entirely pessimistic in his views, and even in his appearance resembled Schopenhauer." A more profound study of the life of Komensky would have rendered it very clear that Komensky—at least, the Komensky of the "Labyrinth"—became embittered through the circumstances of the time, and certainly required no foreign influence to strengthen such feeling. That Komensky, when writing school-books, wisely refrained from expressing such views is, I think, very natural; nor is it to the point that books written many years after the "Labyrinth" certainly tend to what is called optimism.
It is certain that when writing the "Labyrinth" Komensky wrote as a pessimist. That term has in recent years been used so largely and so vaguely that it may perhaps be as well to mention the sense in which I employ it. I consider that man a pessimist who believes that if we sum up the emotions and sensations of life in this world, we will find that those that are painful are both stronger and more numerous than those that are pleasurable. If we assume this standpoint, a man is neither more nor less a pessimist whether he believes that the joys of a future life will make good the horrors of the present one, or whether he longs for the quiet of Nirwana, or patiently awaits the absorption of his individuality in the totality of the world-soul. To prove that Komensky was a pessimist, it is sufficient to read the "Labyrinth" without the last chapters (xxxvii. to liv.), to which the author gave the separate name of the "Paradise of
