{"collection":"philosophy-ethics","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_12508/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_12508","id":"gutenberg_12508","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/12508","summary":null,"tags":["Category: Philosophy & Ethics","Good and evil"],"text":"THE MEANING OF GOOD--A DIALOGUE\n\nBY G. LOWES DICKINSON\n\nFellow of King's College, Cambridge,\nand Author of a Modern Symposium\n\nTHIRD EDITION\n\n1900\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nDEDICATION\n\n  How do the waves along the level shore\n    Follow and fly in hurrying sheets of foam,\n  For ever doing what they did before,\n    For ever climbing what is never clomb!\n  Is there an end to their perpetual haste,\n    Their iterated round of low and high,\n  Or is it one monotony of waste\n    Under the vision of the vacant sky?\n  And thou, who on the ocean of thy days\n    Dost like a swimmer patiently contend,\n  And though thou steerest with a shoreward gaze\n    Misdoubtest of a harbour or an end,\n  What would the threat, or what the promise be,\n    Could I but read the riddle of the sea!\n\n\n\n\nPREFACE\n\nAn attempt at Philosophic Dialogue may seem to demand a word of\nexplanation, if not of apology. For, it may be said, the Dialogue is\na literary form not only exceedingly difficult to handle, but, in its\napplication to philosophy, discredited by a long series of failures. I\nam not indifferent to this warning; yet I cannot but think that I have\nchosen the form best suited to my purpose. For, in the first place,\nthe problems I have undertaken to discuss have an interest not only\nphilosophic but practical; and I was ambitious to treat them in a\nway which might perhaps appeal to some readers who are not professed\nstudents of philosophy. And, secondly, my subject is one which belongs\nto the sphere of right opinion and perception, rather than to that of\nlogic and demonstration; and seems therefore to be properly approached\nin the tentative spirit favoured by the Dialogue form. On such topics\nmost men, I think, will feel that it is in conversation that they get\ntheir best lights; and Dialogue is merely an attempt to reproduce in\nliterary form this natural genesis of opinion. Lastly, my own attitude\nin approaching the issues with which I have dealt was, I found, so\nlittle dogmatic, so sincerely speculative, that I should have felt\nmyself hampered by the form of a treatise. I was more desirous to\nset forth various points of view than finally to repudiate or endorse\nthem; and though I have taken occasion to suggest certain opinions of\nmy own, I have endeavoured to do so in the way which should be least\nimprisoning to my own thought, and least provocative of the reader's\nantagonism. It has been my object, to borrow a phrase of Renan, 'de\npr\u00e9senter des s\u00e9ries d'id\u00e9es se d\u00e9veloppant selon un ordre logique, et\nnon d'inculquer une opinion ou de pr\u00eacher un syst\u00eame d\u00e9termin\u00e9.' And\nI may add, with him, 'Moins que jamais je me sens l'audace de parler\ndoctrinalernent en pareille mati\u00e8re.'\n\nIn conclusion, there is one defect which is, I think, inherent in the\nDialogue form, even if it were treated with far greater skill than any\nto which I can pretend. The connection of the various phases of the\ndiscussion can hardly be as clearly marked as it would be in a formal\ntreatise; and in the midst of digressions and interruptions, such\nas are natural in conversation, the main thread of the reasoning may\nsometimes be lost I have therefore appended a brief summary of the\nargument, set forth in its logical connections.\n\n\n\n\nARGUMENT\n\nBOOK I.\n\n\nI. After a brief introduction, the discussion starts with a\nconsideration of the diversity of men's ideas about Good, a diversity\nwhich suggests _prim\u00e2 facie_ a scepticism as to the truth of any of\nthese ideas.\n\nThe sceptical position is stated; and, in answer, an attempt is made\nto show that the position is one which is not really accepted by\nthinking men. For such men, it is maintained, regulate their lives by\ntheir ideas about Good, and thus by implication admit their belief in\nthese ideas.\n\nThis is admitted; but the further objection is made, that for the\nregulation of life it is only necessary for a man to admit a Good for\nhimself, without admitting also a General Good or Good of all. It is\nsuggested, in reply, that the conduct of thinking men commonly does\nimply a belief in a General Good.\n\nAgainst this it is urged that the belief implied is not in a Good\nof all, but merely in the mutual compatibility of the Goods of\nindividuals; so that each whilst pursuing exclusively his own Good,\nmay also believe that he is contributing to that of others. In reply,\nit is suggested (1) that such a belief is not borne out by fact;\n(2) that the belief does itself admit a Good common to all, namely,\nsociety and its institutions.\n\nIn conclusion, it is urged that to disbelieve in a General Good is to\nempty life of what constitutes, for most thinking men, its main value.\n\nII. The position has now been taken up (1) that men who reflect do,\nwhatever may be their theoretical opinion, imply, in their actual\nconduct, a belief in their ideas about Good, (2) but that there seems\nto be no certainty that such ideas are true. This latter proposition\nis distasteful to some of the party, who endeavour to maintain that\nthere really is no uncertainty as to what is good.\n\nThus it is argued:\n\n(1) That the criterion of Good is a simple infallible instinct. To\nwhich it is replied that there appear to be many such 'instincts'\nconflicting among themselves.\n\n(2) That the criterion of Good is the course of Nature; Good being\ndefined as the end to which Nature is tending. To which it is replied\nthat such a judgment is as _a priori_ and unbased as any other, and as\nmuch open to dispute.\n\nIt is then urged that if we reject the proposed criterion, we can have\nno scientific basis for Ethics; which leads to a brief discussion of\nthe nature of Science, and the applicability of its methods to Ethics.\n\n(3) That the criterion of Good is current convention. To which it\nis replied, that conventions are always changing, and that the moral\nreformer is precisely the man who disputes those which are current.\nEspecially, it is urged that our own conventions are, in fact,\nvigorously challenged, e.g. by Nietzsche.\n\n(4) That the criterion of Good is Pleasure, or the \"greatest happiness\nof the greatest number.\" To which it is replied:\n\n(a) That this view is not, as is commonly urged, in accordance with\n'common sense.'\n\n(b) That either Pleasure must be taken in the simplest and narrowest\nsense; in which case it is palpably inadequate as a criterion of\nGood; or its meaning must be so widely extended that the term Pleasure\nbecomes as indefinite as the term Good.\n\n(c) That if the criterion of Pleasure were to be fairly applied, it\nwould lead to results that would shock those who profess to adopt it.\n\nIII. These methods of determining Good having been set aside, it is\nsuggested that it is only by 'interrogating experience' that we can\ndiscover, tentatively, what things are good.\n\nTo this it is objected, that perhaps all our ideas derived from\nexperience are false, and that the only method of determining Good\nwould be metaphysical, and _a priori_. In reply, the bare possibility\nof such a method is admitted; but it is urged that no one really\nbelieves that all our opinions derived from experience are false,\nand that such a belief, if held, would deprive life of all ethical\nsignificance and worth.\n\nFinally, it is suggested that the position in which we do actually\nfind ourselves, is that of men who have a real, though imperfect\nperception of a real Good, and who are endeavouring, by practice, to\nperfect that perception. In this respect an analogy is drawn between\nour perception of Good and our perception of Beauty.\n\nIt is further suggested that the end of life is not merely a knowledge\nbut an experience of Good; this end being conceived as one to be\nrealised in Time.\n\nIV. On this, the point is raised, whether it is not necessary to\nconceive Good as eternally existing, rather than as something to be\nbrought into existence in the course of Time? On this view, Evil must\nbe conceived as mere 'appearance.'\n\nIn reply, it is suggested:\n\n(1) That it is impossible to reconcile the conception of eternal Good\nwith the obvious fact of temporal Evil.\n\n(2) That such a view reduces to an absurdity all action directed to\nends in Time. And yet it seems that such action not only is but ought\nto be pursued, as appears to be admitted even by those who hold that\nGood exists eternally, since they make it an end of action that they\nshould come to see that everything is good.\n\n(3) That this latter conception of the end of action--namely, that we\nshould bring ourselves to see that what appears to be Evil is really\nGood--is too flagrantly opposed to common sense to be seriously\naccepted.\n\nTo sum up:\n\nIn this Book the following positions have been discussed and rejected:\n\n(1) That our ideas about Good have no relation to any real fact.\n\n(2) That we have easy and simple criteria of Good--such as (a)\nan infallible instinct, (b) the course of Nature, (c) current\nconventions, (d) pleasure.\n\n(3) That all Reality is good, and all Evil is mere 'appearance.'\n\nAnd it has been suggested that our experience is, or may be made, a\nprogressive discovery of Good.\n\nIn the following Book the question of the content of Good is\napproached.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n\n\n\nBOOK II.\n\n\nThis Book comprises an attempt to examine some kinds of Good, to point\nout their defects and limitations, and to suggest the character of\na Good which we might hold to be perfect--here referred to as '_The_\nGood.'\n\nThe attitude adopted is tentative, for it is based on the position, at\nwhich we are supposed to have arrived, that the experience of any one\nperson, or set of persons, about Good is limited and imperfect, and\nthat therefore in any attempt to describe what it is that we hold\nto be good, to compare Goods among one another, and to suggest\nan absolute Good, we can only hope, at best, to arrive at some\napproximation to truth.\n\nI. This attitude is explained at the outset, and certain preliminary\npoints are then discussed. These are:\n\n(1) Can any Good be an end for us unless it is conceived to be an\nobject of consciousness? The negative answer is suggested.\n\n(2) In pursuing Good, for whom do we pursue it? It is suggested that\nthe Good we pursue is\n\n(a) That of future generations. Some difficulties in this view are\nbrought out; and it is hinted that what we really pursue is the Good\nof 'the Whole,' though it is not easy to see what we mean by that.\n\n(b) That of 'the species.' But this view too is seen to be involved\nin difficulty.\n\nII. The difficulty is left unsolved, and the conversation passes on\nto an examination of some of our activities from the point of view\nof Good. In this examination a double object is kept in view: (1) to\nbring out the characteristics and defects of each kind of Good; (2) to\nsuggest a Good which might be conceived to be free from defects, such\na Good being referred to as '_The_ Good.'\n\n(1) It is first suggested that _all_ activities are good, if pursued\nin the proper order and proportion; and that what seems bad in each,\nviewed in isolation, is seen to be good in a general survey of them\nall. This view, it is argued, is too extravagant to be tenable.\n\n(2) It is suggested that Good consists in ethical activity. To this it\nis objected that ethical actions are always means to an end, and that\nit is this end that must be conceived to be really good.\n\n(3) The activity of the senses in their direct contact with physical\nobjects is discussed. This is admitted to be a kind of Good; but\nsuch Good, it is maintained, is defective, not only because it is\nprecarious, but because it depends upon objects of which it is not the\nessence to produce that Good, but which, on the contrary, just as much\nand as often produce Evil.\n\n(4) This leads to a discussion of Art. In Art, it seems, we are\nbrought into relation with objects of which it may be said:\n\n(a) That they have, by their essence, that Good which is called\nBeauty.\n\n(b) That, in a certain sense, they may be said to be eternal.\n\n(c) That, though complex, they are such that their parts are\nnecessarily connected, in the sense that each is essential to the\ntotal Beauty.\n\nOn the other hand, the Good of Art suffers from the defects:\n\n(a) That outside and independent of Art there is the 'real world,'\nso that this Good is only a partial one.\n\n(b) That Art is a creation of man, whereas we seem to demand, for\na thing that shall be perfectly good, that it shall be so of its own\nnature, without our intervention.\n\n(5) It is suggested that perhaps we may find the Good we seek in\nknowledge. This raises the difficulty that various views are held as\nto the nature of knowledge. Of these, two are discussed:\n\n(a) the view that knowledge is 'the description and summing up in\nbrief formul\u00e6, of the routine of our perceptions.' It is questioned\nwhether there is really much Good in such an activity. And it is\nargued that, whatever Good it may have, it cannot be _the_ Good,\nseeing that knowledge may be, and frequently is, knowledge of Bad.\n\n(b) the view that knowledge consists in the perception of 'necessary\nconnections,' Viewed from the standpoint of Good, this seems to be\nopen to the same objection as (a). But, further, it is argued that\nthe perpetual contemplation of necessary relations among ideas does\nnot satisfy our conception of the Good; but that we require an\nelement analogous somehow to that of sense, though not, like sense,\nunintelligible and obscure.\n\n(6) Finally, it is suggested that in our relation to other persons,\nwhere the relation takes the form of love, we may perhaps find\nsomething that comes nearer than any other of our experiences to being\nabsolutely good. For in that relation, it is urged, we are in contact\n\n(a) with objects, not 'mere ideas.'\n\n(b) with objects that are good in themselves and\n\n(c) intelligible and\n\n(d) harmonious to our own nature.\n\nIt is objected that love, so conceived, is\n\n(a) rarely, perhaps never, experienced.\n\n(b) in any case, is neither eternal nor universal.\n\nThis is admitted; but it is maintained that the best love we know\ncomes nearer than anything else to what we might conceive to be\nabsolutely good.\n\nIII. The question is now raised: if 'the Good' be so conceived, is it\nnot clearly unattainable? The answer to this question seems to depend\non whether or not we believe in personal immortality. The following\npoints are therefore discussed:\n\n(a) Whether personal immortality is conceivable?\n\n(b) Whether a belief in it is essential to a reasonable pursuit of\nGood?\n\nOn these points no dogmatic solution is offered; and the Dialogue\ncloses with the description of a dream.\n\n\n\n\nBOOK I.\n\n\nEvery summer, for several years past, it has been my custom to arrange\nin some pleasant place, either in England or on the continent, a\ngathering of old college friends. In this way I have been enabled\nnot only to maintain some happy intimacies, but (what to a man of\nmy occupation is not unimportant) to refresh and extend, by an\ninterchange of ideas with men of various callings, an experience of\nlife which might be otherwise unduly monotonous and confined. Last\nyear, in particular, our meeting was rendered to me especially\nagreeable by the presence of a very dear friend, Philip Audubon, whom,\nsince his business lay in the East, I had not had an opportunity of\nseeing for many years. I mention him particularly, because, although,\nas will be seen, he did not take much part in the discussion I am\nabout to describe, he was, in a sense, the originator of it. For, in\nthe first place, it was he who had invited us to the place in which we\nwere staying,--an upland valley in Switzerland, where he had taken a\nhouse; and, further, it was through my renewed intercourse with him\nthat I was led into the train of thought which issued in the following\nconversation. His life in the East, a life laborious and monotonous\nin the extreme, had confirmed in him a melancholy to which he was\nconstitutionally inclined, and which appeared to be rather heightened\nthan diminished by exceptional success in a difficult career. I\nhesitate to describe his attitude as pessimistic, for the word has\nassociations with the schools from which he was singularly free. His\nmelancholy was not the artificial product of a philosophic system; it\nwas temperamental rather than intellectual, and might be described,\nperhaps, as an intuition rather than a judgment of the worthlessness\nand irrationality of the world. Such a position is not readily shaken\nby argument, nor did I make any direct attempt to assail it; but it\ncould not fail to impress itself strongly upon my mind, and to keep\nmy thoughts constantly employed upon that old problem of the worth\nof things, in which, indeed, for other reasons, I was already\nsufficiently interested.\n\nA further impulse in the same direction was given by the arrival of\nanother old friend, Arthur Ellis. He and I had been drawn together\nat college by a common interest in philosophy; but in later years our\npaths had diverged widely. Fortune and inclination had led him into\nan active career, and for some years he had been travelling abroad\nas correspondent to one of the daily papers. I felt, therefore, some\ncuriosity to renew my acquaintance with him, and to ascertain how far\nhis views had been modified by his experience of the world.\n\nThe morning after his arrival he joined Audubon and myself in a kind\nof loggia at the back of the house, which was our common place of\nrendezvous. We exchanged the usual greetings, and for some minutes\nnothing more was said, so pleasant was it to sit silent in the shade\nlistening to the swish of scythes (they were cutting the grass in\nthe meadow opposite) and to the bubbling of a little fountain in the\ngarden on our right, while the sun grew hotter every minute on the\nfir-covered slopes beyond. I wanted to talk, and yet I was unwilling\nto begin; but presently Ellis turned to me and said: \"Well, my dear\nphilosopher, and how goes the world with you? What have you been doing\nin all these years since we met?\"\n\n\"Oh,\" I replied, \"nothing worth talking about.\"\n\n\"What have you been thinking then?\"\n\n\"Just now I have been thinking how well you look. Knocking about the\nworld seems to suit you.\"\n\n\"I think it does. And yet at this moment, whether it be the quiet of\nthe place, or whether it be the sight of your philosophic countenance,\nI feel a kind of yearning for the contemplative life. I believe if\nI stayed here long you would lure me back to philosophy; and yet I\nthought I had finally escaped when I broke away from you before.\"\n\n\"It is not so easy,\" I said, \"to escape from that net, once one is\ncaught. But it was not I who spread the snare; I was only trying to\nhelp you out, or, at least, to get out myself.\"\n\n\"And have you found a way?\"\n\n\"No, I cannot say that I have. That's why I want to talk to you and\nhear how you have fared.