moments, the swifter they fly. Perfect happiness
would destroy Time.
* * * * *
Many pleasures, like Barbary figs, are gathered at the cost of
bleeding fingers.
III. _The Education of Suffering._
What is suffering? What is sorrow?
Nought but the wounds in our conflict with the imperfections and
limitations of life, with the elements of death and annihilation, with
the powers of falsehood and hatred. The inappeasable thirst in the
human heart for the fullness of existence, for complete happiness,
could only be satisfied with all love and all truth, and we should
need the term of all time in which to attain them.
Pain and grief are, therefore, evident proofs of the capacity for
broader conditions of being; and at the same time they are the guides,
pointing out what to avoid and what to seek, in order to attain this
end of all desire.
This is true of all organic existence; but man alone is capable of
Sorrow, a passion allied to the most exalted moods of mind, presenting
to it the image of infinity, defining and educating his desires by the
clear exhibition of their painful limitations, and thus revealing to
his perceptions new though arduous paths, which will lead him to a
loftier evolution and broader horizons.
He finds that sorrow is an initiation into the hidden mysteries of
life. Through its draped portals he enters the Temple of Sadness,
there to learn “the elder truths, and the secrets that cannot be
spoken.” He must be bathed in the fountain of tears and be branded
with the blade of adversity before he is established in the novitiate
of the order of Our Mother of Sorrows.
Once admitted to her chosen band, he looks back without regret at his
earlier and placid joys. His sorrow lives on within him as a new and
indestructible force of character, expressing itself in added strength
of will, clearness of perception, and breadth of sympathies. It has
imparted to life another meaning, one more male and heroic, and yet
tender, such as no pleasures can suggest or beget. The years may be
paler, their flowers fewer, their grave-mounds more numerously strewn
across his pathway; over them he steps with steady tread, his eye
fixed on the work which he has learned is for him to do, asking
neither about its rewards nor its results.
This is the spirit of those teachers and lovers of their kind, who
have taken as their own the sorrows of the race; it is the spirit of
those martyrs to liberty who have fallen to free their country from
the yoke of tyrants; and of those sufferers for truth’s sake who have
been tortured and burned by the Churches rather than live by lying
recantations.
History constantly proves that the worthiest prizes of life, its
loftiest virtues, and its most ennobling ambitions, are sold only at
the price of suffering. The great world-religions, Buddhism and
Christianity, began with proclaiming this final fact of life; and to
its instinctive recognition by the experience of all mankind are due
their conquests over the faiths which held out the allurements of
material success and physical pleasure. The spirit of Christianity is
the spirit of sadness. To it the house of mourning is ever better than
the house of mirth. The Cross is the symbol of suffering; the steps
are blood-stained that mount to Calvary; anguish and death are at its
summit; for suffering and death are the signs, the admonitions, and
the entrance to the Infinite.
Art acknowledges the same inspirations as its highest. Sad emotions
attract most potently because they arise from the unplumbed depth of
the soul, and suggest its limitless dimensions. They attest the words
of the poet, that “Man’s grief is but his grandeur in disguise.” There
is always a strange attraction about scenes of suffering; the appetite
is always keen “to sup full of horrors;” our emotions are more
profoundly stirred by the spectacle of pain and anguish than by that
of any imaginable pleasure.
Therefore the works as well as the lives of great artists have been
full of sadness. The group of the Laocoon struggling in the deadly
coil of the serpent; the agony of the crucifixion; the tragedies of
love and jealousy and devotion,――these have been the chosen themes of
painters, sculptors and dramatists; chosen because they mark
graphically the struggles of our common nature with its limits,
ennobled by its ambition to leap beyond them.
Every soul knows, unconsciously and instinctively, that sorrow is the
only teacher of what is most valuable in life. It alone develops
fortitude, and therefore it commands the respect of all; it alone
teaches sympathy, and therefore it enlists the admiration of all. No
character is ripe which has not crispened under its sharp breath; none
is of finest temper but those forged by its heavy blows. The noblest
lives are sad; but those who have quaffed the severe joy of sorrow
care little for the light froth of pleasure.
