SECTION 48.  An ancient writer says, very truly, that there are three great powers in the world; Sagacity, Strength, and Luck,—­[Greek:  sunetos, kratos, tuchu.] I think the last is the most efficacious.

A man’s life is like the voyage of a ship, where luck—­secunda aut adversa fortuna—­acts the part of the wind, and speeds the vessel on its way or drives it far out of its course.  All that the man can do for himself is of little avail; like the rudder, which, if worked hard and continuously, may help in the navigation of the ship; and yet all may be lost again by a sudden squall.  But if the wind is only in the right quarter, the ship will sail on so as not to need any steering.  The power of luck is nowhere better expressed than in a certain Spanish proverb:  Da Ventura a tu hijo, y echa lo en el mar—­give your son luck and throw him into the sea.

Still, chance, it may be said, is a malignant power, and as little as possible should be left to its agency.  And yet where is there any giver who, in dispensing gifts, tells us quite clearly that we have no right to them, and that we owe them not to any merit on our part, but wholly to the goodness and grace of the giver—­at the same time allowing us to cherish the joyful hope of receiving, in all humility, further undeserved gifts from the same hands—­where is there any giver like that, unless it be Chance? who understands the kingly art of showing the recipient that all merit is powerless and unavailing against the royal grace and favor.

On looking back over the course of his life,—­that labyrinthine way of error,—­a man must see many points where luck failed him and misfortune came; and then it is easy to carry self-reproach to an unjust excess.  For the course of a man’s life is in no wise entirely of his own making; it is the product of two factors—­the series of things that happened, and his own resolves in regard to them, and these two are constantly interacting upon and modifying each other.  And besides these, another influence is at work in the very limited extent of a man’s horizon, whether it is that he cannot see very far ahead in respect of the plans he will adopt, or that he is still less able to predict the course of future events:  his knowledge is strictly confined to present plans and present events.  Hence, as long as a man’s goal is far off, he cannot steer straight for it; he must be content to make a course that is approximately right; and in following the direction in which he thinks he ought to go, he will often have occasion to tack.

All that a man can do is to form such resolves as from time to time accord with the circumstances in which he is placed, in the hope of thus managing to advance a step nearer towards the final goal.  It is usually the case that the position in which we stand, and the object at which we aim, resemble two tendencies working with dissimilar strength in different directions; and the course of our life is represented by their diagonal, or resultant force.