\"\n\n\"I? Oh, I have given the whole subject up.\"\n\n\"You can hardly give up the subject till you give up life. You may\nhave given up reading books about it; and, for that matter, so have I.\nBut that is only because I want to grapple with it more closely.\"\n\n\"What do you do, then, if you do not read books?\"\n\n\"I talk to as many people as I can, and especially to those who have\nhad no special education in philosophy; and try to find out to what\nconclusions they have been led by their own direct experience.\"\n\n\"Conclusions about what?\"\n\n\"About many things. But in particular about the point we used to be\nfondest of discussing in the days before you had, as you say, given\nup the subject--I mean the whole question of the values we attach, or\nought to attach, to things.\"\n\n\"Oh!\" he said, \"well, as to all that, my opinion is the same as of\nold. 'There's nothing good or bad but thinking makes it so,' So I used\nto say at college and so I say now.\"\n\n\"I remember,\" I replied, \"that that is what you always used to say;\nbut I thought I had refuted you over and over again.\"\n\n\"So you may have done, as far as logic can refute; but every bit of\nexperience which I have had since last we met has confirmed me in my\noriginal view.\"\n\n\"That,\" I said, \"is very interesting, and is just what I want to hear\nabout. What is it that experience has done for you? For, as you\nknow, I have so little of my own, I try to get all I can out of other\npeople's.\"\n\n\"Well,\" he said, \"the effect of mine has been to bring home to me,\nin a way I could never realize before, the extraordinary diversity of\nmen's ideals.\"\n\n\"That, you find, is the effect of travel?\"\n\n\"I think so. Travelling really does open the eyes. For instance, until\nI went to the East I never really felt the antagonism between the\nOriental view of life and our own. Now, it seems to me clear that\neither they are mad or we are; and upon my word, I don't know which.\nOf course, when one is here, one supposes it is they. But when one\ngets among them and really talks to them, when one realizes how\nprofound and intelligent is their contempt for our civilization,\nhow worthless they hold our aims and activities, how illusory our\nprogress, how futile our intelligence, one begins to wonder whether,\nafter all, it is not merely by an effect of habit that one judges them\nto be wrong and ourselves right, and whether there is anything at\nall except blind prejudice in any opinions and ideas about Right and\nWrong.\"\n\n\"In fact,\" interposed Audubon, \"you agree, like me, with Sir Richard\nBurton:\n\n\"'There is no good, there is no bad, these be the whims of mortal will;\nWhat works me weal that call I good, what harms and hurts I hold as ill.\nThey change with space, they shift with race, and in the veriest span of\n     time,\nEach vice has worn a virtue's crown, all good been banned as sin or\n     crime.'\"\n\n\"Yes,\" he assented, \"and that is what is brought home to one by\ntravel. Though really, if one had penetration enough, it would not be\nnecessary to travel to make the discovery. A single country, a single\ncity, almost a single village, would illustrate, to one who can look\nbelow the surface, the same truth. Under the professed uniformity of\nbeliefs, even here in England, what discrepancies and incongruities\nare concealed! Every type, every individual almost, is distinguished\nfrom every other in precisely this point of the judgments he makes\nabout Good. What does the soldier and adventurer think of the life of\na studious recluse? or the city man of that of the artist? and vice\nversa? Behind the mask of good manners we all of us go about judging\nand condemning one another root and branch. We are in no real\nagreement as to the worth either of men or things. It is an illusion\nof the 'canting moralist' (to use Stevenson's phrase) that there is\nany fixed and final standard of Good. Good is just what any one thinks\nit to be; and one man has as much right to his opinion as another.\"\n\n\"But,\" I objected, \"it surely does not follow that because there are\ndifferent opinions about Good, they are all equally valuable.\"\n\n\"No. I should infer rather that they are all equally worthless.\"\n\n\"That does not seem to me legitimate either; and I venture to doubt\nwhether you really believe it yourself.\"\n\n\"Well, at any rate I am inclined to think I do.\"\n\n\"In a sense perhaps you do; but not in the sense which seems to me\nmost important. I mean that when it comes to the point, you act, and\nare practically bound to act, upon your opinion about what is good, as\nthough you did believe it to be true.\"\n\n\"How do you mean 'practically bound?'\"\n\n\"I mean that it is only by so acting that you are able to introduce\nany order or system into your life, or in fact to give it to yourself\nany meaning at all. Without the belief that what you hold to be good\nreally somehow is so, your life, I think, would resolve itself into\nmere chaos.\"\n\n\"I don't see that\"\n\n\"Well, I may be wrong, but my notion is that what systematizes a life\nis choice; and choice, I believe, means choice of what we hold to be\ngood.\"\n\n\"Surely not! Surely we may choose what we hold to be bad.\"\n\n\"I doubt it\"\n\n\"But how then do you account for what you call bad men?\"\n\n\"I should say they are men who choose what I think bad but they think\ngood.\"\n\n\"But are there not men who deliberately choose what they think bad,\nlike Milton's Satan--'Evil be thou my Good'?\"\n\n\"Yes, but by the very terms of the expression he was choosing what he\nthought good; only he thought that evil was good.\"\n\n\"But that is a contradiction.\"\n\n\"Yes, it is the contradiction in which he was involved, and in which I\nbelieve everyone is involved who chooses, as you say, the Bad. To them\nit is not only bad, it is somehow also good.\"\n\n\"Does that apply to Nero, for example?\"\n\n\"Yes, I think it very well might; the things which he chose, power and\nwealth and the pleasures of the senses, he chose because he thought\nthem good; if his choice also involved what he thought bad, such as\nmurder and rapine and the like (if he did think these bad, which I\ndoubt), then there was a contradiction not so much in his choice as in\nits consequences. But even if I were to admit that he and others have\nchosen and do choose what they believe to be bad, it would not affect\nthe point I want to make. For to choose Bad must be, in your view, as\nabsurd as to choose Good; since, I suppose, you do not believe, that\nour opinions about the one have any more validity than our opinions\nabout the other. So that if we are to abandon Good as a principle of\nchoice, it is idle to say we may fall back upon Bad.\"\n\n\"No, I don't say that we may; nor do I see that we must We do not\nneed either the one or the other. You must have noticed--I am sure I\nhave--that men do not in practice choose with any direct reference to\nGood or Bad; they choose what they think will bring them pleasure, or\nfame, or power, or, it may be, barely a livelihood.\"\n\n\"But believing, surely, that these things are good?\"\n\n\"Not necessarily; not thinking at all about it, perhaps.\"\n\n\"Perhaps not thinking about it as we are now; but still, so far\nbelieving that what they have chosen Is good, that if you were to go\nto them and suggest that, after all, it is bad they would be seriously\nangry and distressed.\"\n\n\"But, probably,\" interposed Audubon, \"like me, they could not help\nthemselves. We are none of us free, in the way you seem to imagine. We\nhave to choose the best we can, and often it is bad enough.\"\n\n\"No doubt,\" I replied, \"but still, as you say yourself, what we choose\nis the best we can, that is, the most good we can. The criterion is\nGood, only it is very little of it that we are able to realize.\"\n\n\"No,\" objected Ellis, \"I am not prepared to admit that the criterion\nis Good. You will find that men will frankly confess that other\npursuits or occupations are, in their opinion, better than those\nthey have chosen, and that these better things were and are open to\nthemselves, and yet they continue to devote themselves to the worse,\nknowing it all the time to be the worse.\"\n\n\"But in most cases,\" I replied, \"these better things, surely, are not\nreally 'open' to them, except so far as external circumstances are\nconcerned. They are hampered in their choice by passions and desires,\nby that part of them which does not choose, but is passively carried\naway by alien attractions; and the course they actually adopt is the\nbest they can choose, though they see a better which they would choose\nif they could. The choice is always of Good, but it may be diverted by\npassion to less Good.\"\n\n\"I don't know,\" he said, \"that that is a fair account of the matter.\"\n\n\"Nor do I. It is so hard to analyse what goes on in one's own\nconsciousness, much more what goes on in other people's. Still, that\nis the kind of way I should describe my own experience, and I should\nexpect that most people who reflect would agree with me. They would\nsay, I think, that they always choose the best they can, though\nregretting that they cannot choose better than they do; and it would\nseem to them, I think, absurd to suggest that they choose Bad, or\nchoose without any reference either to Good or Bad.\"\n\n\"Well,\" he said, \"granting, for the moment, that you are right--what\nfollows?\"\n\n\"Why, then,\" I said, \"it follows that we are, as I said, 'practically\nbound' to accept as valid, for the moment at least, our opinions about\nwhat is good; for otherwise we should have no principle to choose by,\nif it be true that the principle of choice is Good.\"\n\n\"Very well,\" he said, \"then we should have to do without choosing!\"\n\n\"But could we?\"\n\n\"I don't see why not; many people do.\"\n\n\"But what sort of people? I mean what sort of life would it be?\"\n\nEllis was preparing to answer when we were interrupted by a voice from\nbehind. The place in which we were sitting opened at the back into one\nof those large lofty barns which commonly form part of a Swiss house;\nand as the floor of this room was covered with straw, it was possible\nto approach that way without making much noise. For this reason, two\nothers of our party had been able to join us without our observing it.\nTheir names were Parry and Leslie; the former a man of thirty, just\ngetting into practice at the Bar, the latter still almost a boy in\nyears, though a very precocious one, whom I had brought with me,\nostensibly as a pupil, but really as a companion. He was an eager\nstudent of philosophy, and had something of that contempt of youth for\nany one older than twenty-five, which I can never find it in my heart\nto resent, though have long passed the age which qualifies me to\nbecome the object of it. He it was who was speaking, in a passionate\nway he had, when anything like a philosophic discussion was\nproceeding.\n\n\"Why,\" he was saying, in answer to my last remark, \"without choice one\nwould be a mere slave of passion, a creature of every random mood and\nimpulse, a beast, a thing, not a man at all!\"\n\nEllis looked round rather amused.\n\n\"Well,\" he said, \"you fire-eater, and why not? I don't know that\nimpulse is such a bad thing. A good impulse is better than a bad\ncalculation any day!\"\n\n\"Yes, but you deny the validity of the distinction between Good and\nBad, so it's absurd for you to talk about a good impulse.\"\n\n\"What _is_ your position, Ellis?\" asked Parry. \"I've been trying in\nvain to make head or tail of it\"\n\n\"Why should I take a position at all?\" rejoined Ellis \"I protest\nagainst this bullying.\"\n\n\"But you _must_ take a position,\" cried Leslie, \"if we are to\ndiscuss.\"\n\n\"I don't see why; you might take one instead.\"\n\n\"Yes, but you began.\"\n\n\"Well,\" he conceded, \"anything to oblige you. My position, then, to\ngo back again to the beginning, is this. Seeing that there are so many\ndifferent opinions about what things are good, and that no criterion\nhas been discovered for testing these opinions----\"\n\n\"My dear Ellis,\" interrupted Parry, \"I protest against all that from\nthe very beginning. For all practical purposes there is a substantial\nagreement about what is good.\"\n\n\"My dear Parry,\" retorted Ellis, \"if I am to state a position, let\nme state it without interruption. Considering, as I was saying, that\nthere are so many different opinions about what things are good, and\nthat no criterion has been discovered for testing them, I hold that we\nhave no reason to attach any validity to these opinions, or to suppose\nthat it is possible to have any true opinions on the subject at all.\"\n\n\"And what do you say to that?\" asked Parry, turning to me.\n\n\"I said, or rather I suggested, for the whole matter is very difficult\nto me, that in spite of the divergency of opinions on the point, and\nthe difficulty of bringing them into harmony, we are nevertheless\npractically bound, whether we can justify it to our reason or not,\nto believe that our own opinions about what is good have somehow some\nvalidity.\"\n\n\"But how 'practically bound'?\" asked Leslie.\n\n\"Why, as I was trying to get Ellis to admit when you interrupted--and\nyour interruption really completed my argument--I imagine it to be\nimpossible for us not to make choices; and in making choices, as I\nthink, we use our ideas about Good as a principle of choice.\"\n\n\"But you must remember,\" said Ellis, \"that I have never admitted the\ntruth of that last statement.\"\n\n\"But,\" I said, \"if you do not admit it generally--and generally, I\nconfess, I do not see how it could be proved or disproved, except by\nan appeal to every individual's experience--do you not admit it in\nyour own case? Do you not find that, in choosing, you follow your idea\nof what is good, so far as you can under the limitations of your own\npassions and of external circumstances?\"\n\n\"Well,\" he replied, \"I wish to be candid, and I am ready to admit that\nI do.\"\n\n\"And that you cannot conceive yourself as choosing otherwise? I mean\nthat if you had to abandon as a principle of choice your opinion about\nGood, you would have nothing else to fall back upon?\"\n\n\"No; I think in that case I should simply cease to choose.\"\n\n\"And can you conceive yourself doing that? Can you conceive yourself\nliving, as perhaps many men do, at random and haphazard, from moment\nto moment, following blindly any impulse that may happen to turn\nup, without any principle by which you might subordinate one to the\nother?\"\n\n\"No,\" he said, \"I don't think I can.\"\n\n\"That, then,\" I said, \"is what I meant, when I suggested that you, at\nany rate, and I, and other people like us, are practically bound to\nbelieve that our opinions about what is good have some validity, even\nthough we cannot say what or how much.\"\n\n\"You say, then, that we have to accept in practice what we deny in\ntheory?\"\n\n\"Yes, if you like. I say, at least, that the consequence of the\nattempt to bring our theoretical denial to bear upon our practice\nwould be to reduce our life to a moral chaos, by denying the only\nprinciple of choice which we find ourselves actually able to accept.\nIn your case and mine, as it seems, it is our opinion about Good that\nengenders order among our passions and desires; and without it we\nshould sink back to be mere creatures of blind impulse, such as\nperhaps in fact, many men really are.\"\n\n\"What!\" cried Audubon, interrupting in a tone of half indignant\nprotest, \"do you mean to say that it is some idea about Good that\nbrings order into a man's life? All I can say is that, for my part,\nI never once think, from one year's end to another, of anything so\nabstract and remote. I simply go on, day after day, plodding the\nappointed round, without reflexion, without reason, simply because I\nhave to. There's order in my life, heaven knows! but it has nothing to\ndo with ideas about Good. And altogether,\" he ejaculated, in a kind of\npassion, \"it's a preposterous thing to tell me that I believe in\nGood, merely because I lead a life like a mill-horse! That would be an\nadmirable reason for believing in Bad--but Good!\"\n\nHe lapsed again into silence; and I was half unwilling to press him\nfurther, knowing that he felt our dialectics to be a kind of insult to\nhis concrete woes. However, it seemed to be necessary for the sake of\nthe argument to give some answer, so I began:--\n\n\"But if you don't like the life of a mill-horse, why do you lead it?\"\n\n\"Why? because I have to!\" he replied; \"you don't suppose I would do it\nif I could help it?\"\n\n\"No,\" I said, \"but why can't you help it?\"\n\n\"Because,\" he said, \"I have to earn my living.\"\n\n\"Then is it a good thing to earn your living?\"\n\n\"No, but it's a necessary thing.\"\n\n\"Necessary, why?\"\n\n\"Because one must live.\"\n\n\"Then it is a good thing to live?\"\n\n\"No, it's a very bad one.\"\n\n\"Why do you live, then?\"\n\n\"Because I can't help it.\"\n\n\"But it is always possible to stop living.\"\n\n\"No, it isn't\"\n\n\"But why not?\"\n\n\"Because there are other people dependent on me, and I don't choose to\nbe such a mean skunk as to run away myself and leave other people here\nto suffer. Besides, it's a sort of point of honour. As I'm here, I'm\ngoing to play the game. All I say is that the game is not worth the\nplaying; and you will never persuade me into the belief that it Is.\"\n\n\"But, my dear Philip,\" I said, \"there is no need for me to persuade\nyou, for it is clear that you are persuaded already. You believe, as\nyou have really admitted in principle, that it is good to live rather\nthan to die; and to live, moreover, a monotonous, laborious life,\nwhich you say you detest Take away that belief, and your whole being\nis transformed. Either you change your manner of life, abandon the\nroutine which you hate, break up the order imposed (as I said at\nfirst) by your idea about Good, and give yourself up to the chaos of\nchance desires; or you depart from life altogether, on the hypothesis\nthat that is the good thing to do. But in any case the truth appears\nto remain that somehow or other you do believe in Good; and that it is\nthis belief which determines the whole course of your life.\"\n\n\"Well,\" he said, \"it's no use arguing the point, but I am\nunconvinced.\" And he sank back to his customary silence. I thought\nit useless to pursue the subject with him; but Ellis took up the\nargument.\n\n\"I agree with Audubon,\" he said. \"For even if I admitted your general\ncontention, I should still maintain that it is not by virtue of any\nconscious idea of Good that we introduce order into our lives. We\nsimply find ourselves, as a matter of fact, by nature and character,\npreferring one object to another, suppressing or developing this or\nthat tendency. Our choices are not determined by our abstract notion\nof Good; on the contrary, our notion of Good is deduced from our\nchoices.\"\n\n\"You mean, I suppose, that we collect from our particular choices our\ngeneral idea of the kind of things which we consider good. That may\nbe. But the point I insist upon is that we do attach validity to\nthese choices; they are, to us, our choices of our Good, those that we\napprove as distinguished from those that we do not. And my contention\nis that, in spite of all diversity of opinions as to what really are\nthe good things to choose, we are bound to attach, each of us, some\nvalidity to our own, under penalty of reducing our life to a moral\nchaos.