he memory. When we were young, we were completely
absorbed in our immediate surroundings; there was nothing to distract
our attention from them; we looked upon the objects about us as though
they were the only ones of their kind, as though, indeed, nothing else
existed at all. Later on, when we come to find out how many things
there are in the world, this primitive state of mind vanishes, and
with it our patience.

I have said elsewhere[1] that the world, considered as _object_,--in
other words, as it is _presented_ to us objectively,--wears in
general a pleasing aspect; but that in the world, considered as
_subject_,--that is, in regard to its inner nature, which is
_will_,--pain and trouble predominate. I may be allowed to express the
matter, briefly, thus: _the world is glorious to look at, but dreadful
in reality_.

[Footnote 1: _Die Welt als Wille und Vorstellung_, Bk. II. c. 31, p.
426-7 (4th Edit.), to which the reader is referred for a detailed
explanation of my meaning.]

Accordingly, we find that, in the years of childhood, the world is
much better known to us on its outer or objective side, namely, as the
presentation of will, than on the side of its inner nature, namely, as
the will itself. Since the objective side wears a pleasing aspect, and
the inner or subjective side, with its tale of horror, remains as yet
unknown, the youth, as his intelligence develops, takes all the forms
of beauty that he sees, in nature and in art, for so many objects of
blissful existence; they are so beautiful to the outward eye that, on
their inner side, they must, he thinks, be much more beautiful still.
So the world lies before him like another Eden; and this is the
Arcadia in which we are all born.

A little later, this state of mind gives birth to a thirst for real
life--the impulse to do and suffer--which drives a man forth into
the hurly-burly of the world. There he learns the other side of
existence--the inner side, the will, which is thwarted at every step.
Then comes the great period of disillusion, a period of very gradual
growth; but once it has fairly begun, a man will tell you that he has
got over all his false notions--_l'age des illusions est passe_; and
yet the process is only beginning, and it goes on extending its sway
and applying more and more to the whole of life.

So it may be said that in childhood, life looks like the scenery in
a theatre, as you view it from a distance; and that in old age it is