The quality of high energy is developed only by affliction. Wrestling
with it, the sinews of the mind are trained. We must go forth and seek
new supports in life, when we have lost those which we loved and
depended upon. By such an effort, we reconcile ourselves to the loss,
gain a victory over fate, strengthen our minds, and reach an air of
wider freedom. The blast may beat at the gate, but all is quiet
within. There is a habit of sadness which is not gloomy, which may
share and admire the delights of life, but which is ever ready to meet
the storms of misfortune with serenity and fortitude. Such a habit of
mind lifts one above the threats and disturbances of the ceaseless
struggle for existence into the companionship of ideas and powers
which the poet rightly calls celestial:――
“Wer nicht sein Brod mit Thränen ass,
Wer nicht die kummervollen Nächte
Auf seinem Lager weinend sass,
Der kennt euch nicht, ihr himmlischen Mächte.”
There is a ministry of grief, a compensation in calamity, a remedial
property in misfortune, sweet uses in adversity, which need but to be
recognized and cherished for the sting to be blunted, and what seems
at first a grief without an element of alleviation, to become in time
the foundation of a higher happiness. How often may one exclaim with
Cleopatra, in the midst of her immeasurable losses:――
“My desolation,
Does begin to make a better life.”
We need occasionally some violent and painful shock to waken us from
the lethargy of pleasant custom, to break the shackles of agreeable
and enervating habit, to tear us by the roots from the soil in which
we lazily vegetate, and transplant us into fresh and richer fields.
The beautiful elements in a noble character are woven together by the
experience of afflictions, as the pearls which form the design of a
brooch are held in place by the thread of iron on which they are
strung.
The affections which are deep and pure leave behind them when they are
severed by fate a happiness which is comparable to that of their
enjoyment. Our sorrow for such is accompanied with an inexpressible
sense of consolation, the firm and sweet assurance――“’Tis better to
have loved and lost, than never to have loved at all.”
This compensation flows, from the nature of affection itself, because
it is essentially unselfish, and ever seeking objects outside the
circle of egoistic instincts. It is Love that teaches us that Joy and
Sorrow are twins; and at the same time sharply defines what are the
true objects of affection. Its sweet waters pour inexhaustible streams
of consolation for the wounds of Fate, but not for those of Fortune.
For the loss of money or rank or other mere externality it offers no
such assuagement, for it deems all such losses beneath its sovereign
notice. The solace for these must be sought in fortitude and courage
and resignation. Only of the loss of such lower means of happiness as
these is the saying of the poet true, that “A sorrow’s crown of
sorrows is remembering happier things.” Rather let us say, the only
sorrows we should not be ashamed of, are those which turn into joy.
The griefs that embitter and harden, follow loves that are lowering.
Noble sorrow is the teacher of sympathy. The sense or the memory of
our own pain awakens the desire to relieve the pain of others.
Compassion and Pity are the offspring of grief. It also teaches
tolerance, charity for the imperfections of others, and a knowledge of
the limitations and deficiencies of our common nature, without which
knowledge the successful endeavor for any of the higher aims of
existence is not possible. The sense of physical suffering has been
the guiding principle in the evolution of organic forms from the monad
up to man. His future and higher evolution, that of his spirit-powers,
will come from his mental suffering and the lessons he will draw from
it.
* * * * *
Thus, at the end of our wide wandering in pursuit of Happiness, we
look back and see that it is absent from nothing in life, not even
from pain and sorrow; nay, that when all else has gone, when youth and
health and fortune and love have left us, when we look forward
despairingly to nought but loneliness and suffering, our very despair
may prove to be divine, “begotten by the finite upon the infinite,”
and from its depths we may draw a rapture unknown to common pleasures,
and taste the sweet waters of a bliss which is celestial.
