The Art of Being Happy: In a Series of Letters from a Father to His Children: with Observations and CommentsDroz, Joseph
Philosophy
The Art of Being Happy: In a Series of Letters from a Father to His Children: with Observations and Comments
Droz, Joseph
Happiness
How pure is the sentiment, how simple the pleasures, which flow
from the intercourse of two men united by similar opinions and
like desires, who have both cultivated letters, the arts, and
true wisdom! With what rapidity the moments of these charming
conversations fly! Even the hours consecrated to study are less
pleasant, perhaps less instructive. Such a friend, so to speak, is
of a different nature from that of the rest of men. They either
conceal our defects, or cause us to see them from motives of ill
feeling. A friend so discusses them, in our presence, as not to
wound us. He kindly reproaches us with faults, to our face, which
he extenuates, or excuses before others in our absence. We can
never fully comprehend to what extent a friend may be useful and
dear until after having been a long time the faithful companion of
his good and evil fortune. What emotions we experience in giving
ourselves up to the remembrance of the common perils, storms and
trials we have experienced together! It is never without tenderness
of heart that we say, ‘we have had the same thoughts, affections
and hopes. Such an event penetrated us with common joy; such
another filled us with grief. Uniting our efforts, we rescued a
victim of poverty and misfortune. We mutually shared his tears of
gratitude. The hard necessity of circumstances separated us; and
our paths so diverged that seas and mountains divided us. But we
still remained present to each other, in communion of thought.
He had fears for me, and I for him, as we foresaw each other’s
dangers. I learned his condition, interpreted his thoughts and
feelings, and said, ‘such a fear agitates him; he forms such a
project, conceives such a hope.’ Finally, we met again. What
charms, what effusion of heart in the union!’
It is a puerile absurdity to be proud of the reputation of one to
whom we are united by the ties of blood--a distinction which nature
gave us. But we may be justly proud of the rare qualities of our
friend. The ties of this relation are not the work of nature or
contingency. We prove that, in meriting his esteem, we, at least,
resemble him in the qualities of his heart.
I immediately form a high opinion of the man whom I hear earnest in
the applause of the talents or virtues of his friend. He possesses
the qualities which he applauds; since he has need to affirm their
existence in the person he loves.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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