Pessimism isn’t viable as a democratic formula. Those who lament the world’s woes are isolated – they lament only their own. A Leopardi or an Antero de Quental* doesn’t have a sweetheart? Then the universe is a torment. A Vigny feels he’s inadequately loved? The world is a prison. A Chateaubriand dreams the impossible? Human life is tedious. A Job is covered with boils? Earth is covered with boils. People step on some sad fellow’s corns? Alas for his feet, the suns and the stars!