* * * * *
Who would wish to escape suffering himself, when suffering makes up so
large a part of the experiences of his fellow men? Who would seek by
any base flight to avoid Sorrow, when Sorrow alone can teach him the
highest meaning of Life?
* * * * *
History is ever ready to point out how nations have been benefited by
calamities, and churches by persecutions. Why not believe that the
same rule holds good in our own lives?
* * * * *
Think what we should miss if all went smoothly with us! Without pain,
we should not know pity; without danger, we should not develop
courage; without receiving injuries, no chance to show forgiveness;
without affliction, no opportunity for fortitude; without ingratitude,
no means of proving disinterestedness; without injustice, no occasion
for forbearance; without violence, no training in self-control.
Really, it seems that to encounter misfortunes must be the finest
fortune in life!
* * * * *
The surgeon restores a stiffened joint or an atrophied muscle by
painful manipulations. Nothing but painful experiences will restore a
sluggish mind to activity and enjoyment.
* * * * *
To forget even for a short time those we have loved and lost seems a
lack of fealty to them; but if their influence is ever present with us
to our good, our joy is a worthier memorial to them than would be
endless repining.
* * * * *
The memory of a great sorrow obliterates the slight asperities of
daily life.
* * * * *
The mingling of tears is a transfusion of spirit. A sorrow in common
is the strongest of covenants.
* * * * *
The only complete satisfaction of the sense of living is its
sacrifice.
* * * * *
The sweetest joys are consoled sorrows.
INDEX.
Abderrhaman, Sultan, 27.
Adversity, consolations of, 253.
Advice, slight value of, 188;
effect of, 193.
Afflictions, consolations of, 248.
Age and youth compared, 34, 225;
not synonymous with wisdom, 35;
sorrows of, 76.
Angelo, Michael, 78, 177, 235, 246.
Anger, destructive to happiness, 147.
Anthropology, its aim, 54.
Apathy, as a calmative, 146.
Architecture, the best, 86.
Argument never convinces, 188.
Aristotle, quoted, 10, 11, 13, 17, 167, 222.
Art of happiness, the, 9, 54;
of pleasure, 38;
the aim of, 149;
inspirations of, 154.
Asceticism, the blunders of, 24, 128.
Association required, 216.
Bacon, Lord, quoted, 51, 85, 108, 145, 217, 221, 234, 261.
Bain, A., quoted, 41, 148, 206, 211.
Bentham, J., quoted, 10, 27.
Beauty, the power of, 67;
the ideal of, 68;
results of, 69;
the burden of, 236.
Benevolent emotions, pleasures of, 213.
Berkeley, Bishop, quoted, 126.
“Blues,” how to relieve, 74.
Books, what kind to read, 160.
Brillat-Savarin, quoted, 133.
Bronte, Charlotte, 189.
Browning, Robert, quoted, 46, 267;
Mrs., quoted, 270.
Bruno, Giordano, quoted, 171, 173.
Buddha, words of, 21, 61.
Buddhism, aspirations of, 21;
advice of, 143, 274.
Burke, quoted, 215.
Business principles, how studied, 42;
precepts, 124, 217.
Calculus of probabilities, the, 93, 105.
Chagrin, the feeling of, 193.
Chamfort, quoted, 213.
Chance, the laws of, 92;
the logic of, 94;
the slaves of, 103.
Chaucer, quoted, 252.
Cheerfulness, how cultivated, 72.
Chief end of man, the, 175, 212.
Child, the mind of a, 79.
Chinese proverb, a, 80.
Christianity, influence on position of woman, 31;
spirit of, 22, 275;
aim of, 178.
Christian fatalism, 143;
doctrines, 172, 173.
Church of the future, the, 179, 232.
Civility, its value, 107, 223.
Civilization, does not increase pleasure, 28;
motive of higher, 29.
Climate, its influence, 88-90.
Clothing, purposes of, 81-83.
Coleridge, Hartley, 105;
S. T., 70.
Colonna, Vittoria, 78, 235.