\"\n\n\"But what do you mean by 'validity'?\" asked Leslie. \"Do you mean that\nwe must believe that our opinions are right?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" I said, \"or, at least, if not that they are right, that they\nare the rightest we can attain to for the time being, and until we see\nsomething righter. But above all, that opinions on this subject really\nare either right or wrong, or more right and less right; and that of\nthis rightness or wrongness we really have some kind of perception,\nhowever difficult it may be to give an account of it, and that in\naccordance with such perception we may come to change our opinions or\nthose of other people, by the methods of discussion and persuasion and\nthe like. And all this, as I understand, is what Ellis was denying.\"\n\n\"Certainly,\" said Ellis, \"I was; and I still do not see that you have\nproved it.\"\n\n\"No,\" I said, \"I have not even tried to. I have only tried to show\nthat in spite of your denial you really do believe it, because a\nbelief in it is implied in all your practical activity. And that, I\nthought, you did admit yourself.\"\n\n\"But even so,\" he replied, \"it remains to be considered whether my\ntheory is not more reasonable than my practice.\"\n\n\"Perhaps,\" I replied; \"but that, I admit, is not the question that\nreally interests me. What I want to get at is the belief which\nunderlies the whole life of people like ourselves, and of which, it\nseems, we cannot practically divest ourselves. And such a belief, I\nthink, is this which we have been discussing as to the validity of our\nopinions about Good.\"\n\n\"I see,\" he said; \"in fact you are concerning yourself not with\nphilosophy but with psychology.\"\n\n\"If you like; it matters little what you call it. Only, whatever it\nbe, you will do me a service if for the moment you will place yourself\nat my standpoint, and see with me how things look from there.\"\n\n\"Very well,\" he said, \"I have no objection, and so far, on the whole,\nI do agree with you; though I am bound to point out that you might\neasily find an opponent less complaisant. Your argument is very much\none _ad hominem_.\"\n\n\"It is,\" I said, \"and that, I confess, is the only kind of argument in\nwhich I much believe in these matters. I am content, for the present,\nif you and the others here go along with me.\"\n\n\"I do,\" said Parry, \"but you seem to me to be only stating, in an\nunnecessarily elaborate way, what after all is a mere matter of common\nsense.\"\n\n\"Perhaps it is,\" I replied, \"though I have always thought myself\nrather deficient in that kind of sense. But what does Leslie say?\"\n\n\"Oh,\" he said, \"I can't think how you can be content with anything so\nlame and impotent! Some method there must be, absolute and _\u00e0 priori_,\nby which we may prove for certain that Good is, and discover, as well,\nwhat things are good.\"\n\n\"Well,\" I said, \"if there be such a method, you, if anyone, should\nfind it; and I wish you from my heart good luck in the quest. It is\nonly in default of anything better that I fall back on this--I dare\nnot call it method; this appeal to opinion and belief.\"\n\n\"And even so,\" said Ellis, \"it is little enough that you have shown,\nor rather, that I have chosen to admit. For even if it were granted\nthat individuals, in order to choose, must believe in Good, it doesn't\nfollow that they believe in anything except each a Good for himself.\nSo that, even on your own hypothesis, all we could say would be that\nthere are a number of different and perhaps incompatible Goods, each\ngood for some particular individual, but none necessarily good for\nall. I, at least, admit no more than that.\"\n\n\"How do you mean?\" I asked, \"for I am getting lost again.\"\n\n\"I mean,\" he replied, \"something that I should have thought was\nfamiliar enough. Granted that there really is a Good which each\nindividual ought to choose, and does choose, if you like, as far as\nhe can see it; or granted, at least, that he is bound to believe this,\nunder penalty of reducing his life to moral chaos; still, I see no\nreason to suppose that the thing which one individual ought to choose\nis identical, or even compatible, with that which another ought to\nchoose. There may be a whole series of distinct and mutually exclusive\nmoral worlds. In other words, even though I may admit a Good for each,\nI am not prepared to admit a Good for all.\"\n\n\"But then,\" I objected, \"each of these Goods will also be a not-Good;\nand that seems to be a contradiction.\"\n\n\"Not at all,\" he replied, \"for each of them only professes to be Good\nfor me, and that is quite compatible with being Bad for another.\"\n\n\"But,\" cried Leslie, trembling with excitement, \"your whole conception\nis absurd. Good is simply Good; it is not Good for anybody or\nanything; it is Good in its own nature, one, simple, immutable\neternal.\"\n\n\"It may be,\" replied Ellis, \"but I hope you will not actually tear me\nto pieces if I humbly confess that I cannot see it. I see no reason to\nadmit any such Good; it even has no meaning to me.\"\n\n\"Well, anyhow, nothing else can have any meaning!\"\n\n\"But, to me, something else has a meaning.\"\n\n\"Well, what?\"\n\n\"Why, what I have been trying, apparently without success, to\nexplain.\"\n\n\"But don't you see that each of those things you call Goods, oughtn't\nto be called Good at all, but each of them by some other particular\nname of its own?\"\n\n\"Oh, I don't want to quarrel about names; but I call each of them\nGood because from one point of view--that of some particular\nindividual--each of them is something that ought to be. I, at any\nrate, admit no more than that. For each individual there is something\nthat ought to be; but this, which ought to be for him, is very likely\nsomething that ought not to be for somebody else.\"\n\nOn this Leslie threw himself back with a gesture of disgust and\ndespair; and I took the opportunity of intervening.\n\n\"Let us have some concrete instances,\" I said, \"of these incompatible\nGoods.\"\n\n\"By all means,\" he replied, \"nothing can be simpler. It is good, say,\nfor Nero, to preserve supreme power; but it is bad for the people who\ncome in his way. It is good for an American millionaire to make and\nincrease his fortune; but it is bad for the people he ruins in the\nprocess. And so on, _ad infinitum_; one has only to look at the\nworld to see that the Goods of individuals are not only diverse but\nincompatible one with another.\"\n\n\"Of course,\" I said, \"it is true that people do hold things to be good\nwhich are in this way mutually incompatible. But does not the fact\nof this incompatibility make one suspect that perhaps the things in\nquestion are not really good?\"\n\n\"It may, in some cases, but I see no ground for the suspicion. It\nmay very well be that what is good for me is in the nature of things\nincompatible with what is good for you.\"\n\n\"I don't say it may not be so; but does one believe it to be so?\nDoesn't one believe that what is really good for one must somehow be\ncompatible with what is really good for others?\"\n\n\"Some people may believe it, but many don't; and it can never be\nproved.\"\n\n\"No; and so I am driven back upon my argument _ad hominem_. Do not\nyou, as a matter of fact, believe it?\"\n\n\"No, I don't know that I do.\"\n\n\"Do you believe then that there is nothing which is good for people in\ngeneral?\"\n\n\"I don't see what is to prevent my believing it.\"\n\n\"But, at any rate you do not act as if you believed it.\"\n\n\"In what way do I not?\"\n\n\"Why, for instance, you said last night that you intended to enter\nParliament.\"\n\n\"Well?\"\n\n\"And in a few weeks you will be making speeches all over the country\nin favour of--well, I don't quite know what--shall we say in favour of\nthe war?\"\n\n\"Say so, by all means, if you like.\"\n\n\"And this war, I presume, you believe to be a good thing?\"\n\n\"Well?\"\n\n\"Good, that is, not merely for yourself but for the world at large? or\nat least for the English or the Boers, or one or other of them? Do you\nadmit that?\"\n\n\"Oh,\" he said, \"I am nothing if not frank! At present, we will admit,\nI think the war a good thing (whatever that may mean); but what of\nthat? Very probably I am wrong.\"\n\n\"Very probably you are; but that is not the point. The main thing is,\nthat you admit that it is possible to be wrong or right at all; that\nthere is something to be wrong or right about.\"\n\n\"But I don't know that I do admit it, or, at any rate, that I shall\nalways admit it. Probably, after changing my opinions again and again,\nI shall come to the conclusion that none of them are worth anything at\nall; that, in fact, there's nothing to have an opinion about; and then\nI shall retire from politics altogether; and then--then how will you\nget hold of me?\"\n\n\"Oh,\" I replied, \"easily enough! For you will still continue, I\nsuppose, to do some kind of work, and work which will necessarily\naffect innumerable people besides yourself; and you will believe, I\npresume, that somehow or other the work you do is contributing to some\ngeneral Good?\"\n\n\"'You presume'! you do indeed presume! Suppose I believe nothing of\nthe kind? Suppose I deny altogether a general Good?\"\n\n\"We will suppose it, if you like,\" I said. \"And now let us go on to\nexamine the consequences of the supposition.\"\n\n\"By all means!\" he said, \"proceed!\"\n\n\"Well,\" I began, \"since you are still living in society, (for that, I\nsuppose, you allow me to assume,) you are, by the nature of the case,\ninterchanging with others innumerable offices. At the same time, on\nthe supposition we are adopting, that you deny a general Good, your\nonly object in this interchange will be your own Good, (in which you\nadmit that you do believe.) If, for example, you are a doctor,\nyour aim, at the highest, is to develop yourself, to increase your\nknowledge, your skill, your self-control; at the lowest, it is to\naccumulate a fortune; but in neither case can your purpose be to\nalleviate or cure disease, nor to contribute to the advance of\nscience; for that would be to suppose that these ends, although they\npurport to be general, nevertheless are somehow good, which is the\nhypothesis we were excluding. Similarly, if you are a lawyer, you will\nnot set your heart on doing justice, or perfecting the law; such ends\nas these for you are mere illusions; for even if justice exist at all,\nit certainly is not a Good, for if it were, it would be a Good for\nall, and, as we agree, there is no such thing. Men like Bentham,\ntherefore, to you will be mere visionaries, and the legal system as a\nwhole will have no sense or purport, except so far as it contributes\nto sharpen your wits and fill your pocket And so, in general, with all\nprofessions and occupations; whichever you may adopt, you will treat\nit merely as a means to your own Good; and since you have no Good\nwhich is also common to other men, you will use these others without\nscruple to further what you conceive to be your own advantage, without\nnecessarily paying any regard to what they may conceive to be theirs.\"\n\n\"Well,\" he said, \"and why not?\"\n\n\"I don't ask 'why not'?\" I replied, \"I ask merely whether it would be\nso? whether you do, as a matter of fact, conceive it possible that you\nshould ever adopt such an attitude?\"\n\n\"Well, no,\" he admitted, \"I don't think it is; but that is an\nidiosyncrasy of mine; and I have no doubt there are plenty of other\nmen who are precisely in the position you describe. Take, for example,\na man like the late Jay Gould. Do you suppose that he, in his business\noperations, ever had any regard for anything except his own personal\nadvantage? Do you suppose he cared how many people he ruined? Do you\nsuppose he cared even whether he ruined his country, except so far as\nsuch ruin might interfere with his own profit? Or look again at the\nfamous Mr. Leiter of Chicago! What do you suppose it mattered to\nhim that he might be starving half the world, and imperilling the\ngovernments of Europe? It was enough for him that he should realize a\nfortune; of all the rest, I suppose, he washed his hands. He and men\nlike him adopt, I have no doubt, precisely the position which you are\ntrying to show is impossible.\"\n\n\"No,\" I said, \"I am not trying to show that it is impossible in\ngeneral; I am only trying to show that it is impossible for you. And\nmy object is to suggest that if a man does deny a general Good, he\ndenies it, as I say, at his peril. If his denial is genuine, and\nnot merely verbal, it will lead him to conduct of the kind I have\ndescribed.\"\n\n\"But surely,\" interrupted Leslie, \"you have no right to assume that a\ndisbelief in a general Good, however genuine, necessarily involves\na sheer egoism in conduct? For a man might find that his own Good\nconsisted in furthering the Good of other people; and in that case of\ncourse he will try to further it.\"\n\n\"But,\" I replied, \"on our hypothesis there is no Good of other people.\nEach individual, we agreed, has his Good, but there is no Good common\nto all. And thus we could have no guarantee that in furthering the\nGood of one we are also furthering that of others. So that even\nsupposing a man to believe that his own Good consists in furthering\nthe Good of others, yet he will not be able to put his belief into\npractice, but at most will be able to help some one man, with the\nlikelihood that in so doing he is thwarting and injuring many others.\nThough, therefore, he may not wish to be an egoist, yet he cannot work\nfor a common Good; and that simply because there is no common Good to\nwork for.\"\n\nAt this point Parry, who had been sitting silent during the\ndiscussion, probably because of its somewhat abstract character,\nsuddenly broke in upon it as follows. He had a great fund of optimism\nand what is sometimes called common sense, which to me was rather\npleasant and refreshing, though some of the others, and especially\nLeslie and Ellis, were apt, I think, to find it irritating. His\npresent speech was characteristic of his manner.\n\n\"Ah!\" he began, \"there you touch upon the point which has vitiated\nyour argument throughout. You seem to assume that because every man\nhas his own Good, and there is no Good we can affirm to be common\nto all, therefore these individual Goods are incompatible one with\nanother, so that a man who is intent on his own Good is necessarily\nhindering, or, at least, not helping, other people who are intent on\ntheirs. But I believe, and my view is borne out by all experience,\nthat exactly the opposite is the case. Every man, in pursuing his own\nadvantage, is also enabling the rest to pursue theirs. The world, if\nyou like to put it so, is a world of egoists; but a world constructed\nwith such exquisite art, that the egoism of one is not only compatible\nwith, but indispensable to that of another. On this principle all\nsociety rests. The producer, seeking his own profit, is bound to\nsatisfy the consumer; the capitalist cannot exist without supporting\nthe labourer; the borrower and lender are knit by the closest ties of\nmutual advantage; and so with all the ranks and divisions of mankind,\nsocial, political, economic, or what you will. Balanced, one against\nthe other, in delicate counterpoise, in subtlest interaction of part\nwith part, they sweep on in one majestic system, an equilibrium for\never disturbed, yet ever recovering itself anew, created, it is true,\nand maintained by countless individual impulses, yet summing up and\nreflecting all of these in a single, perfect, all-harmonious whole.\nAnd when we consider----\"\n\nBut here he was interrupted by a kind of groan from Audubon; and\nEllis, seeing his opportunity, broke in ironically, as follows:\n\n\"The theme, my dear Parry, is indeed a vast one, and suggests\ncountless developments. When, for example, we consider (to borrow your\nown phrase) the reciprocal relations of the householder and the thief,\nof the murderer and his victim, of the investor and the fraudulent\ncompany-promoter; when, turning from these private examples, we cast\nour eyes on international relations, when we observe the perfect\naccord of interest between all the great powers in the far East;\nwhen we note the smooth harmonious working of that flawless political\nmachine so aptly named the European Concert, each member pursuing its\nown advantage, yet co-operating without friction to a common end; or\nwhen, reverting to the economic sphere, we contemplate the exquisite\nadjustment that prevails between the mutual interest of labour and\ncapital--an adjustment broken only now and again by an occasional\ndisturbance, just to show that the centre of gravity is changing;\nwhen we observe the World Trust quietly, without a creak or a groan,\nannihilating the individual producer; or when, to take the sublime\nexample which has already been quoted, we perceive a single\nindividual, in the pursuit of his own Good, positively co-operating\nwith revolutionists on the other side of the globe, and contributing,\nby the process of starvation, to the deliverance of a great and\noppressed people--if indeed, in such a world as ours, anyone can\nbe said to be oppressed--when, my dear Parry, we contemplate these\nthings, then--then--words fail me! Finish the sentence as you only\ncan.\"\n\n\"Oh,\" said Parry, good-naturedly enough, \"of course I know very well\nyou can make anything ridiculous if you like. But I still maintain\nthat we must take broad views of these matters, and that the position\nadopted is substantially correct, if you take long enough periods\nof time. Every man in the long run by pursuing his own Good does\ncontribute also to the Good of others.\"\n\n\"Well,\" I said, anxious to keep the argument to the main point,\n\"let us admit for the moment that it is so. You assert, then, that\neveryone's Good is distinct from everyone else's, and that there is no\ncommon Good; but that each one's pursuit of his own Good is essential\nto the realization of the Good of all the rest\"\n\n\"Yes,\" he said; \"roughly, that is the kind of thing I believe.\"\n\n\"Well, but,\" I continued, \"on that system there is at least one thing\nwhich we shall have to call a common Good.\"\n\n\"And what is that?\"\n\n\"Society itself! For society is the condition indispensable to\nall alike for the realization of any individual Good; and a common\ncondition of Good is, I suppose, in a sense, a common Good.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" he replied, \"I suppose, in a sense, it is.\"\n\n\"Well,\" I said, \"I want no larger admission. For under 'society' what\nis not included! Sanction society, and you sanction, or at least you\nadmit the possibility of a sanction for every kind of common activity\nand end; and the motives of men in undertaking these common activities\nbecome a matter of comparative indifference. Whatever they are\nconsciously aiming at, whether it be their own Good, or the Good of\nall, or, as is more probable, a varying mixture of both, the fact\nremains that they do, and we do, admit a common Good, the maintenance\nand development of society itself. And that is all I was concerned to\nget you to agree to.