But if the rule I have mentioned is observed, and a plan of life is adopted which proceeds by avoiding pain—­in other words, by taking measures of precaution against want, sickness, and distress in all its forms, the aim is a real one, and something may be achieved which will be great in proportion as the plan is not disturbed by striving after the chimera of positive happiness.  This agrees with the opinion expressed by Goethe in the Elective Affinities, and there put into the mouth of Mittler—­the man who is always trying to make other people happy:  To desire to get rid of an evil is a definite object, but to desire a better fortune than one has is blind folly.  The same truth is contained in that fine French proverb:  le mieux est l’ennemi du bien—­leave well alone.  And, as I have remarked in my chief work,[1] this is the leading thought underlying the philosophical system of the Cynics.  For what was it led the Cynics to repudiate pleasure in every form, if it was not the fact that pain is, in a greater or less degree, always bound up with pleasure?  To go out of the way of pain seemed to them so much easier than to secure pleasure.  Deeply impressed as they were by the negative nature of pleasure and the positive nature of pain, they consistently devoted all their efforts to the avoidance of pain.  The first step to that end was, in their opinion, a complete and deliberate repudiation of pleasure, as something which served only to entrap the victim in order that he might be delivered over to pain.

[Footnote 1:  Welt als Wille und Vorstellung, vol. ii., ch. 16.]

We are all born, as Schiller says, in Arcadia.  In other words, we come into the world full of claims to happiness and pleasure, and we cherish the fond hope of making them good.  But, as a rule, Fate soon teaches us, in a rough and ready way that we really possess nothing at all, but that everything in the world is at its command, in virtue of an unassailable right, not only to all we have or acquire, to wife or child, but even to our very limbs, our arms, legs, eyes and ears, nay, even to the nose in the middle of our face.  And in any case, after some little time, we learn by experience that happiness and pleasure are a fata morgana, which, visible from afar, vanish as we approach; that, on the other hand, suffering and pain are a reality, which makes its presence felt without any intermediary, and for its effect, stands in no need of illusion or the play of false hope.

If the teaching of experience bears fruit in us, we soon give up the pursuit of pleasure and happiness, and think much more about making ourselves secure against the attacks of pain and suffering.  We see that the best the world has to offer is an existence free from pain—­a quiet, tolerable life; and we confine our claims to this, as to something we can more surely hope to achieve.  For the safest way of not being very miserable is not to expect to