Colors, their effect, 83, 90.
Common-places admired, 192.
Comradeship, explained, 230.
Confidence, delights of, 218.
Confucius, quoted, 100.
Congenital traits, 59.
Conscience, what it is, 209.
Consolations of affliction, 248.
Contentment, falsity of, 40;
not happiness, 22, 116.
Conversation, rules for, 223.
Cookery, French, 136.
Correspondence as an art, 164.
Cosiness, the delights of, 86.
Country, the love of, 83, 90.
Courage, the value of, 146.
Cowley, A., quoted, 84.
Criminals, psychology of, 209.
Cromwell, anecdote of, 192.
Culture, the true end of, 40.
D’Alembert, quoted, 46.
Damocles, story of, 196.
Dante, quoted, 247.
Death, reflections on, 261, 262.
Decalogue, the, discussed, 208.
Decision of character, 188.
Demonic force, the, 107.
Depression, fits of, how cured, 75, 254.
Descartes, quoted, 168.
Despair, how avoided, 260.
Despine, Dr., quoted, 207.
Despondency, remedies for, 74, 75, 254.
Destiny, the rule of, 102.
Diary, benefit of keeping, 165.
Dinner, a well-served, 135.
Disraeli, quoted, 161.
Divorce discussed, 243.
Dogmatic doctrines considered, 170, 178.
Dress, the philosophy of, 82, 91.
Dualism, of morals, the, 209.
Duty as related to happiness, 206, 207, 215;
the sense of, 209.
Eating as an art, 136.
Economy, its uses, 122.
Education, of woman, 33, 200;
should be free, 199;
the true moral, 204, 205, 212.
Egotism, not individuality, 194.
Emerson, R. W., 182.
Emotions, pleasures from, 142.
Energy, excessive, 113;
developed by affliction, 276.
Ennui, analysis of, 44;
good in, 272.
Epictetus, quoted, 19, 25, 39.
Epicurus, quoted, 206.
Error more agreeable than truth, 56, 167.
“Essay on Man,” Pope’s, 54.
Essenes, the ancient, 244.
Esthetic emotions, the, 149.
Ethics dissevered from happiness, 206.
Eudæmonics, 11.
Evidence, the study of, 43.
Evolution, the secret of, 20;
strange law of, 169.
Executive ability, what it is, 42.
Faith, abuse of, 174.
Fame, a doubtful pleasure, 168.
Family traits, 60;
love of the, 244.
Fear, prevention of, 39;
definition of, 142, 145;
avoidance of, 145.
Fellowships, what they are, 228.
Fichte, quoted, 17, 77.
Ficinus, M., quoted, 141.
Fifine at the fair, 46.
Fine arts, pleasures from, 151.
Fixed opinions, folly of, 187.
Fontenelle, quoted, 78.
Food-taking, as a rite, 134.
Fox, George, 32, 232.
Foster, John, quoted, 189.
Friendship explained, 232;
rules for, 233;
of men and women, 235.
Frivolity of old men, 80;
its usefulness, 225.
Fuller, Thomas, quoted, 115, 131.
Furniture, its place in life, 83.
Gambler, the guileless, 97.
Gamblers, superstitions of, 98;
true spirit of, 106.
Games, pleasures of, 153.
Gibbon, quoted, 27, 128.
Goethe, quoted, 34, 102, 107, 151, 220, 276.
Good taste, what it is, 152.
Good and evil, how to distinguish, 213.
Government, the use of, 198;
theories of, 199;
aim of, 204.
Grief, inconsistencies of, 252.
Habit, its tyrannical power, 48.
Halevy, quoted, 129.
Hamilton, Sir William, 57.
Happiness, as the aim of life, 9;
definitions of, 15, 77, 105, 109, 167, 168;
the distribution of, 26;
in relation to health, 65;
in relation to beauty, 69;
washwoman’s ideal of, 109;
and success, 116;
how related to riches, 125;
complete, not attainable, 143;
whence derived, 195;
two theories of, 196;
independent of morality, 206.