\"\n\n\"But,\" said Leslie, \"do you really think that there is no common Good\nexcept this, which you yourself admit to be rather a condition of Good\nthan Good itself?\"\n\n\"No,\" I replied, \"that is not my view. I do not, myself, regard\nsociety as nothing but a condition of the realization of independent,\nindividual Goods. On the contrary, I think that the Good of each\nindividual consists in his relations with other individuals. But this\nI do not know that I am in a position to establish. Meantime, however,\nwe can, I think, maintain, that few candid men, understanding the\nissue, will really deny altogether a common Good; for they will have\nto admit that in society we have at the very least a common condition\nof Good.\"\n\n\"But still,\" objected Leslie, \"even so we have no proof that there\nis a common Good, but only that most civilized men, if pressed, would\nprobably admit one.\"\n\n\"Certainly,\" I replied, \"and I pretend nothing more. I have not\nattempted to prove that there is a common Good, nor even that it is\nimpossible not to believe in one. I merely wished to show, as before,\nthat if a man disbelieves, he disbelieves, so to speak, at his own\nperil. And to sum up the argument, what I think we have shown is, that\nto deny a common Good is, in the first place, to deny to one's life\nand action all worth except what is bound up with one's own Good, to\nthe complete exclusion of any Good of all. In the second place, it is\nto deny all worth to every public and social institution--to religion,\nlaw, government, the family, all activities, in a word, which\ncontribute to and make up what we call society. Further, it is to\nempty history, which is the record of society, of its main interest\nand significance, and in particular to eliminate the idea of progress;\nfor progress, of course, implies a common Good towards which progress\nis directed. In brief, it is to strip a man of his whole social self,\nand reveal him a poor, naked, shivering Ego, implicated in relations\nfrom which he may derive what advantage he can for himself, but which,\napart from that advantage, have no point or purport or aim; it is to\nmake him an Egoist even against his will; leaving him for his solitary\nideal a cult of self-development, deprived of its main attraction\nby its dissociation from the development of others. Now, if any man,\nhaving a full sense of what is implied in his words (a sense, not\nmerely conceived by the intellect, but felt, as it were, in every\nnerve and tissue) will seriously and deliberately deny that he\nbelieves in a common Good; if he will not merely make the denial with\nhis lips, but actually carry it out in his daily life, adjusting to\nhis verbal proposition his habitual actions, feelings, and thoughts;\nif he will and can really and genuinely do this, then I, for my part,\nam willing to admit that I cannot prove him to be wrong. All I can do\nis to set my experience against his, and to appeal to the experience\nof others; and we must wait till further experience on either side\nleads (if it ever is to lead) to an agreement. But, on the other hand,\nif a man merely makes the denial with his lips, because, perhaps, he\nconceives it impossible to prove the opposite, or because he sees\nthat what is good cannot be defined beyond dispute, or whatever other\nplausible reason he may have; and if, while he persists in his denial,\nhe continues to act as if the contrary were true, taking part with\nzest and enthusiasm in the common business of life, pushing causes,\nsupporting institutions, subscribing to societies, and the like, and\nthat without any pretence that in so doing he is seeking merely his\nown Good--in that case I shall take leave to think that he does not\nreally believe what he says (though no doubt he may genuinely think he\ndoes), and I shall take his life and his habits, the whole tissue of\nhis instincts and desires, as a truer index to his real opinion than\nthe propositions he enunciates with his lips.\"\n\n\"But,\" cried Leslie, \"that is a mere appeal to prejudice! Of course\nwe all want to believe that there is a common Good; the question is,\nwhether we have a right to.\"\n\n\"Perhaps,\" I replied, \"but the question I wished to raise was the more\nmodest one, whether we can help it? Whether we have a right or no\nis another matter, more difficult and more profound than I care to\napproach at present. If, indeed, it could be proved beyond dispute to\nthe reason, either that certain things are good or that they are not,\nthere would be no place for such discussions as this. But, it appears,\nsuch proof has not yet been given,--or do you think it has?\"\n\n\"No!\" he said, \"but I think it might be and must be!\"\n\n\"Possibly,\" I said, \"but meantime, perhaps, it is wiser to fall back\non this kind of reasoning which you call an appeal to prejudice,--and\nso no doubt in a sense it is; for it is an appeal to the passion men\nhave to find worth in their lives, and their refusal to accept any\nview by which such worth is denied. To anyone who refuses to accept\nany judgment about what is good, I prove, or endeavour to prove, that\nsuch refusal cuts away the whole basis of his life; and I ask him if\nhe is prepared to accept that consequence. If he affirms that he is,\nand affirms it not only with his lips but in his action, then I have\nno more to say; but if he cannot accept the consequences, then, I\nsuppose, he will reconsider the premisses, and admit that he does\nreally believe that judgments about what is good may be true, and,\nprovisionally, that his own are true, or at least as true as he can\nmake them, and that he does in fact accept and act upon them as true,\nand intends to do so until he is convinced that they are false. And\nthis attitude of his feelings, you may call, if you like, an attitude\nof faith; it is, I think, the attitude most men would adopt if they\nwere pressed home upon the subject; and to my mind it is reasonable\nenough, and rather to be praised than to be condemned.\"\n\n\"I don't think so at all,\" cried Leslie, \"I consider it very\nunsatisfactory.\"\n\n\"So do I,\" said Parry, \"and for my part, I can't see what you're all\ndriving at. You seem to be making a great fuss about nothing.\"\n\n\"Oh no!\" retorted Ellis, \"not about nothing! about a really delightful\nparadox! We have arrived at the conclusion that we are bound to\nbelieve in Good, but that we haven't the least notion what it is!\"\n\n\"Exactly!\" said Parry, \"and that is just what I dispute!\"\n\n\"What? That we are bound to believe in Good?\"\n\n\"No! But that we don't know what Good is, or rather, what things are\ngood.\"\n\n\"Oh!\" I cried, \"do you really think we do know? I wish I could think\nthat! The trouble with me is, that while I seem to see that we are\nbound to trust our judgments about what is good, yet I cannot see\nthat we know that they are true. Indeed, from their very diversity, it\nseems as if they could not all be true. My only hope is, that perhaps\nthey do all contain some truth, although they may contain falsehood as\nwell.\"\n\n\"But surely,\" said Parry, \"you exaggerate the difficulty. All the\nconfusion seems to me to arise from the assumption that we can't see\nwhat lies under our noses. I don't believe, myself, that there is all\nthis difficulty in discovering Good. Philosophers always assume,\nas you seem to be doing, that it is all a matter of opinion and\nreasoning, and that opinions and reasons really determine conduct.\nWhereas in fact, I believe, conduct is determined, at least in\nessentials, by something very much more like instinct. And it is\nto this instinct which, by the nature of the case, is simple and\ninfallible, that we ought to look to tell us what is good, and not\nto our reason, which, as you admit yourself, can only land us in\ncontradictory judgments. I know, of course, that you have a prejudice\nagainst any such view.\"\n\n\"Not at all!\" I said, \"if only I could understand it. I should be glad\nof any simple and infallible criterion; only I have never yet been\nable to find one.\"\n\n\"That, I believe, is because you look for it in the wrong place; or,\nperhaps, because you look for it instead of simply seeing it. You will\nnever discover what is good by any process of rational inquiry. It's a\nmatter of direct perception, above and beyond all argument.\"\n\n\"Perhaps it is,\" I said, \"but surely not of perception, as you said,\nsimple and infallible?\"\n\n\"If not that, at least sufficiently clear and distinct for all\npractical purposes. And to my mind, all discussion about Good is for\nthis reason rather factitious and unreal. I don't mean to say, of\ncourse, that it isn't amusing, among ourselves, to pass an hour or two\nin this kind of talk; but I should think it very unfortunate if the\nhabit of it were to spread among the mass of men. For inquiry does\ntend in the long run to influence opinion, and generally to influence\nit in the wrong way; whereas, if people simply go on following their\ninstinct, they are much more likely to do what is right, than if they\ntry to act on so-called rational grounds.\"\n\n\"But,\" cried Leslie, who during this speech had found obvious\ndifficulty in containing himself, \"what is this instinct which you bid\nus follow? What authority has it? What validity? What is its content?\nWhat _is_ it, anyhow, that it should be set up in this way above\nreason?\"\n\n\"As to authority,\" replied Parry, \"the point about an instinct is,\nthat its authority is unimpeachable. It commands and we obey; there's\nno question about it.\"\n\n\"But there _is_ question about the content of Good.\"\n\n\"I should rather say that we make question. But, after all, how small\na part of our life is affected by our theories! As a rule, we act\nsimply and without reflection; and such action is the safest and most\nprosperous.\"\n\n\"The safest and most prosperous! But how do you know that? What\nstandard are you applying? Where do you get it from?\"\n\n\"From common sense.\"\n\n\"And what is common sense?\"\n\n\"Oh, a kind of instinct too!\"\n\n\"A kind of instinct? How many are there then? And does every instinct\nrequire another to justify it, and so _ad infinitum_?\"\n\n\"Logomachy, my dear Leslie!\" cried Parry, with imperturbable\ngood-humour. He had a habit of treating Leslie as if he were a clever\nchild.\n\n\"But really, Parry,\" I interposed, \"this is the critical point. Is\nit your view that an instinct is its own sufficient justification, or\ndoes it require justification by something else?\"\n\n\"No,\" he said, \"it justifies itself. Take, for example, a strong\ninstinct, like that of self-preservation. How completely it stands\nabove all criticism! Not that it cannot be criticised in a kind of\ndilettante, abstract way; but in the moment of action the criticism\nsimply disappears in face of the overwhelming fact it challenges.\"\n\n\"Do you mean to say, then,\" said Leslie, \"that because this instinct\nis so strong therefore it is always good to follow it?\"\n\n\"I should say so, generally speaking.\"\n\n\"How is it, then, that you consider it disgraceful that a man should\nrun away in battle?\"\n\n\"Ah!\" replied Parry, \"that is a very interesting point! There you get\na superposition of the social upon the merely individual instinct.\"\n\n\"And how does that come about?\"\n\n\"That may be a matter of some dispute; but it has been ingeniously\nexplained as follows. We start with the primary instinct of\nself-preservation. This means, at first, that each individual strives\nto preserve himself. But as time goes on individuals discover that\nthey can only preserve themselves by associating with others, and that\nthey must defend society if they want to defend themselves. They thus\nform a habit of defending society; and this habit becomes in time a\nsecond instinct, and an instinct so strong that it even overrides\nthe primary one from which it was derived; till at last you get\nindividuals sacrificing in defence of the community those very lives\nwhich they originally entered the community to preserve.\"\n\n\"What a charming paradox!\" cried Ellis. \"And so it is really true that\nevery soldier who dies on the field of battle does so only by virtue\nof a miscalculation? And if he could but pull himself up and remember\nthat, after all, the preservation of his life was the only motive that\ninduced him to endanger it, he would run away like a sensible man, and\ntry some other device to achieve his end, the device of society having\nevidently broken down, so far as he is concerned.\"\n\n\"There you are again,\" said Parry, \"with your crude rationalism! The\npoint is that the social habit has now become an instinct, and has\ntherefore, as I say, imperative authority! No operations of the reason\ntouch it in the least\"\n\n\"Well,\" rejoined Ellis, \"I must say that it seems to me very hard that\na man can't rectify such an important error. The imposition is simply\nmonstrous! Here are a number of fellows shut up in society on the\ndistinct understanding, to begin with, that society was to help them\nto preserve their lives; instead of which, it starves them and hangs\nthem and sends them to be shot in battle, and they aren't allowed\nto raise a word of protest or even to perceive what a fraud is being\nperpetrated upon them!\"\n\n\"I don't see that it's hard at all,\" replied Parry; \"it seems to me\na beautiful device of nature to ensure the predominance of the better\ninstincts.\"\n\n\"The better instincts!\" I cried, \"but there is the point! These\ninstincts of yours, it seems, conflict; in battle, for example, the\ninstinct to run away conflicts with the instinct to stay and fight?\"\n\n\"No doubt,\" he admitted.\n\n\"And sometimes one prevails and sometimes the other?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"And in the one case we say that the man does right, when he stays and\nfights; and in the other that he does wrong, when he runs away?\"\n\n\"I suppose so.\"\n\n\"Well, then, how does your theory of instincts help us to know what is\nGood? For it seems that after all we have to choose between instincts,\nto approve one and condemn another. And our problem still remains, how\ncan we do this? how can we get any certainty of standard?\"\n\n\"Perhaps the faculty that judges is itself an instinct?\"\n\n\"Perhaps it is,\" I replied, \"I don't really know what an instinct is.\nMy quarrel is not with the word instinct, but with what seemed to\nbe your assumption that whatever it is in us that judges about Good\njudges in a single, uniform, infallible way. Whereas, in fact, as you\nhad to admit, sometimes at the same moment it pronounces judgments not\nonly diverse but contradictory.\"\n\n\"But,\" he replied, \"those seem to me to be exceptional cases. As\na rule the difficulty doesn't occur. When it does, I admit that we\nrequire a criterion. But I should expect to find it in science rather\nthan in philosophy.\"\n\n\"In science!\" exclaimed Leslie. \"What has science to do with it?\"\n\n\"What has _not_ science to do with?\" said a new voice from behind. It\nwas Wilson who, in his turn, had joined us from the breakfast room (he\nalways breakfasted late), and had overheard the last remark. He was a\nlecturer in Biology at Cambridge, rather distinguished in that field,\nand an enthusiastic believer in the capacity of the scientific method\nto solve all problems.\n\n\"I was saying,\" Leslie repeated in answer to his question, \"that\nscience has nothing to do with the Good.\"\n\n\"So much the worse for the Good,\" rejoined Wilson, \"if indeed that be\ntrue.\"\n\n\"But you, I suppose, would never admit that it is,\" I interposed. I\nwas anxious to hear what he had to say, though at the same time I was\ndesirous to avoid a discussion between him and Leslie, for their types\nof mind and habits of thought were so radically opposed that it was\nas idle for them to engage in debate as for two bishops of opposite\ncolour to attempt to capture one another upon a chessboard. He\nanswered readily enough to my challenge.\n\n\"I think,\" he said, \"that there is only one method of knowledge, and\nthat is the method we call scientific.\"\n\n\"But do you think there is any knowledge of Good at all, even by that\nmethod? or that there is nothing but erroneous opinions?\"\n\n\"I think,\" he replied, \"that there is a possibility of knowledge, but\nonly if we abjure dialectics. Here, as everywhere, the only safe guide\nis the actual concrete operation of Nature.\"\n\n\"How do you mean?\" asked Leslie, his voice vibrating with latent\nhostility.\n\n\"I mean that the real significance of what we call Good is only to\nbe ascertained by observing the course of Nature; Good being in fact\nidentical with the condition towards which she tends, and morality the\nmeans to attaining it.\"\n\n\"But----\" Leslie was beginning, when Parry cut him short.\n\n\"Wait a moment!\" he said. \"Let Wilson have a fair hearing!\"\n\n\"This end and this means,\" continued Wilson, \"we can only ascertain\nby a study of the facts of animal and human evolution. Biology and\nSociology, throwing light back and forward upon one another, are\nrapidly superseding the pseudo-science of Ethics.\"\n\n\"Oh dear!\" cried Ellis, _sotto-voce_, \"here comes the social organism!\nI knew it would be upon us sooner or later.\"\n\n\"And though at present, I admit,\" proceeded Wilson, not hearing, or\nignoring, this interruption, \"we are hardly in a position to draw any\ncertain conclusions, yet to me, at least, it seems pretty clear what\nkind of results we shall arrive at.\"\n\n\"Yes!\" cried Parry, eagerly, \"and what are they?\"\n\n\"Well,\" replied Wilson, \"I will indicate, if you like, the position\nI am inclined to take up, though of course it must be regarded as\nprovisional.\"\n\n\"Of course! Pray go on!\"\n\n\"Well,\" he proceeded, \"biology, as you know, starts with the single\ncell----\"\n\n\"How do you spell it?\" said Ellis, with shameless frivolity, \"with a C\nor with an S?\"\n\n\"Of these cells,\" continued Wilson, imperturbably, \"every animal body\nis a compound or aggregation; the aggregation involving a progressive\nmodification in the structure of each cell, the differentiation of\ngroups of cells to perform special functions,--digestive, respiratory,\nand the rest,--and the subordination of each cell or group of cells to\nthe whole. Similarly, in sociology----\"\n\n\"Dear Wilson,\" cried Ellis, unable any longer to contain himself,\n\"mightn't we take all this for granted?\"\n\n\"Wait a minute,\" I said, \"let him finish his analogy.\"\n\n\"That's just it!\" cried Leslie, \"it's nothing but an analogy. And I\ndon't see how----\"\n\n\"Hush, hush!\" said Parry. \"Do let him speak!\"\n\n\"I was about to say,\" continued Wilson, \"when I was interrupted, that\nin the social organism----\"\n\n\"Ah!\" interjected Ellis, \"here it is!\"\n\n\"In the social organism, the individual corresponds to the cell, the\nvarious trades and professions to the organs. Society has thus its\nalimentary system, in the apparatus of production and exchange; its\ncirculatory system, in the network of communications; its nervous\nsystem, in the government machinery; its----\"\n\n\"By the bye,\" interrupted Ellis, \"could you tell me, for I never could\nfind it in Herbert Spencer, what exactly in society corresponds to the\nspleen?\"\n\n\"Or the liver?\" added Leslie.\n\n\"Or the vermiform appendix?\" Ellis pursued.