It does not arise safely and securely, the cheery product of prudence. Your best interests, individual or collective, most certainly lay elsewhere in the lap of luxury, of certainty and shame. No happy man bows his head or knows what tomorrow may bring. Tomorrow is irrelevant. The old business of life goes on, but with a subtext that nothing can alter hereafter.
Enemies have no power to steal it, however harrowing their threat of retribution.
For it has always been exactly so, that happiness is a rebuke of some sort, a whole selfishness that sees no other good except Mine. That is, none that detract from one's novel status as a contented creature. For the man who wants nothing in particular is never satisfied, and the man who wants a preposterously selfish result is never satisfied with anything less. I have been both. I suspect that the arc of life implies both, because we begin as ignorant children, and it takes time to discern which pinnacle is personally mine to renounce as an impossible dream.