There comes a quiet, almost imperceptible moment when one begins to suspect that the world is not the grand, pulsating drama it once seemed to be. That the parade of human affairs—with all its noise and spectacle—resembles not so much a Shakespearean tragedy, but more a puppet show. Arthur Schopenhauer, with his signature blend of sharp prose and philosophical insight, directs our attention precisely to this disillusionment.
In this slow unraveling of illusion, in the thinning of the veil of meaning, and in the strange tranquility that accompanies it, we encounter the essence of Schopenhauer’s worldview.
Excerpt from: Arthur Schopenhauer – The Art of Surviving, Gnosi Publications
“Every gifted individual—anyone not belonging to the unfortunate five-sixths of humanity that are, by nature, inferior—finds it difficult, once past forty, not to display some signs of misanthropy.
Having judged others through himself, he realizes that in both mind and heart—often in both—he has reached a level others simply cannot attain. And so, he avoids their company.
For the same reason, people either love or hate their solitude—meaning their own company—depending on how much they are worth.
When we are young, no matter what anyone tells us, we think life is endless. We waste time recklessly. But as we grow older, we become frugal with it. Near the end of life, each day begins to feel like a step toward the gallows—a sensation akin to that of a condemned man on his final walk.
The more we live, the fewer events seem worth remembering. Little strikes us as significant enough to lodge in our memory, so once something passes, we forget it. Time, then, flows without leaving traces.
As we age, we live with decreasing awareness. Things come and go without making an impression—like a work of art we’ve seen a thousand times. We go through the motions, then can’t recall if we’ve done them or not. And as life becomes more automatic, our general awareness fades further, causing time to fly even faster.
One might say that the first forty years of life provide the text, and the following thirty the commentary. Only then do we begin to truly grasp the meaning, the allusions, the moral lessons, and the subtle nuances of that text.
Near the end of life, something happens that resembles the conclusion of a masquerade ball: the masks come off. Suddenly, you see clearly who you’ve really been dealing with all these years. The true nature of people is finally revealed. Actions have borne fruit, accomplishments are properly recognized, and all illusions crumble.
There’s no doubt that youth, despite its vitality, is often tinged with melancholy and sorrow. Old age, on the other hand, tends to bring a kind of cheerfulness—not because of circumstance, but because the young are constantly tormented by a demon that never lets them rest.
That very demon is at the root of almost every form of misery that afflicts or threatens mankind. The elderly, however, resemble someone who has finally been released from bondage after many years—they move freely, with lightness and peace.
That said, we must also acknowledge a sobering truth: when the sexual instinct fades, the true core of life disappears with it, leaving only the shell. Life becomes like a comedy that starts with real actors but ends with puppets, dressed in human clothes, continuing the show until the curtain falls.”