\n\n\"Oh, well,\" said Wilson, a little huffed at last, \"if you are tired of\nbeing serious it's no use for me to continue.\"\n\n\"I'm sorry, Wilson!\" said Ellis. \"I won't do it again; but one does\nget a little tired of the social organism.\"\n\n\"More people talk about it,\" answered Wilson, \"than really understand\nit.\"\n\n\"Very true,\" retorted Ellis, \"especially among biologists.\"\n\nAt this point I began to fear we should lose our subject in polemics;\nso I ventured to recall Wilson to the real issue.\n\n\"Supposing,\" I said, \"that we grant the whole of your position, how\ndoes it help us to judge what is good?\"\n\n\"Why,\" he said, \"in this way. What we learn from biology is, that it\nis the constant effort of nature to combine cells into individuals\nand individuals into societies--the protozoon, in other words,\nevolves into the animal, the animal into what some have called the\n'hyper-zoon,' or super-organism. Well, now, to this physical evolution\ncorresponds a psychical one. What kind of consciousness an animal may\nhave, we can indeed only conjecture; and we cannot even go so far as\nconjecture in the case of the cell; but we may reasonably assume\nthat important psychical changes of the original elements are\naccompaniments and conditions of their aggregation into larger\nentities; and the morality (if you will permit the word) of the cell\nthat is incorporated in an animal body will consist in adapting itself\nas perfectly as may be to the new conditions, in subordinating its\nconsciousness to that of the Whole--briefly, in acquiring a social\ninstead of an individual self. And now, to follow the clue thus\nobtained into the higher manifestations of life. As the cell is to the\nanimal, so is the individual to society, and that on the psychical as\nwell as on the physical side. Nature has perfected the animal; she\nis perfecting society; that is the end and goal of all her striving.\nWhen, therefore, you raise the question, what is Good, biology has\nthis simple answer to give you: Good is the perfect social soul in the\nperfect social body.\"\n\nAs he concluded, Ellis exclaimed softly,\"'_Parturiunt montes_,'\" and\nLeslie took it up with: \"And not even a mouse!\"\n\n\"Whether it is a mouse or no,\" I said, \"it would be hard to say, until\nwe had examined it more closely. At present it seems to me more like\na cloud, which may or may not conceal the goddess Truth. But the\nquestion I really want to ask is, What particular advantage Wilson\ngets from the biological method? For the conclusion itself, I suppose,\nmight have been reached, and commonly is, without any recourse to the\naid of natural science.\"\n\n\"No doubt,\" he said, \"but my contention is, that it is only by the\nscientific method that you get proof. You, for example, may assert\nthat you believe the social virtues ought to prevail over individual\npassions; but if your position were challenged, I don't see how you\nwould defend it. Whereas I can simply point to the whole evolution of\nNature as tending towards the Good I advocate; and can say:--if you\nresist that tendency you are resisting Nature herself!\"\n\n\"But isn't it rather odd,\" said Ellis, \"that we should be able to\nresist Nature?\"\n\n\"Not at all,\" he replied, \"for our very resistance is part of the\nplan; it's the lower stage persisting into the higher, but destined\nsooner or later to be absorbed.\"\n\n\"I see,\" I said, \"and the keynote of your position is, as you said at\nthe beginning, that Good is simply what Nature wants. So that, instead\nof looking within to find our criterion, we ought really to look\nwithout, to discover, if we can, the tendency of Nature and to\nacquiesce in that as the goal of our aspiration.\"\n\n\"Precisely,\" he replied, \"that is the position.\"\n\n\"Well,\" I said, \"it is plausible enough; but the plausibility, I am\ninclined to think, comes from the fact that you have been able to make\nout, more or less, that the tendency of Nature is in the direction\nwhich, on the whole, we prefer.\"\n\n\"How do you mean?\"\n\n\"Well,\" I said, \"supposing your biological researches had led you to\njust the opposite conclusion, that the tendency of Nature was not from\nthe cell to the animal, and from the individual to society, but in\nprecisely the reverse direction, so that the end of all things was a\nresolution into the primitive elements--do you think you would have\nbeen as ready to assert that it is the goal of Nature that must\ndetermine our ideal of Good?\"\n\n\"But why consider such a hypothetical case?\"\n\n\"I am not so sure,\" I replied, \"that it is more hypothetical than\nthe other. At any rate it is a hypothesis adopted by one of your\nauthorities. Mr. Herbert Spencer, you will remember, conceives\nthe process of Nature to be one, not, as you appear to think, of\ncontinuous progress, but rather of a circular movement, from the\nutmost simplicity to the utmost complexity of Being, and back again to\nthe original condition. What you were describing is the movement which\nwe call upward, and which we can readily enough believe to be good,\nat any rate upon a superficial view of it. But now, suppose us to have\nreached the point at which the opposite movement begins; suppose what\nwe had to look forward to and to describe as the course of Nature\nwere a process, not from simple to complex, from homogeneous to\nheterogeneous, or whatever the formula may be, but one in exactly the\ncontrary direction, a dissolution of society into its individuals,\nof animals into the cells of which they are composed, of life into\nchemistry, of chemistry into mechanism, and so on through the scale of\nBeing, reversing the whole course of evolution--should we, in such a\ncase, still have to say that the process of Nature was right, and that\nshe is to give the law to our judgment about Good?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" he replied, \"I think we should; and for this reason. Only those\nwho do on the whole approve the course of Nature have the qualities\nenabling them to survive; the others will, in the long run, be\neliminated. There is thus a constant tendency to harmonize opinions\nwith the actual process of the world; and that, no doubt, is why we\napprove what you call the upward movement, which is the one in which\nNature is at present engaged. But, for the same reason, if, or when,\na movement in the opposite direction should set in, people holding\nopinions like ours will tend to be eliminated, while those will tend\nto survive more and more who approve the current of evolution then\nprevailing.\"\n\n\"And in this way,\" said Ellis, \"an exquisite unanimity will be at last\nattained, by the simple process of eliminating the dissentients!\"\n\n\"Precisely!\"\n\n\"Well,\" cried Leslie, \"no doubt that will be very satisfactory for the\npeople who survive; but it does not help us much. What we want to know\nis, what _we_ are to judge to be Good, not what somebody else will be\nmade to judge, centuries hence.\"\n\n\"And for my part,\" said Ellis, \"I'm not much impressed by the argument\nyou attribute to Nature, that if we don't agree with her we shall be\nknocked on the head. I, for instance, happen to object strongly to\nher whole procedure: I don't much believe in the harmony of the final\nconsummation--even if it were to be final, and not merely the turn of\nthe tide; and I am sensibly aware of the horrible discomfort of the\nintermediate stages, the pushing, kicking, trampling of the host, and\nthe wounded and dead left behind on the march. Of all this I venture\nto disapprove; then comes Nature and says, 'but you ought to approve!'\nI ask why, and she says, 'Because the procedure is mine.' I still\ndemur, and she comes down on me with a threat--'Very good, approve or\nno, as you like; but if you don't approve you will be eliminated!' 'By\nall means,' I say, and cling to my old opinion with the more affection\nthat I feel myself invested with something of the glory of a martyr.\nNature, it seems, is waiting for me round the corner because I venture\nto stick to my principles. 'Ruat caelum!' I cry; and in my humble\nopinion it's Nature, not _I_, that cuts a poor figure!\"\n\n\"My dear Ellis,\" protested Wilson, \"what's the use of talking like\nthat? It's not really sublime, it's only ridiculous!\"\n\n\"Certainly!\" retorted Ellis; \"it's you who are sublime. I prefer the\nridiculous.\"\n\n\"So,\" I said, \"does Wilson, if one may judge by appearances. For I\ncannot help thinking he is really laughing at us.\"\n\n\"Not at all,\" he replied, \"I am perfectly serious.\"\n\n\"But surely,\" I said, \"you must see that any discussion about Good\nmust turn somehow upon our perception of it? The course of Nature may,\nas you say, be good; but Nature cannot be the measure of Good; the\nmeasure can only be Good itself; and the most that the study of\nNature could do would be to illuminate our perception by giving it\nnew material for judgment. Judge we must, in the last resort; and the\njudgment can never be a mere statement as to the course which Nature\nis pursuing.\"\n\n\"Well,\" said Wilson, \"but you will admit at least the paramount\nimportance of the study of Nature, if we are ever to form a right\njudgment?\"\n\n\"I feel much more strongly,\" I replied, \"the importance of the study\nof Man; however, we need not at present discuss that. All that I\nwanted to insist upon was, that the contention which you have been\ntrying to sustain, that it is possible, somehow or other, to get rid\nof the subjectivity of our judgments about Good by substituting for\nthem a statement about the tendencies of Nature--that this contention\ncannot be upheld.\"\n\n\"If that be so,\" he said, \"I don't see how you are ever to get a\nscientific basis for your judgment.\"\n\n\"I don't know,\" I replied, \"that we can. It depends upon what you\ninclude under science.\"\n\n\"Oh,\" he said, \"by science I mean the resumption in brief formul\u00e6 of\nthe sequence of phenomena; or, more briefly, a description of what\nhappens.\"\n\n\"If that be so,\" I replied, \"the method of judging about Good can\ncertainly not be scientific; for judgments about Good are judgments of\nwhat ought to be, not of what is.\"\n\n\"But then,\" objected Wilson, \"what method is left you? You have\nnothing to fall back upon but a chaos of opinions.\"\n\n\"But might there not be some way of judging between opinions?\"\n\n\"How should there be, in the absence of any external objective test?\"\n\n\"What do you mean by that?\"\n\n\"Why,\" he replied, \"the kind of test which you have in the case of the\nsciences. They depend, in the last resort, not on ideas of ours,\nbut on the routine of common sense-perception; a routine which is\nindependent of our choice or will, but is forced upon us from without\nwith an absolute authority such as no imaginings of our own can\nimpugn. Thus we get a certainty upon which, by the power of inference,\nwhose mechanism we need not now discuss, we are able to build up a\nknowledge of what is. But when, on the other hand, we turn to such of\nour ideas as deal with the Good, the Beautiful, and the like--here\nwe have no test external to ourselves, no authority superior and\nindependent. Invite a group of men to witness a scientific experiment,\nand none of them will be able to deny either the sequence of the\nphenomena produced, or the chain of reasoning (supposing it to be\nsound) which leads to the conclusion based upon them. Invite the same\nmen to judge of a picture, or consult them on a question of moral\ncasuistry, and they will propound the most opposite opinions; nor will\nthere be any objective test by which you can affirm that one opinion\nis more correct than another. The deliverances of the external sense\nare, or at least can be made, by correction of the personal equation,\ninfallible and the same for all; those of the internal sense are\ndifferent not only in different persons, but in the same person at\ndifferent times.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" said Leslie, impatiently, \"we have all admitted that! The\nquestion is whether--\"\n\n\"Excuse me,\" Wilson interposed, \"I haven't yet come to my main point.\nI was going to say that not merely are there these differences\nof opinion, but even if there were not, even if the opinions were\nuniform, they would still, as opinions, be subjective and devoid\nof scientific validity. It is the external reference that gives its\ncertainty to science; and such a reference is impossible in the case\nof judgments about the Beautiful and the Good. Such judgments are\nmerely records of what we think or feel. These ideas of ours may or\nmay not happen to be consistent one with another; but whether they are\nso or not, they are merely our ideas, and have nothing to do with the\nessential nature of reality.\"\n\n\"I am not sure,\" I replied, \"that the distinction really holds in the\nway in which you put it. Let us take for a moment the point of view\nof God--only for the sake of argument,\" I added, seeing him about to\nprotest. \"God, we will suppose, knows all Being through and through\nas it really is; and along with this knowledge of reality he has a\nconviction that reality is good. Now, with this conviction of his none\nother, _ex hypothesi_, can compete; for he being God, we must at any\nrate admit that if anybody can be right, it must be he. No one then\ncan dispute or shake his opinion; and since he is eternal he will\nnot change it of himself. Is there then, under the circumstances, any\ndistinction of validity between his judgment that what is, is, and his\njudgment that what is, is good?\"\n\n\"I don't see the use,\" he replied, \"of considering such an imaginary\ncase. But if you press me I can only say that I still adhere to my\nview that any judgment about Good, whether made by God or anybody\nelse, can be no more than a subjective expression of opinion.\"\n\n\"But,\" I rejoined, \"in a sense, all certainty is subjective, in so far\nas the certainty has to be perceived. It is impossible to eliminate\nthe Subject. In the case, for example, upon which you dwelt, of the\nimpressions of external sense, the certainty of the impressions is\nyour and my certainty that we have them; and so in the case of a\ncogent argument; for any given person the test of the cogency is his\nperception that the cogency is there. And it is the same with\nthe Beautiful and the Good; there is no conceivable test except\nperception. Our difficulty here is simply that perceptions conflict;\nnot that we have no independent test. But if, as in the case I\nimagined, the perception of Good was harmonious with itself, then\nthe certainty on that point would be as final and complete as the\ncertainty in the proof of a proposition of Euclid.\"\n\n\"I am afraid,\" said Wilson, \"I don't follow you. You're beginning to\ntalk metaphysics.\"\n\n\"Call it what you will,\" I replied, \"so long only as it is sense.\"\n\n\"No doubt,\" he said, \"but I don't feel sure that it is.\"\n\n\"In that case you can show me where I am wrong.\"\n\n\"No,\" he replied, \"for, as I said, I can't follow you.\"\n\n\"He means he won't,\" said Ellis, breaking in with his usual air of\nan unprejudiced outsider, \"But after all, what does it really matter?\nWhatever the reason may be for our uncertainty as to Good, the fact\nremains that we are uncertain. There's my Good, thy Good, his Good,\nour Good, your Good, their Good; and all these Goods in process of\nflux, according to the time of day, the time of life, and the state\nof the liver. That being so, what is the use of discussing Good\nin itself? And why be so disturbed about it? There's Leslie, for\ninstance, looking as if the bottom were knocked out of the universe\nbecause he can't discover his objective standard! My dear boy, life\ngoes on just the same, my life, his life, your life, all the lives.\nWhy not make an end of the worry at once by admitting frankly that\nGood is a chim\u00e6ra, and that we get on very well without it?\"\n\n\"But I don't get on well without it!\" Leslie protested.\n\n\"No,\" I said, \"and I hoped that by this time we were agreed that none\nof us could. But Ellis is incorrigible.\"\n\n\"You don't suppose,\" he replied, \"that I am going to agree with you\nmerely because you override me in argument--even if you did, which you\ndon't.\"\n\n\"But at least,\" cried Leslie, \"you needn't tell us so often that you\ndisagree.\"\n\n\"Very well,\" he said, \"I am dumb.\" And for a moment there was silence,\ntill I began to fear that our argument would collapse; when, to my\nrelief, Parry returned to the charge.\n\n\"You will think me,\" he began, \"as obstinate as Ellis; but I can't\nhelp coming back to my old point of view. Somehow or other, I feel\nsure you are making a difficulty which the practical man does not\nreally feel. You object to my saying that he knows what is good by\ninstinct; but somehow or other I am sure that he does know it. And\nwhat I suggest now is, that he finds it written in experience.\"\n\n\"In whose experience?\" Leslie asked defiantly.\n\n\"In that of the race, or, at least, in that of his own age and\ncountry. Now, do be patient a moment, and let me explain! What I want\nto suggest is, that every civilization worth the name possesses, in\nits laws and institutions, in the customs it blindly follows, the\nmoral code it instinctively obeys, an actual objective standard,\nworked out in minute detail, of what, in every department of life,\nreally is good. To this standard every plain man, without reasoning,\nand even without reflexion, does in fact simply and naturally conform;\nso do all of us who are discussing here, in all the common affairs of\nour daily life. We know, if I may say so, better than we know; and the\ndifficulties into which we are driven, in speculations such as\nthat upon which we are engaged, arise, to my mind, from a false and\nunnecessary abstraction--from putting aside all the rich content\nof actual life, and calling into the wilderness for the answer to a\nquestion which solves itself in the street and the market-place.\"\n\n\"Well,\" I said, \"for my own part, I am a good deal in sympathy with\nwhat you say. At the same time there is a difficulty.\"\n\n\"A difficulty!\" cried Leslie, \"there are hundreds and thousands!\"\n\n\"Perhaps,\" I replied, \"but the particular one to which I was referring\nis this. Every civilization, no doubt, has its own standard of Good;\nbut these standards are different and even opposite; so that it would\nseem we require some criterion by which to compare and judge them.\"\n\n\"No,\" cried Parry, \"that is just what I protest against. We are not\nconcerned with other ideals than our own. Every great civilization\nbelieves in itself. Take, for instance, the ancient Greeks, of\nwhom you are so fond of talking. In my opinion they are absurdly\nover-estimated; but they had at least that good quality--they believed\nin themselves. To them the whole non-Greek world was barbarian; the\nstandard of Good was frankly their own standard; and it was a standard\nknowable and known, however wide might be the deviations from it in\npractice. We find accordingly that for them the ideal was rooted in\nthe real. Plato, even, in constructing his imaginary republic,\ndoes not build in the void, evoking from his own consciousness\na Cloud-Cuckoo-city for the Birds; on the contrary, he bases\nhis structure upon the actual, following the general plan of the\ninstitutions of Sparta and Crete; and neither to him nor to Aristotle\ndoes it ever occur that there is, or could be, any form of state worth\nconsidering, except the city-state with which they were familiar. It\nis the same with their treatment of ethics; their ideal is that of\nthe Greeks, not of Man in general, and stands in close relation to the\nfacts of contemporary life. So, too, with their art; it is not,\nlike that of our modern romanticists, an impotent yearning for\nvaguely-imagined millenniums. On the contrary, it is an ideal\ninterpretation of their own activity, a mirror focussing into feature\nand form the very same fact which they saw distorted and blurred in\nthe troubled stream of time. The Good, in the Greek world, was simply\nthe essence and soul of the Real; and the Socrates of Xenophon who\nfrankly identified justice with the laws, was only expressing, and\nhardly with exaggeration, the current convictions of his countrymen.