Hatred, as an emotion, 148.
Hazlitt, Wm., quoted, 113.
Health in relation to happiness, 65.
Hearing, the pleasures of, 137.
Hedonism, 11.
Herbert of Cherbury, quoted, 148.
Herder, quoted, 88, 110.
Heredity, the laws of, 59.
Hobbes, quoted, 162.
Holland, Sir Henry, 161.
Home, what makes a, 83;
the love of, 87.
Homesickness, 87.
Hope, definition of, 142, 145;
in disease, 73.
House, building a, 85.
Humanity, the ideal of, 170.
Humboldt, W. Von, quoted, 34, 235, 244.
Hume, quoted, 16, 26.
Hunt, L., quoted, 268.
Hygiene, science of, 65.
Ibsen’s drama, 63.
Ideal and real, relations of, 53;
attraction of, 67;
aim of art, 176;
ideal truth, 177;
of humanity, 170.
Ignorance, the bliss of, 56.
Imagination, the, its cultivation, 149.
Immortality of the soul, 174, 179.
Incivility, how to be received, 257.
Incompatible desires, 144, 250.
Inconsistencies of grief, 252.
Individual, the true aim of, 183.
Individuality, cultivation of, 181;
traits of, 194.
Ingratitude, how to regard, 258.
Insincerity has no limit, 217.
Insurance, value of, 101.
Intellect, pleasures derived from, 156;
why cold, 167.
Intense application, danger of, 113.
Johnson, Dr., quoted, 22, 26, 46, 65, 110, 184, 234, 241.
Joy, a cry of nature, 20;
and sorrow are twins, 277.
Kant, quoted, 16, 25, 141, 195, 206.
Knowledge, the most useful, 40;
its relation to liberty, 199.
Labor, as a source of pleasure, 110;
unions, their weak points, 230.
Lamb, Chas., quoted, 162.
Lamps, new for old, 124.
Land, ownership of, 84.
Leisure, its real use, 117.
Letter-writing, 164.
Liberty, the true, 197.
Life, meaning of, 17, 56;
normal duration of, 76;
love of, 77.
Literary clubs, 163.
Littré, quoted, 39.
Locke, quoted, 16.
Logic of chance, the, 94.
Longevity, how attained, 76.
Love, of neighbor, 18;
the emotion of, 67, 239;
of money, 127;
and marriage, 238, 246, 247.
Love-feasts, 134.
Luck and its laws, 92-96;
value of, 106.
Making a living considered, 114.
Mal des montagnes, the, 89.
Malaise, the seat of, 72.
Malloch, quoted, 223.
Man, the science of, 54;
in art and science, 150;
evolution of, 169;
chief end of, 175, 212;
very human, 228.
Many-sidedness of character, 190.
Marriage, effect on woman, 32;
various forms of, 240;
French system of, 242;
unhappiness in, 243.
Meditation as a pleasure, 162.
Melancholy, causes of, 272.
Men who outlive themselves, 77.
Mill, J. S., quoted, 32, 158, 244.
Milton, J., quoted, 244.
Minor arts, the, 151.
Mirabeau, quoted, 197.
Misanthropy, causes of, 194.
Mission of the species, the, 191.
Mitchell, Weir, quoted, 80.
Moderation, the rule of, 129.
Money and how made, 122;
the love of, 127, 226.
Morality, explained, 195;
not identical with happiness, 206;
no general code of, 207;
motive in, 214.
Moral life not the highest aim, 175, 212;
sense, distinct from morality, 209;
pleasures of the, 209.
Motherhood, its attraction, 240.
Muscular sense, the, 130.
Music, enjoyment of, 137.
Mutuality of interests, 229.
Nature, is equitable, 62, 80;
the charms of, 138;
emotions excited by, 150;
peculiarities of, 154, 155.
Necessity and chance, as arbiters of destiny, 58.
