of the calamity; it seems so far-reaching in its effects that the victim might well think there was no limit to them; in any case, its range is exaggerated.  In the same way, darkness and uncertainty always increase the sense of danger.  And, of course, if we have thought over the possibility of misfortune, we have also at the same time considered the sources to which we shall look for help and consolation; or, at any rate, we have accustomed ourselves to the idea of it.

There is nothing that better fits us to endure the misfortunes of life with composure, than to know for certain that everything that happens—­from the smallest up to the greatest facts of existence—­happens of necessity.[1] A man soon accommodates himself to the inevitable—­to something that must be; and if he knows that nothing can happen except of necessity, he will see that things cannot be other that they are, and that even the strangest chances in the world are just as much a product of necessity as phenomena which obey well-known rules and turn out exactly in accordance with expectation.  Let me here refer to what I have said elsewhere on the soothing effect of the knowledge that all things are inevitable and a product of necessity.[2]

[Footnote 1:  This is a truth which I have firmly established in my prize-essay on the Freedom of the Will, where the reader will find a detailed explanation of the grounds on which it rests.  Cf. especially p. 60. [Schopenhauer’s Works, 4th Edit., vol. iv.—­Tr.]]

[Footnote 2:  Cf. Welt als Wille und Vorstellung, Bk.  I. p. 361 (4th edit.).]

If a man is steeped in the knowledge of this truth, he will, first of all, do what he can, and then readily endure what he must.

We may regard the petty vexations of life that are constantly happening, as designed to keep us in practice for bearing great misfortunes, so that we may not become completely enervated by a career of prosperity.  A man should be as Siegfried, armed cap-a-pie, towards the small troubles of every day—­those little differences we have with our fellow-men, insignificant disputes, unbecoming conduct in other people, petty gossip, and many other similar annoyances of life; he should not feel them at all, much less take them to heart and brood over them, but hold them at arm’s length and push them out of his way, like stones that lie in the road, and upon no account think about them and give them a place in his reflections.

SECTION 52.  What people commonly call Fate is, as a general rule, nothing but their own stupid and foolish conduct.  There is a fine passage in Homer,[1] illustrating the truth of this remark, where the poet praises [GREEK:  maetis]—­shrewd council; and his advice is worthy of all attention.  For if wickedness is atoned for only in another world, stupidity gets its reward here—­although, now and then, mercy may be shown to the offender.

[Footnote 1:  Iliad, xxiii. 313, sqq.]