\nThat, to my mind, is the attitude of health; and it is the one natural\nto the plain man in every well-organized society. Good is best known\nwhen it is not investigated; and people like ourselves would do no\nuseful service if we were to induce in others the habit of discussion\nwhich education has made a second nature to ourselves.\"\n\n\"My dear Parry!\" cried Ellis, \"you alarm me! Is it possible that we\nare all anarchists in disguise?\"\n\n\"Parry,\" I observed, \"seems to agree with the view attributed by\nBrowning to Paracelsus, that thought is disease, and natural health is\nignorance.\"\n\n\"Well,\" rejoined Ellis, \"there is a good deal to be said for that.\"\n\n\"There's a good deal to be said for everything,\" I rejoined. \"But\nif thought indeed be disease, we must recognise the fact that we are\nsuffering from it; and so, I fear, is the whole modern world. It was\neasy for the Greeks to be 'healthy'; practically they had no past. But\nfor us the past overweights the present; we cannot, if we would,\nget rid of the burden of it. All that was once absolute has become\nrelative, including our own conceptions and ideals; and as we look\nback down the ages and see civilization after civilization come into\nbeing, flourish and decay, it is impossible for us to believe that\nthe society in which we happen to be born is more ultimate than any\nof these, or that its ideal, as reflected in its institutions, has\nany more claim than theirs to be regarded as a final and absolute\nexpression of Good.\"\n\n\"Well,\" said Parry, \"let us admit, if you like, that ideals evolve,\nbut, in any case, the ideal of our own time has more validity for\nus than any other. As to those of the past, they were, no doubt,\nimportant in their day, but they have no importance for the modern\nworld. The very fact that they are past is proof that they are also\nsuperseded.\"\n\n\"What!\" cried Leslie, indignantly, \"do you mean to say that everything\nthat is later in time is also better? That we are better artists than\nthe Greeks? better citizens than the Romans? more spiritual than the\nmen of the Middle Ages? more vigorous than those of the Renaissance?\"\n\n\"I don't know,\" replied Parry, \"that I am bound to maintain all that.\nI only say that on the whole I believe that ideals progress; and that\ntherefore it is the ideals of our own time, and that alone, which we\nought practically to consider.\"\n\n\"The ideal of our own time?\" I said, \"but which of them? there are so\nmany.\"\n\n\"No, there is really only one, as I said before; the one that is\nembodied in current laws and customs.\"\n\n\"But these are always themselves in process of change.\"\n\n\"Yes, gradual change.\"\n\n\"Not necessarily gradual; and even if it were, still change. And to\nsanction a change, however slight, may always mean, in the end, the\nsanctioning of a whole revolution.\"\n\n\"Besides,\" cried Leslie, \"even if there were anything finally\nestablished, what right have we to judge that the established is the\nGood?\"\n\n\"I don't know that we have any right; but I am sure it is what we do.\"\n\n\"Perhaps we do, many of us,\" I said, \"but always, so far as we\nreflect, with a lurking sense that we may be all wrong. Or how else do\nyou account for the curious, almost physical, sinking and disquiet we\nare apt to experience in the presence of a bold denier?\"\n\n\"I don't know that I do experience it.\"\n\n\"Do you not? I do so often; and only yesterday I had a specially vivid\nexperience of the kind.\"\n\n\"What was that?\"\n\n\"Well, I was reading Nietzsche.\"\n\n\"Who is he?\"\n\n\"A German writer. It does not much matter, but I had him in my mind\nwhen I was speaking.\"\n\n\"Well, but what does he say?\"\n\n\"It's not so much what he says, as what he denies.\"\n\n\"What does he deny, then?\"\n\n\"Everything that you, I suppose, would assert. I should conjecture,\nat least, that you believe in progress, democracy, and all the rest of\nit.\"\n\n\"Well?\"\n\n\"Well, he repudiates all that. Everything that you would reckon as\nprogress, he reckons as decadence. Democracy he regards, with all that\nit involves, as a revolt of the weak against the strong, of the bad\nagainst the good, of the herd against the master. Every great society,\nin his view, is aristocratic, and aristocratic in the sense that the\nmany are deliberately and consciously sacrificed to the few; and\nthat, not as a painful necessity, but with a good conscience, in free\nobedience to the universal law of the world. 'Be strong, be hard' are\nhis ultimate ethical principles. The modern virtues, or what we affect\nto consider such, sympathy, pity, justice, thrift, unselfishness and\nthe like, are merely symptoms of moral degeneration. The true and\ngreat and noble man is above all things selfish; and the highest type\nof humanity is to be sought in Napoleon or C\u00e6sar Borgia.\"\n\n\"But that's mere raving!\"\n\n\"So you are pleased to say; and so, indeed, it really may be. But\nnot simply because it contradicts those current notions which we are\nembodying, as fast as we can, in our institutions. It is precisely\nthose notions that it challenges; and it is idle to meet it with a\nbare denial.\"\n\n\"I can conceive no better way of meeting it!\"\n\n\"Perhaps, for purposes of battle. Yet, even so, you would surely be\nstronger if you had reason for your faith.\"\n\n\"But I think my reason sufficient--those are not the ideas of the\nage.\"\n\n\"But for all you know they may be those of the next.\"\n\n\"Well, that will be its concern.\"\n\n\"But surely, on your own theory, it must also be yours; for you said\nthat the later was also the better. And the better, I suppose, is what\nyou want to attain.\"\n\n\"Well!\"\n\n\"Well then, in supporting the ideas and institutions generally\ncurrent, you may be hindering instead of helping the realization of\nthe Good you want to achieve.\"\n\n\"But I don't believe Nietzsche's ideas ever could represent the Good!\"\n\n\"Why not?\"\n\n\"Because I don't.\"\n\n\"But, at any rate, do you abandon the position that we can take the\nideas of our time as a final criterion?\"\n\n\"I suppose so--I don't know--I'm sure there's something in it! Do you\nbelieve yourself that they have no import for us?\"\n\n\"I didn't say that; but I think we have to find what the import is.\nWe cannot substitute for our own judgment the mere fact of a current\nconvention, any more than we can substitute the mere fact of the\ntendency of Nature. For, after all, it is the part of a moral reformer\nto modify the convention. Or do you not think so?\"\n\n\"Perhaps,\" he admitted, \"it may be!\"\n\n\"Perhaps it may be!\" cried Leslie, \"but palpably it is! Is there any\ninstitution or law or opinion you could name which is not open to\nobvious criticism? Take what you will--parliamentary government, the\nfamily, the law of real property--is there one of them that could be\nadequately and successfully defended?\"\n\n\"Certainly!\" began Parry, with some indignation. \"The family--\"\n\n\"Oh,\" I interrupted, \"we are not yet in a position to discuss that!\nBut upon one thing we seem to be agreed--that whatever may be the\nvalue of current standards of Good in assisting our judgment, we\ncannot permit them simply to supersede it by an act of authority. And\nso once more we are thrown back each upon his own opinions.\"\n\n\"To which, according to you,\" interposed Parry, \"we are bound to\nattach some validity.\"\n\n\"And yet which we are aware,\" added Ellis, \"cannot possibly have any.\"\n\nI was about to protest against this remark when I saw, coming round\nfrom the garden, Bartlett and Dennis, the two remaining members of our\nparty. They had just returned from a mountaineering expedition; and\nnow, having had their bath, had come out to join us in our usual\nplace of assembly. Bartlett had in his hand the _Times_ and the _Daily\nChronicle_. He was a keen business man, and a Radical politician of\nsome note; and though not naturally inclined to speculative thought,\nwould sometimes take part in our discussions if ever they seemed to\ntouch on any practical issue. On these occasions his remarks were\noften very much to the point; but his manner being somewhat aggressive\nand polemic, his interposition did not always tend to make smooth\nthe course of debate. It was therefore with mingled feelings of\nsatisfaction and anxiety that I greeted his return. After some\ntalk about their expedition, he turned to me and said, \"We ought to\napologise, I suppose, for interrupting a discussion?\"\n\n\"Not at all!\" I replied; \"but, as you are here, perhaps you will be\nwilling to help us?\"\n\n\"Oh,\" he said, \"I leave that to Dennis. This kind of thing isn't much\nin my line.\"\n\n\"What kind of thing?\" Leslie interjected. \"I don't believe you even\nknow what we're talking about!\"\n\n\"Talking about. Why, philosophy, of course! What else should it be\nwhen you get together?\"\n\n\"This time,\" I said, \"it's not exactly philosophy, but something more\nlike ethics.\"\n\n\"What is the question?\" asked Dennis.\n\nDennis was always ready for a discussion, and the more abstract\nthe theme, the better he was pleased. He had been trained for the\nprofession of medicine, but coming into possession of a fortune, had\nnot found it necessary to practise, and had been devoting his time for\nsome years past to Art and Metaphysics. I always enjoyed talking to\nhim, though the position he had come to hold was one which I found it\nvery difficult to understand, and I am not sure that I have been able\nto represent it fairly.\n\n\"We have been discussing,\" I said, in answer to his question, \"our\njudgments about what is good, and trying without much success to get\nover the difficulty, that whereas, on the one hand, we seem to be\npractically obliged to trust these judgments, on the other we find it\nhard to say which of them, if any, are true, and how far and in what\nsense.\"\n\n\"Oh,\" he replied, \"then Bartlett ought really to be able to help you.\nAt any rate he's very positive himself about what's good and what's\nbad. Curiously enough, he and I have been touching upon the same\npoint as you, and I find, among other things, that he is a convinced\nUtilitarian.\"\n\n\"I never said so,\" said Bartlett, \"but I have no objection to the\nword. It savours of healthy homes and pure beer!\"\n\n\"And is that your idea of Good?\" asked Leslie, irritated, as I could\nsee, by this obtrusion of the concrete.\n\n\"Yes,\" he replied, \"why not? It's as good an idea as most.\"\n\n\"I suppose,\" I said, \"all of us here should agree that the things you\nspeak of are good. But somebody might very well deny it.\"\n\n\"Of course somebody can deny anything, if only for the sake of\nargument.\"\n\n\"You mean that no one could be serious in such a denial?\"\n\n\"I mean that everybody really knows perfectly well what is good and\nwhat is bad; the difficulty is, not to know it, but to do it!\"\n\n\"But surely you will admit that opinions do differ?\"\n\n\"They don't differ nearly so much as people pretend, on important\npoints; or, if they do, the difference is not about what ought to be\ndone, but about how to do it.\"\n\n\"What ought to be done, then?\" asked Leslie defiantly.\n\n\"Well, for example we ought to make our cities decent and healthy.\"\n\n\"Why?\"\n\n\"Because we ought; or, if you like, because it will make people\nhappy.\"\n\n\"But I don't like at all! I don't see that it's necessarily good to\nmake people happy.\"\n\n\"Oh well, if you deny that--\"\n\n\"Well, if I deny that?\"\n\n\"I don't believe you to be serious, that's all. Good simply means,\nwhat makes people happy; and you must know that as well as I do.\"\n\n\"You see!\" interposed Dennis; \"I told you he was a Utilitarian.\"\n\n\"I daresay I am; at any rate, that's what I think; and so, I believe,\ndoes everybody else.\"\n\n\"'The Universe,'\" murmured Ellis, \"'so far as sane conjecture can go,\nis an immeasurable swine's trough, consisting of solid and liquid, and\nof other contrasts and kinds; especially consisting of attainable\nand unattainable, the latter in immensely greater quantities for most\npigs.'\"\n\n\"That's very unfair,\" Parry protested, \"as an account of Hedonism.\"\n\n\"I don't see that it is at all,\" cried Leslie.\n\n\"I think,\" I said, \"that it represents Bentham's position well enough,\nthough probably not Bartlett's.\"\n\n\"Oh well,\" said Parry, \"Bentham was only an egoistic Hedonist.\"\n\n\"A what?\" said Bartlett.\n\n\"An egoistic Hedonist.\"\n\n\"And what may that be?\"\n\n\"An egoistic Hedonist,\" Parry was beginning, but Ellis cut him short.\n\"It's best explained,\" he said, \"by an example. Here, for example,\nis Bentham's definition of the pleasures of friendship; they are, he\nsays, 'those which accompany the persuasion of possessing the goodwill\nof such and such individuals, and the right of expecting from them, in\nconsequence, spontaneous and gratuitous services.'\"\n\nWe all laughed, though Parry, who loved fair play, could not help\nprotesting. \"You really can't judge,\" he said, \"by a single example.\"\n\n\"Can't you?\" cried Ellis; \"well then, here's another. 'The pleasures\nof piety' are 'those which accompany the persuasion of acquiring\nor possessing the favour of God; and the power, in consequence, of\nexpecting particular favours from him, either in this life or in\nanother.'\"\n\nWe laughed again; and Parry said, \"Well, I resign myself to your\nlevity. And after all, it doesn't much matter, for no one now is an\negoistic Hedonist.\"\n\n\"What are we then,\" asked Bartlett, \"you and I?\"\n\n\"Why, of course, altruistic Hedonists,\" said Parry.\n\n\"And what's the difference?\"\n\n\"The difference is,\" Parry began to explain, but Ellis interrupted him\nagain.\n\n\"The difference is,\" he cried, \"that one is a brute and the other a\nprig.\"\n\n\"Really, Ellis,\" Parry began in a tone of remonstrance.\n\n\"But, Parry,\" I interposed, \"are you a Utilitarian?\"\n\n\"Not precisely,\" he replied; \"but my conclusions are much the same\nas theirs. And of all the _\u00e0 priori_ systems I prefer Utilitarianism,\nbecause it is at least clear, simple, and precise.\"\n\n\"That is what I can never see that it is.\"\n\n\"Why, what is your difficulty?\"\n\n\"In the first place,\" I said, \"the system appears to rest upon a\ndogma.\"\n\n\"True,\" he said, \"but that particular dogma--the greatest happiness\nof the greatest number--is one which commends itself to everyone's\nconsciousness.\"\n\n\"I don't believe it!\" said Ellis. \"Let us take an example. A\ncrossing-sweeper, we will suppose, is suffering from a certain disease\nabout which the doctors know nothing. Their only chance of discovering\nhow to cure it is to vivisect the patient; and it is found, by the\nhedonistic calculus, that if they do so, a general preponderance\nof pleasure over pain will result. Accordingly, they go to the\ncrossing-sweeper and say,'O crossing-sweeper! In the name of the\nutilitarian philosophy we call upon you to submit to vivisection. The\ntortures you will have to endure, it is true, will be inconceivable:\nbut think of the result! A general preponderance in the community at\nlarge of pleasure over pain! For every atom of pain inflicted on you,\nan atom of pleasure will accrue to somebody else. Upon you, it is\ntrue, will fall the whole of the pain; whereas the pleasure will be so\nminutely distributed among innumerable individuals that the increment\nin each case will be almost imperceptible. No matter, it will be\nthere! and our arithmetic assures us that the total gain in pleasure\nwill exceed the total loss in pain. It will also be distributed among\na greater number of individuals. Thus all the requirements of the\nhedonistic calculus are satisfied! Your duty lies plain before you!\nRise to the height of your destiny, and follow us to the dissecting\nroom! What do you think the crossing-sweeper would say? I leave it to\nBartlett to express his sentiments!\"\n\n\"My dear Ellis,\" said Parry, \"your example is absurd. The case, to\nbegin with, is one that could not possibly occur. And even if it did,\none could not expect the man who was actually to suffer, to take an\nimpartial view of the situation.\"\n\n\"But,\" I said, \"putting the sufferer out of the question, what would\nreally be the opinion of the people for whom he was to suffer? Do you\nthink they would believe they ought to accept the sacrifice? Every\nman, I think, would repudiate it with horror for himself; and what\nright has he to accept it for other people?\"\n\n\"On the utilitarian hypothesis,\" said Parry, \"he certainly ought to.\"\n\n\"No doubt; but would he? Utilitarianism claims to rest upon common\nsense, but, in the case adduced, I venture to think common sense would\nrepudiate it.\"\n\n\"Perhaps,\" he said, \"but the example is misleading. It is a case, as I\nsaid, that could not occur--a mere marginal case.\"\n\n\"Still,\" I said, \"a marginal case may suggest a fundamental fallacy.\nAnyhow, I cannot see myself that the judgment that the greatest\nhappiness of the greatest number is good has a more obvious and\nindisputable validity than any other judgments of worth. It seems to\nme to be just one judgment among others; and, like the others, it may\nbe true or false. However, I will not press that point. But what I\nshould like to insist upon is, that the doctrine which Bartlett seemed\nto hold--\"\n\n\"I hold no doctrine,\" interrupted Bartlett; \"I merely expressed an\nopinion, which I am not likely to change for all the philosophy in\nthe world.\" And with that he opened the _Chronicle_, and presently\nbecoming absorbed, paid for some time no further attention to the\ncourse of our debate.\n\n\"Well,\" I continued, \"the doctrine, whether Bartlett holds it or\nno, that the ultimately good thing is the greatest happiness of the\ngreatest number, cannot be insisted upon as one which appeals at\nonce to everyone's consciousness as true, so that, in fact, since its\nenunciation, the controversy about Good may be regarded as closed. It\nwill hardly be maintained, I imagine, even by Parry, that the truth of\nthe doctrine is a direct and simple intuition, so that it has only to\nbe stated to be accepted?\"\n\n\"Certainly not,\" Parry replied, \"the contention of the Utilitarians\nis that everyone who has the capacity and will take the trouble to\nreflect will, in fact, arrive at their conclusions.\"\n\n\"The conclusions being like other conclusions about what is good, the\nresult of a difficult process of analysis, in which there are many\npossibilities of error, and no more self-evident and simple than any\nother judgment of the kind?