Newton, Sir Isaac, 116, 184.
Novalis, quoted, 134, 178.
Novel reading as a narcotic, 168.
Obstinacy, 187.
Occupations of necessity and choice, 109.
Odors, the power of, 132.
Old age, its false claims, 34, 35;
how attainable, 75, 76;
considered, 79;
coveted, 261.
Opinion, its might, 186.
Ordinary people, preferable, 220.
Over-conscientiousness, 114.
Over-sensitiveness, pains of, 185.
Pain, profitless, 39;
relations to pleasure, 16, 55, 263, 266;
as an antidote, 257;
more natural than pleasure, 271.
Paley, quoted, 26.
Pascal, quoted, 10, 45, 93, 109.
Peace the reward of virtue, 215.
Penn, William, quoted, 88.
Periodicity, the law of, 48, 267.
Perseverance, how useful, 116, 186.
Personality, the joy of, 182.
Personal liberty, attacks on, 199.
Philosophies, the folly of, 142.
Philosophy and Happiness, meanings of, 54.
Piety and morality, 175;
as the last passion, 180.
Pindar, quoted, 267.
Places, love of, 87.
Plato, quoted, 9, 10, 19, 34, 203, 247, 261, 263.
Platonic friendships, 235.
Play, measure of its value, 117.
Pleasure, definitions of, 15, 80, 264;
and pain, how connected, 16, 55, 263, 265, 277;
from reflection, 162.
Pleasure-pain sensation, the, 266.
Pleasures, relative value of, 21;
sources of, 24.
Plot-interest, as a pleasure, 152.
Poetry, pleasure of reading, 161;
of science, 177.
Polygamy, injurious results of, 241.
Politeness, its value, 222.
Politics, why avoided in society, 226.
Polycrates, story of, 97.
Pope, quoted, 54.
Poverty, the worst of, 127.
Prayer, the universal, 118;
refreshes the mind, 180.
Property, as an incentive, 118.
Pursuit, the emotions of, 153;
of happiness, explained, 54;
conclusion of, 278.
Puzzles and riddles, pleasure of, 158.
Quakers, the, 176, 179, 232.
Quincy, Thomas de, quoted, 201.
Racial characteristics, 60.
Rasselas, quoted, 12, 110.
Reading, as an enjoyment, 139;
rules for, 159.
Reason and religion, 177.
Recamier, Madame, her friendship, 235.
Recreations, the best, 115.
Reflection, pleasure from, 162.
Religion, happiness from, 169, 172;
unhappiness from, 171, 173;
true spirit of, 175;
of the future, 176, 179, 232;
why not mentioned in society, 226.
Remorse, the pains of, 147.
Reserve, value of, 189;
a help to reputation, 226.
Resignation, the virtue of, 259.
Respectability, the revolt against, 45, 46.
Revenge, as a pleasure, 148.
Riches, effective and productive, 120;
disappointments of, 126.
Risk, the emotions of, 153.
Room, the living, 83.
Rothschild, Baron, opinion of, 99.
Rousseau, quoted, 28, 84.
Rules for happiness, why studied, 54.
Ruskin, J., quoted, 187.
Schopenhauer, A., quoted, 44.
Science, the love of, 166;
the aim of, 176;
and religion, 177;
of man, the, 54, 68.
Security, how obtained, 196.
Self-abnegation, 24.
Self-admiration, 191.
Self-complacency, 192.
Self, conception of, 17;
the lord of, 61.
Self-conceit corrected, 186.
Self-consciousness, 17, 20, 52.
Self-control, 24.
Self-distrust, appropriate, 194.
Self-education, principles of, 36.
Self-publication, 226.
Self-realization, 17, 56.
Self recognition, 204.
Self-revelation not self-publication, 226.
Self-reverence, 189.
Self-sufficiency, 47.
Senancour, de, quoted, 43.
Seneca, quoted, 19.
Sensation the sense of existence, 140.
Senses, the pleasures of, 128.
