How can they say my life is not a success? Have I not for more

The words of Logan Pearsall Smith, “How can they say my life is not a success? Have I not for more than sixty years got enough to eat and escaped being eaten?” shine with a wry yet profound wisdom. Beneath the humor lies a truth as old as humanity itself: survival is the first and greatest success. Before crowns, before wealth, before achievements carved in stone, there is the simple victory of living—of breathing one more day, of enduring storms, of outlasting both hunger and danger. This saying is a reminder that though men may measure success in riches or fame, the truest measure begins in the very fact of being alive.

The origin of this thought belongs to a man of letters who knew that life is not only about high ambitions, but also about gratitude for the humble victories. Smith speaks as a philosopher who strips away illusion and reveals what lies at the foundation of human striving. We hunger, we fear, we struggle—and when we overcome these, even in their simplest form, we have already succeeded. His words are tinged with irony, but they carry the timeless truth that greatness often hides in the ordinary.

History provides us with countless confirmations of this truth. Think of the survivors of Ernest Shackleton’s Antarctic expedition. For nearly two years, trapped in the frozen wilderness, these men endured starvation, cold, and despair. They did not discover new lands nor return with treasure, yet their greatest success was that they lived—that they kept themselves from being consumed by the ice and the sea. To survive was to triumph. In their story, as in Smith’s words, we see that the simplest preservation of life may be the most profound victory of all.

Even the ancients honored this truth. In Homer’s Odyssey, Odysseus’s long journey is not marked only by heroic deeds, but by the endless struggle simply to return home alive. For every monster he escapes, every storm he survives, every trap he eludes, there is the quiet triumph of endurance. His success is not only in reclaiming his throne, but in having endured at all—having eaten enough to keep alive, having avoided being devoured by beasts or swallowed by the sea.

The wisdom of Smith’s saying is both humbling and liberating. It humbles us, reminding us that all our lofty pursuits rest upon the foundation of survival. It liberates us, for it teaches that we need not measure our worth solely by comparison with others, nor by impossible standards. To be alive, to have endured the years, to have sustained oneself against the thousand natural trials of existence—this too is success, noble and worthy of gratitude.

The lesson is clear: do not despise the simple victories of life. Do not scorn your survival as though it were nothing, for it is everything. If you have endured hardship, if you have continued despite the storms, if you have woken each day with breath still in your lungs, then you have triumphed in ways far greater than you may imagine. The world measures by wealth and honor, but the soul may measure by resilience and endurance.

Practically, this means cultivating gratitude each day for the food upon your table, for the shelter that shields you, for the safety that allows you to rise and continue. It means recognizing that not every victory is loud or celebrated; some victories are quiet and invisible—the victory of carrying on when despair pressed close, the victory of surviving when life’s fangs seemed near. Hold these as sacred, for they are the foundation of all greater achievements.

Thus, remember Smith’s wisdom: “How can they say my life is not a success? Have I not for more than sixty years got enough to eat and escaped being eaten?” Carry it in your heart as both shield and lamp. Let it guard you against despair when others judge your life by shallow measures, and let it illuminate the truth that to live, to endure, to escape the jaws of life’s devourers, is already to have won the greatest prize.