\"\n\nHe agreed.\n\n\"And further, the general principle, tentative and uncertain as it is,\nrequiring itself to be perpetually interpreted anew for every fresh\ncase that turns up.\"\n\n\"How do you mean?\"\n\n\"Why,\" I said, \"even if we grant that the end of action is the\ngreatest happiness of the greatest number, yet we have still to\ndiscover wherein that happiness consists.\"\n\n\"But,\" he said, \"happiness we define quite simply as pleasure.\"\n\n\"Yes; but how do we define pleasure?\"\n\n\"We don't need to define it. Pleasure and pain are simply sensations.\nIf I cut my finger, I feel pain; if I drink when I am thirsty, I\nfeel pleasure. There can be no mistake about these feelings; they are\nsimple and radical.\"\n\n\"Undoubtedly. But if you limit pleasure and pain to such simple cases\nas these, you will never get out of them a system of Ethics. And, on\nthe other hand, if you extend the terms indefinitely, they lose at\nonce all their boasted precision, and become as difficult to interpret\nas Good and Evil.\"\n\n\"How do you mean?\"\n\n\"Why,\" I said, \"if all conduct turned on such simple choices as that\nbetween thick soup and clear, then perhaps its rules might be fairly\nsummed up in the utilitarian formula. But in fact, as everyone knows,\nthe choices are far more difficult; they are between, let us say, a\nbottle of port and a Beethoven symphony; leisure and liberty now, or\n\u00a31000 a-year twenty years hence; art and fame at the cost of health,\nor sound nerves and obscurity; and so on, and so on through all\nthe possible cases, infinitely more complex in reality than I could\nattempt to indicate here, all of which, no doubt, could be brought\nunder your formula, but none of which the formula would help to\nsolve.\"\n\n\"Of course,\" said Parry, \"the hedonistic calculus is difficult to\napply. No one, that I know of, denies that.\"\n\n\"No one could very well deny it,\" I replied. \"But now, see what\nfollows. Granting, for the moment, for the sake of argument, that in\nmaking these difficult choices we really do apply what you call the\nhedonistic calculus--\"\n\n\"Which I, for my part, altogether deny!\" cried Leslie.\n\n\"Well,\" I resumed, \"but granting it for the moment, yet the important\npoint is not the criterion, but the result. It is a small thing to\nknow in general terms (supposing even it were true that we do know it)\nthat what we ought to seek is a preponderance of pleasure over pain;\nthe whole problem is to discover, in innumerable detailed cases,\nwherein precisely the preponderance consists. But this can only be\nlearnt, if at all, by long and difficult, and, it may be, painful\nexperience. We do not really know, _\u00e0 priori_, what things are\npleasurable, in the extended sense which we must give to the word if\nthe doctrine is to be at all plausible, any more definitely than we\nknow what things are good. And the Utilitarians by substituting\nthe word Pleasure for the word Good, even if the substitution were\nlegitimate, have not really done much to help us in our choice.\"\n\n\"But,\" he objected, \"we do at least know what Pleasure is, even if we\ndo not know what things are pleasurable.\"\n\n\"And so I might say we do know what Good is, even if we do not know\nwhat things are good.\"\n\n\"But we know Pleasure by direct sensation.\"\n\n\"And so I might say we know Good by direct perception.\"\n\n\"But you cannot define Good.\"\n\n\"Neither can you define Pleasure. Both must be recognised by direct\nexperience.\"\n\n\"But, at any rate,\" he said, \"there is this distinction, that in the\ncase of Pleasure everyone _does_ recognise it when it occurs; whereas\nthere is no such general recognition of Good.\"\n\n\"That,\" I admitted, \"may, perhaps, be true; I am not sure.\"\n\n\"But,\" broke in Leslie, \"what does it matter whether it be true or\nno? What has all this to do with the question? It's immaterial whether\nPleasure or Good is the more easily and generally recognisable. The\npoint is that they are radically different things.\"\n\n\"No,\" objected Parry, \"_our_ point is that they are the same thing.\"\n\n\"But I don't believe you really think so, or that anyone can.\"\n\n\"And _I_ don't believe that anyone _cannot_!\"\n\n\"Do you mean to say that you really agree with Bentham that, quantity\nof pleasure being equal, pushpin is as good as poetry?\"\n\n\"Yes; at least I agree with what he means, though the particular\nexample doesn't appeal to me, for I hardly know what either pushpin or\npoetry is.\"\n\n\"Well then, let us take Plato's example. Do you think that, quantity\nof pleasure being equal, scratching oneself when one itches is as good\nas, say, pursuing scientific research.\"\n\n\"Yes. But of course the point is that quantity of pleasure is not\nequal.\"\n\n\"You mean,\" interposed Ellis, \"that there is more pleasure in\nscratching?\"\n\n\"No, of course not.\"\n\n\"But at least you will admit that there is more pleasure in some\nphysical experiences? Plato, for example, takes the case of a\ncatamite.\"\n\n\"I admit nothing of the kind. In the first place, these gross physical\npleasures do not last.\"\n\n\"But suppose they did? Imagine an eternal, never-changing bliss of\nscratching, or of--\"\n\n\"I don't see the use of discussing the matter in this kind of way. It\nseems to me to deserve serious treatment\"\n\n\"But I am perfectly serious. I do genuinely believe that a heaven of\nscratching, or at any rate of some analogous but intenser experience,\nwould involve an indefinitely greater sum of pleasure than a heaven of\nscientific research.\"\n\n\"Well, all I can say is, I don't agree with you.\"\n\n\"But why not?\" cried Leslie. \"If you were candid I believe you would.\nThe fact is that you have predetermined that scientific research is a\nbetter thing than such physical pleasure, and then you bring out your\ncalculation of pleasure so as to agree with that foregone conclusion.\nAnd that is what the Utilitarians always do. Being ordinary decent\npeople they accept the same values as the rest of the world, and on\nthe same grounds as the rest of the world. And then they pretend,\nand no doubt believe themselves, that they have been led to their\nconclusions by the hedonistic calculus. But really, if they made an\nimpartial attempt to apply the calculus fairly, they would arrive\nat quite different results, results which would surprise and shock\nthemselves, and destroy the whole plausibility of their theory.\"\n\n\"That is your view of the matter.\"\n\n\"But isn't it yours?\"\n\n\"No, certainly not.\"\n\n\"At any rate,\" I interposed, \"it seems to be clear that this\nutilitarian doctrine has nothing absolute or final or self-evident\nabout it. All we can say is that among the many opinions about what\nthings are good, there is also this opinion, very widely held, that\nall pleasurable things are good, and that nothing is good that is not\npleasurable. But that, like any other opinion, can be and is disputed.\nSo that we return pretty much to the point we left, that there are\na number of conflicting opinions about what things are good, that\nto these opinions some validity must be attached, but that it is\ndifficult to see how we are to reconcile them or to choose between\nthem. Only, somehow or other, as it seems to me, the truth about Good\nmust be adumbrated in these opinions, and by interrogating the actual\nexperience of men in their judgments about good things, we may perhaps\nbe able to get at least some, shadowy notion of the object of our\nquest\"\n\n\"And so,\" said Ellis, getting up and stretching himself, \"even by your\nown confession we end where we began.\"\n\n\"Not quite,\" I replied. \"Besides, have we ended?\"\n\nFor some minutes it seemed as though we had. The mid-day heat (it was\nnow twelve o'clock) and the silence broken only by the murmur of\nthe fountain (for the mowers opposite had gone home to their dinner)\nseemed to have induced a general disinclination to the effort of\nspeech or thought Even Dennis whom I had never known to be tired in\nbody or mind, and who was always debating something--it seemed to\nmatter very little what--even he, I thought at first, was ready to let\nthe discussion drop. But presently it became clear that he was only\nrevolving my last words in his mind, for before long he turned to me\nand said:\n\n\"I don't know what you mean by 'interrogating experience,' or what\nresults you hope to attain by that process.\" At this Leslie pricked\nup his ears, and I saw that he at least was as eager as ever to pursue\nthe subject further.\n\n\"Why,\" continued Dennis, \"should there not be a method of discovering\nGood independently of all experience?\"\n\nThe phrase immediately arrested Wilson's attention.\n\n\"'A method independent of experience,'\" he cried, \"why, what kind of a\nmethod would that be?\"\n\n\"It is not so easy to describe,\" replied Dennis. \"But I was thinking\nof the kind of method, for example, that is worked out by Hegel in his\n_Logic_?\"\n\n\"I have never read Hegel,\" said Wilson. \"So that doesn't convey much\nto my mind.\"\n\n\"Well,\" said Dennis, \"I am afraid I can't summarize him!\"\n\n\"Can't you?\" cried Ellis, \"I can! Here he is in a nutshell! Take any\nstatement you like--for example, 'Nothing exists!'--put it into the\ndialectical machine, turn the handle, and hey presto! out comes the\nAbsolute! The thing's infallible; it does not matter what you put in;\nyou always get out the same identical sausage.\"\n\nDennis laughed. \"There, Wilson,\" he said, \"I hope you understand now!\"\n\n\"I can't say I do,\" replied Wilson, \"but I daresay it doesn't much\nmatter.\"\n\n\"Perhaps, then,\" said Ellis, \"you would prefer the Kantian plan.\"\n\n\"What is that?\"\n\n\"Oh, it's much simpler than the other. You go into your room, lock the\ndoor, and close the shutters, excluding all light Then you proceed\nto invert the mind, so as to relieve it of all its contents; look\nsteadily into the empty vessel, as if it were a well; and at the\nbottom you will find Truth in the form of a categorical imperative.\nOr, if you don't like that, there's the method of Fichte. You take an\nEgo, by preference yourself; convert it into a proposition; negate it,\naffirm it, negate it again, and so on _ad infinitum_, until you get\nout the whole Universe in the likeness of yourself. But that's rather\na difficult method; probably you would prefer Spinoza's. You take--\"\n\n\"No!\" cried Dennis, \"there I protest! Spinoza is too venerable a\nname.\"\n\n\"So are they all, all venerable names,\" said Ellis. \"But the question\nis, to which of them do you swear allegiance? For they all arrive at\ntotally different results.\"\n\n\"I don't know that I swear allegiance to any of them,\" he replied. \"I\nmerely ventured to suggest that it is only by some such method of pure\nreason that one can ever hope to discover Good.\"\n\n\"You do not profess then,\" I said, \"to have discovered any such method\nyourself?\"\n\n\"No.\"\n\n\"Nor do you feel sure that anyone else has?\"\n\n\"No.\"\n\n\"You simply lie down and block the road?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" he said, \"and you may walk over me if you can.\"\n\n\"No,\" I said, \"It will be simpler, I think, if possible, to walk round\nyou.\" For by this time an idea had occurred to me.\n\n\"Do so,\" he said, \"by all means, if you can.\"\n\n\"Well\" I began, \"let us suppose for the sake of argument that there\nreally is some such method as you suggest of discovering Good--a\npurely rational method, independent of all common experience.\"\n\n\"Let us suppose it,\" he said, \"if you are willing.\"\n\n\"Is it your idea then,\" I continued, \"that this Good so discovered,\nwould be out of all relation to what we call goods? Or would it be\nmerely the total reality of which they are imperfect and inadequate\nexpressions?\"\n\n\"I do not see,\" he said, \"why it should have any relationship to them.\nAll the things we call good may really be bad; or some good and some\nbad in a quite chaotic fashion. There is no reason to suppose that\nour ideas about Good have any validity unless it were by an accidental\ncoincidence.\"\n\n\"And further,\" I said, \"though we really do believe there is a\nGood, and that there is a purely rational and _\u00e0 priori_ method of\ndiscovering it, yet we do not profess to have ascertained that method\nourselves, nor do we feel sure that it has been ascertained by anyone?\nIn any case, we admit, I suppose, that to the great mass of men, both\nof our own and all previous ages, such a method has remained unknown\nand unsuspected?\"\n\nHe agreed.\n\n\"But these men, nevertheless, have been pursuing Goods under the\nimpression that they were really good.\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"And in this pursuit they have been expending, great men and small\nalike, or rather those whom we call great and small, all that store\nof energy, of passion, and blood and tears which makes up the drama of\nhistory?\"\n\n\"Undoubtedly!\"\n\n\"But that expenditure, as we now see, was futile and absurd. The\npurposes to which it was directed were not really good, nor had they\nany tendency to promote Good, unless it were in some particular\ncase by some fortunate chance. Whatever men have striven to achieve,\nwhether like Christ, to found a religion, or, like C\u00e6sar, to found\na polity, whether their quest were virtue or power or truth, or any\nother of the ends we are accustomed to value and praise, or whether\nthey sought the direct opposites of these, or simply lived from hour\nto hour following without reflexion the impulse of the moment, in any\nand every case all alike, great and small, good and bad, leaders and\nfollowers, or however else we may class them, were, in fact, equally\ninsignificant and absurd, the idle sport of illusions, one as\nempty and baseless as another. The history of nations, the lives\nof individual men, are stripped, in this view, of all interest and\nmeaning; nowhere is there advance or retrogression, nowhere better or\nworse, nowhere sense or consistency at all. Systems, however imposing,\nstructures, however vast, fly into dust and powder at a touch. The\nstars fall from the human firmament; the beacon-lights dance like\nwill-o'-the-wisps; the whole universe of history opens, cracks, and\ndissolves in smoke; and we, from an ever-vanishing shore, gaze with\nimpotent eyes at the last gleam on the wings of the dove of Reason as\nit dips for ever down to eternal night. Will not that be the only\nview we can take of the course of human action if we hold that what we\nbelieve to be goods have no relation to the true Good?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" he admitted, \"I suppose it will.\"\n\n\"And if we turn,\" I continued, \"from the past to the present and the\nfuture, we find ourselves, I think, in even worse case. For we\nshall all, those of us who may come to accept the hypothesis you put\nforward, be deprived of the consolation even of imagining a reason and\npurpose in our lives. The great men of the past, at any rate, could\nand did believe that they were helping to realize great Goods; but\nwe, in so far as we are philosophers, shall have to forego even that\nsatisfaction. We shall believe, indeed, that Good exists, and that\nthere is a method of discovering it by pure reason; but this method,\nwe may safely assume, we shall not most of us have ascertained. Or do\nyou think we shall?\"\n\n\"I cannot tell,\" he said; \"I do not profess to have ascertained it\nmyself.\"\n\n\"And meantime,\" I said, \"you have not even the right to assume that\nit is a good thing to endeavour to ascertain it. For the pursuit of\nTruth, it must be admitted, is one of the things which we call\ngood; and these, we agreed, have not any relation to the true Good.\nConsider, then, the position of these unfortunate men who have learnt\nindeed that there is a Good, but who know nothing about it, except\nthat it has nothing to do with what they call good. What kind of life\nwill they live? Whatever they may put their hand to, they will at once\nbe paralyzed by the thought that it cannot possibly be worth pursuing.\nPolitics, art, pleasure, science--of these and all other ends\nthey know but one thing, that all is vanity. As by the touch of\nenchantment, their world is turned to dust. Like Tantalus they stretch\nlips and hands towards a water for ever vanishing, a fruit for\never withdrawn. At war with empty phantoms, they 'strike with their\nspirit's knife,' as Shelley has it, 'invulnerable nothings,' Dizzy and\nlost they move about in worlds not only unrealized, but unrealizable,\n'children crying in the night, with no language but a cry,' and no\nfather to cry to. And in all this blind confusion the only comfort\nvouchsafed is that somehow or other they may, they cannot tell how,\ndiscover a Good of which the only thing they know is that it has no\nconnection with the Goods they have lost. Is not this a fair account\nof the condition to which men would be reduced who really did accept\nand believe your hypothesis?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" he said, \"perhaps it is, but still I must protest against this\nappeal to prejudice and passion. Supposing the truth really were as I\nsuggested, we should have to face it, whether or no it seemed to ruin\nour own life.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" I agreed, \"supposing the truth were so. But, after all, we have\nno sufficient theoretical reason for believing it to be so, and\nevery kind of practical reason against it. We cannot, it is true,\ndemonstrate--and that was admitted from the first--that any of our\njudgments about what is good are true; but there is no reason why we\nshould not believe--and I should say we must believe--that somehow or\nother they do at least have truth in them.\"\n\n\"Well, and if so?\"\n\n\"If so, we do not depend, as you said we do, or at least we do not\nbelieve ourselves to depend, for our knowledge about Good, upon some\npurely rational process not yet discovered; but those things which\nwe judge to be good really, we think, in some sense or so, and by\nanalyzing and classifying and comparing our experiences of such things\nwe may come to see more clearly what it is in them that we judge to be\ngood; and again by increasing experience we may come to know more Good\nthan we knew; and generally, if we once admit that we have some light,\nwe may hope, by degrees, to get more; and that getting of more light\nwill be the most important business, not only of philosophy, but of\nlife.\"\n\n\"But if we can judge of Good at all, why do we not judge rightly?\nIf we really have a perception, how is it that it is confused, not\nclear?\"\n\n\"I cannot tell how or why; but perhaps it is something of this kind.\nOur experience, in the first place, is limited, and we cannot know\nGood except in so far as we experience it--so, at least, I think,\nthough perhaps you may not agree. And if that be so, even if our\njudgments about Good that we have experienced were clear, our\nconclusions drawn from them would yet be very imperfect and tentative,\nbecause there would be so much Good that we had not experienced. But,\nin fact, as it seems, our judgments even about what we do experience\nare confused, because every experience is indefinitely complex, and\ncontains, along with the Good, so much that is indifferent or bad. And\nto analyze out precisely what it is that we are judging to be good is\noften a difficult and laborious task, though it is one that should be\na main preoccupation with us all.