Sex, origin of, 60.
Shakespeare, quoted, 50, 51, 62, 100, 103, 118, 121, 122, 157,
241, 277.
Sight, the pleasures of, 138.
Sincerity, importance of, 189.
Singularity, what it is, 192.
Small-talk, its value, 224.
Smell, the pleasures of, 132.
Smith, Adam, quoted, 210.
Smith, Sydney, quoted, 141, 201.
Social organization, the, 196.
Socialists, the dreams of, 115, 183.
Society, the basis of good, 219;
maxims for success in, 220;
the aim of, 220;
the justice of, 227.
Socrates, quoted, 54, 86, 208, 263.
Solitude, its uses, 204.
Sophocles, quoted, 214.
Sorrow, as an educator, 273, 279, 280.
Sorrows of age, 76.
Spencer, H., quoted, 10, 36, 202.
Spinoza, quoted, 16, 17, 155.
State and individual, the relations of, 48.
Steele, quoted, 193, 269.
Success, what it is, 116;
from failure, 259.
Suffering, the education of, 273.
Suicide, easy, 261.
Sympathy, whence to seek, 233, 236, 260.
Table-talk, rules for, 141.
Talleyrand, quoted, 223.
Tasso, quoted, 70.
Taste, the pleasures of, 133-137.
Tears, their use, 251.
Temperaments, the four, 71.
Tennyson, quoted, 202, 277, 278.
Thoreau, H., 35, 40.
Time, its value, 124, 142;
relation to happiness, 272.
Tobacco, the pleasure of, 133.
Tolerance of others, 187;
of pain and sorrow, 254.
Touch, the pleasures of, 131.
Truth, the search for as a pleasure, 156, 165;
the spirit of, 166;
alone gives happiness, 214;
ideal, 177;
gives freedom, 199.
Unhappiness, the removal of, 22, 248;
as a habit, 252;
in marriage, 243.
Uniforms, the value of, 82.
Unknown, the, 53.
Urbanity, value of, 56.
Variety in dress, 82;
to be sought, 47;
the rule of, 130.
Vauvenargues, quoted, 211.
Veracity a relative matter, 190.
Virtue, its relation to happiness, 206, 211;
and vices, relations of, 214.
Waitz, Th., quoted, 28, 32.
War, destructive to virtues, 215.
Ward, L. F., quoted, 10.
Wealth, its meaning, 119.
Weather, how it affects us, 81, 88.
White race, higher sensation in, 63.
Whitman, Walt., quoted, 78, 140, 179, 182, 191, 194.
Will, motives of the, 16;
to strengthen, 255.
William of Normandy, his wit, 100;
his birth, 102.
Woman, unfavorably placed for securing happiness, 30;
education of, 33, 200;
physical training of, 66;
her clothing, 82, 91;
intellectual pleasures of, 158;
lack of justice, 33, 205;
her attraction for man, 237, 240.
Work, measure of its value, 117;
its healthful action, 255.
World, the, as our country, 90.
Xavier de Maistre, 83.
Youth not the happiest period of life, 34, 76;
misanthropy of, 194;
compared with age, 76, 80, 225.
Zola, E., quoted, 109.
Transcriber’s Note:
Words and phrases in italics are surrounded by underscores, _like
this_. Dialect, obsolete and alternative spellings were left
unchanged. Obvious printing errors, such as backwards, upside
down, or partially printed letters, were corrected.
The following items were changed:
siécle to siècle …la maladie de la siècle…
targe to target …misses the target…
XVI. to XVI …Louis XVI stops at…
brook to book …the oldest prayer-book…
Sidney to Sydney …in the words of Sydney Smith…
Bronté to Bronte …in Charlotte Bronte’s poem…
that to than …anguish than by that…
inmeasurable to immeasurable …her immeasurable losses…
Shopenhauer to Schopenhauer, in the index
End of Project Gutenberg's The Pursuit of Happiness, by Daniel G. Brinton