\"\n\n\"You think, then, that there are two reasons for the obscurity and\nconfusion that prevail in our judgments about Good--one, that our\nexperience is limited, the other that it is complex?\"\n\n\"Yes; and our position in this respect, as it always seems to me, is\nlike that of people who are learning to see, or to develop some other\nsense. Something they really do perceive, but they find it hard to say\nwhat. Their knowledge of the object depends on the state of the organ;\nand it is only by the progressive perfecting of that, that they can\nsettle their doubts and put an end to their disputes, whether with\nthemselves or with other people.\"\n\n\"How do you mean?\"\n\n\"Well, if you will allow me to elaborate my metaphor, I conceive that\nwe have a kind of internal sense, like a rudimentary eye, whose\nnature it is to be sensitive to Good, just as it is the nature of\nthe physical eye to be sensitive to light. But this eye of the soul,\nbeing, as I said, rudimentary, does not as yet perceive Good with any\nclearness or precision, but only in a faint imperfect way, catching\nnow one aspect of it, now another, but never resting content in any of\nthese, being driven on by the impulse to realize itself to ever surer\nand finer discrimination, with the sense that it is learning its own\nnature as it learns that of its object, and that it will never be\nitself a true and perfect organ until it is confronted with the true\nand perfect Good. And as by the physical eye we learn by degrees\nto distinguish colours and forms, to separate and combine them,\nand arrange them in definite groups, and then, going further, after\ndiscerning in this way a world of physical things, proceed to fashion\nfor our delight a world of art, in that finer experience becoming\naware of our own finer self; so, by this eye of hers, does the soul,\nby long and tentative effort, learn to distinguish and appraise the\nGoods which Nature presents to her; and then, still unsatisfied,\nproceed to shape for herself a new world, as it were, of moral art,\nfashioning the relations of man to Nature and to his fellow-man under\nthe stress of her need to realize herself, ever creating and ever\ndestroying only to create anew, learning in the process her own\nnature, yet aware that she has never learnt it, but passing on without\nrest to that unimagined consummation wherein the impulse that urges\nher on will be satisfied at last, and she will rest in the perfect\nenjoyment of that which she knows to be Good, because in it she\nhas found not only her object but herself. Is not this a possible\nconception?\"\n\n\"I do not say,\" he replied, \"that it is impossible; but I still feel a\ndifficulty.\"\n\n\"What is it?\" I said, \"for I am anxious not to shirk anything.\"\n\n\"Well,\" he said, \"you will remember when Parry suggested that the\nperception of Good might perhaps be an instinct, you objected that\ninstincts conflict one with another, and that we therefore require\nanother faculty to choose between them. Now it seems to me that\nyour own argument is open to the same objection. You postulate some\nfaculty--which perhaps you might as well call an instinct--and\nthis faculty, as I understand you, in the effort to realize itself,\nproceeds to discriminate various objects as good. But, now, does this\nsame faculty also know that the Goods are good, and which is better\nthan which, and generally in what relations they stand to one another\nand to the absolutely Good? Or do we not require here, too, another\nfaculty to make these judgments, and must not this faculty, as I\nsaid at first, have previously achieved, by some method of its own, a\nknowledge of Good, in order that it may judge between Goods?\"\n\n\"No,\" I said, \"in that way you will get, as you hint, nothing but an\ninfinite regress. The perception of Good, whenever it comes, must be,\nin the last analysis, something direct, immediate, and self-evident;\nand so far I am in agreement with Parry. My only quarrel with him was\nin regard to his assumption that the judgments we make about Good are\nfinal and conclusive. The experiences we recognize as good are always,\nit seems to me, also bad; because we are never able to apprehend or\nexperience what is absolutely Good. Only, as I like to believe--you\nmay say I have no grounds for the belief--we are always progressing\ntowards such a Good; and the more of it we apprehend and experience,\nthe more we are aware of our own well-being; or perhaps I ought to\nsay, of the well-being of that part of us, whatever it may be--I call\nit the soul--which pursues after Good. For her attitude, perhaps you\nwill agree, towards her object, is not simply one of perception, but\none of appetency and enjoyment. Her aim is not merely to know Good,\nbut to experience it; so that along with her apprehension of Good goes\nher apprehension of her own well-being, dependent upon and varying\nwith her relation to that, her object. Thus she is aware of a tension,\nas it were, when she cannot expand, of a drooping and inanition when\nnutriment fails, of a rush of health and vigour as she passes into a\nnew and larger life, as she freely unfolds this or that aspect of her\ncomplex being, triumphs at last over an obstacle that has long hemmed\nand thwarted her course, and rests for a moment in free and joyous\nconsciousness of self, like a stream newly escaped from a rocky gorge,\nto meander in the sun through a green melodious valley. And this\nperception she has of her own condition is like our perception of\nhealth and disease. We know when we are well, not by any process of\nratiocination, by applying from without a standard of health deduced\nby pure thought, but simply by direct sensation of well-being. So\nit is with this soul of ours, which is conversant with Good. Her\nperception of Good is but the other side of her perception of her own\nwell-being, for her well-being consists in her conformity to Good.\nThus every phase of her growth (in so far as she grows) is in\none sense good, and in another bad; good in so far as it is\nself-expression, bad in so far as the expression is incomplete. From\nthe limitations of her being she flies, towards its expansion she\nstruggles; and by her perception that every Good she attains is also\nbad, she is driven on in her quest of that ultimate Good which\nwould be, if she could reach it, at once the complete realization of\nherself, and her complete conformity to Good.\"\n\n\"But,\" he objected, \"apart from other difficulties, in your method of\ndiscovering the Good is there no place for Reason at all?\"\n\n\"I would not say that,\" I replied, \"though I am bound to confess\nthat I see no place for what you call pure Reason. It is the part of\nReason, on my hypothesis, to tabulate and compare results. She\ndoes not determine directly what is good, but works, as in all the\nsciences, upon given data, recording the determinations not (in this\ncase) of the outer but of the inner sense, noticing what kinds of\nactivity satisfy, and to what degree, the expanding nature of this\nsoul that seeks Good, and deducing therefrom, so far as may be,\ntemporary rules of conduct based upon that unique and central\nexperience which is the root and foundation of the whole. Temporary\nrules, I say, because, by the nature of the case, they can have in\nthem nothing absolute and final, inasmuch as they are mere deductions\nfrom a process which is always developing and transforming itself.\nSystems of morals, maxims of conduct are so many landmarks left to\nshow the route by which the soul is marching; casts, as it were, of\nher features at various stages of her growth, but never the final\nrecord of her perfect countenance. And that is why the current\nmorality, the positive institutions and laws, on which Parry insisted\nwith so much force, both have and have not the value he assigned to\nthem. They are in truth invaluable records of experience, and he is\nrash who attacks them without understanding; and yet, in a sense,\nthey are only to be understood in order to be superseded, because the\nexperience they resume is not final, but partial and incomplete. Would\nyou agree with that, Parry, or no?\"\n\n\"I am not sure,\" he said. \"It would be a dangerous doctrine to put in\npractice.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" I said, \"but I fear that life itself is a dangerous thing,\nand nothing we can do will make it safe. Our only hope is courage and\nsanity.\"\n\n\"But,\" said Dennis, \"to return to the other point, on your view is our\nknowledge of Good altogether subsequent to experience?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" I replied, \"our knowledge is, if you like; but it is a\nknowledge of experience in Good. We first recognize Good by what\nI call direct perception; then we analyze and define what we have\nrecognized; and the results of this process, I suppose, is what we\ncall knowledge, so far as it goes.\"\n\n\"And there can be no knowledge of Good independent of experience?\"\n\n\"I do not know; perhaps there might be; only I should like to suggest\nthat even if we could arrive at such a knowledge by pure reason, we\nshould have achieved only a definition of Good, not Good itself; for\nGood, I suppose you will agree, must be a state of experience, not a\nformula.\"\n\n\"Even if it be so,\" he said, \"it might still be possible to arrive at\nits formula by pure reason.\"\n\n\"It may be so,\" I replied, \"only I console myself with the thought,\nthat if, as is the case with so many of us, we cannot see our way\nto any such method, we are not left, on my hypothesis, altogether\nforlorn. For though we cannot know Good, we can go on realizing Goods,\nand so making progress towards the ultimate Good, which is the goal\nnot merely of knowledge but of action.\"\n\n\"And how, may I ask,\" said Wilson, after a pause, \"in your conception,\nis Good related to Happiness?\"\n\n\"That,\" I replied, \"is one of the points we have to ascertain by\nexperience. For I regard the statement that happiness is the end as\none of the numerous attempts which men have made to interpret\nthe deliverances of their internal sense. I do not imagine the\ninterpretation to be final and complete, and indeed it is too abstract\nand general to have very much meaning. But some meaning, no doubt,\nit has; and exactly what, may form the subject of much interesting\ndiscussion in detail, which belongs, however, rather to the question\nof the content of Good, than to that of the method of discovering it.\"\n\n\"The method!\" replied Wilson, \"but have you really indicated a method\nat all?\"\n\n\"I have indicated,\" I replied \"what I suppose to be the method of all\nscience, namely, the interpretation of experience.\"\n\n\"But,\" he objected, \"everything depends on the kind of\ninterpretation.\"\n\n\"True,\" I admitted, \"but long ago I did my best to prove that we could\nnot learn anything about Good by the scientific method as you defined\nit. For that can tell us only about what is, not about what ought to\nbe. At the same time, the recording and comparing and classifying of\nthe deliverances of this internal sense, has a certain analogy to the\nprocedure of science. At any rate, it might, I think, fairly be called\na method, though a method difficult to apply, and one, above\nall, which only he can apply who has within himself the requisite\nexperience. And in this respect the study of the Good resembles the\nstudy of the Beautiful.\"\n\n\"How do you mean?\"\n\n\"Why,\" I said, \"those who are conversant with the arts are well aware\nthat there is such a thing as a true canon, though they do not profess\nto be in complete possession of it. They have a perception of the\nBeautiful, not ready-made and final, but tentative and in process\nof growth. This perception they cultivate by constant observation of\nbeautiful works, some more and some less, according to their genius\nand opportunities; and thus they are always coming to see, though they\nnever see perfectly, just as I said was the case in the matter of the\nGood.\"\n\n\"But,\" objected Parry, \"what proof is there that there is any standard\nat all in such matters?\"\n\n\"There is no proof,\" I replied, \"except the perception itself; and\nthat is sufficient proof to those who have it. And to some slight\nextent, no doubt, all men have it; only many do not care to develop\nit; and so, feeling in themselves that they have no standard of\njudgment in art, they suppose that all others are like themselves;\nand that there really is no standard and no knowledge possible in such\nmatters. And it is the same with Good; if a man will not choose to\ncultivate his inner sense, and to train it to clear and ever clearer\nperception, he will either never believe that there is any knowledge\nof Good, or any meaning at all in the word; or else, since all men\nfeel the need of an end for action, he will have recourse to a fixed\ndogma, taken up by accident and clung to with obstinate desperation,\nwithout any root in his true inner nature; and to him all discussion\nabout Good will seem to be mere folly, since he will believe either\nthat he possesses it already or that it cannot be possessed at all.\nOr If he ask after the method of discovering it, he will be unable\nto understand it, because he does not choose to develop the necessary\nexperience; and so he will go through life for ever unconvinced,\narguing often and angrily, but always with no result, while all the\ntime the knowledge he denies is lying hidden within him, if only he\nhad the patience and faith to seek it there. But without that, there\nis no possibility of convincing him; and it will be wiser altogether\nto leave him alone. This, whether you call it a method or no, is the\nonly idea I can form as to the possibility of discovering what is\nBeautiful and Good.\"\n\nThere was silence for a few moments, and then Wilson said:\n\n\"Do you mean to imply, on your hypothesis, that we all are always\nseeking Good?\"\n\n\"No,\" I said; \"whatever I may think on that point, I have not\ncommitted myself. It is enough for my purpose if we admit that we have\nthe faculty of seeking Good, supposing we choose to do so.\"\n\n\"And also the faculty of seeking Bad?\"\n\n\"Possibly; I do not pronounce upon that.\"\n\n\"Well, anyhow, do you admit the existence of Bad?\"\n\n\"Oh yes,\" I cried, \"as much as you like; for it is bad, to my mind,\nthat we should be in a difficult quest of Good, instead of in secure\npossession of it. And about the nature of that quest I make no facile\nassumption. I do not pretend that what I have called the growth of the\nsoul from within is a smooth and easy process, a quiet unfolding of\nleafy green in a bright and windless air. If I recognize the delight\nof expansion, I recognize also the pain of repression--the thwarted\ndesire, the unfulfilled hope, the passion vain and abortive. I do not\nsay even whether or no, in this dim travail of the spirit, pleasure\nprevails over pain, evil over good. The most I would claim is to have\nsuggested a meaning for our life in terms of Good; and my view, I half\nhoped, would have appealed in particular to you, because what I have\noffered is not an abstract formula, hard to interpret, hard to\nrelate to the actual facts of life, but an attempt to suggest the\nsignificance of those facts themselves, to supply a key to the\ncryptogram we call experience. And in proportion as we really believed\nthis view to be true, it would lead us not away from but into life,\nnot shutting us up, as has been too much the bent of philosophy, like\nthe homunculus of Goethe's 'Faust,' in the crystal phial of a set and\nrigid system, to ring our little chiming bell and flash our tiny light\nover the vast sea of experience, which all around us foams and floods,\nmyriad-streaming, immense, and clearly seen, yet never felt, through\nthat transparent barrier; but rather, like him when he broke the\nglass, made free of the illimitable main, to follow under the yellow\nmoon the car of Galatea, her masque of nymphs and tritons, her gliding\npomp of cymbals and conchs, away through tempest and calm, by night or\nday, companioned or alone, to the haunts of the far Cabeiri, and the\nhome where the Mothers dwell.\"\n\nAs I concluded, I looked across at Audubon, to see if I had made any\nimpression upon him. But he only smiled at me rather ironically\nand said, \"Is that meant, may I ask, for an account of everyday\nexperience?\"\n\n\"Rather,\" I replied, \"for an interpretation of it.\"\n\n\"It would need a great deal of interpretation,\" he said, \"to make\nanything of the kind out of mine.\"\n\n\"No doubt,\" I said; \"yet I am not without hope that the interpretation\nmay be true; and that some day you may recognize it to be so yourself.\nMeantime, perhaps, I, who look on, see more of the game than you\nwho play it; and surely in moments of leisure like this you will not\nrefuse to listen to my poor attempt to read the riddle of the sphinx.\"\n\n\"Oh,\" he said, \"I listen gladly enough, but as I would to a poem.\"\n\n\"And do you think,\" I replied, \"that there is not more truth in poetry\nthan in philosophy or science?\"\n\nBut Wilson entered a vigorous protest, and for a time there was a\nbabel of argument and declamation, from which no clear line of thought\ndisengaged itself. Dennis, however, in his persistent way, had been\nrevolving in his mind what I had said, and at the first opportunity he\nturned to me with the remark, \"There's one point in your position that\nI can't understand. Do you mean to say that it is our seeking that\ndetermines the Good, or the Good that determines our seeking.\"\n\n\"Really,\" I said, \"I don't know. I should say both are true. We, in\nthe process of our seeking, affirm what we find to be good, and\nin that sense determine for ourselves what for us was previously\nindeterminate; but, on the other hand, our determination is not mere\ncaprice; it is determination of Good, which we must therefore suppose\nsomehow or other to 'be' before we discern it.\"\n\n\"But then, in what sense _is_ it?\"\n\n\"That is what it is so hard to say. Perhaps it is the law of our\nseeking, the creative and urging principle of the world, striving\nthrough us to realize itself, and recognized by us in that effort and\nstrain.\"\n\n\"Then your hypothesis is that Good has to be brought about, even while\nyou admit that in some sense it is?\"\n\n\"Yes, it exists partially, and it ought to come to exist completely.\"\n\n\"Well now, that is exactly what seems to me absurd. If Good is at all\nit is eternal and complete.\"\n\n\"But then, I ask in my turn, in what sense _is_ it?\"\n\n\"In the only sense that anything really is. The rest is nothing but\nappearance.\"\n\n\"What we call Evil, you mean, is nothing but appearance.\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"You think, in fact, with the poet, that 'all that is, is good'?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" he replied, \"all that really is.\"\n\n\"Ah!\" I said, \"but in that 'really' lies the crux of the matter. Take,\nfor instance, a simple fact of our own experience--pain. Would you\nsay, perhaps, that pain is good?\"\n\n\"No,\" he replied, \"not as it appears to us; but as it really is.\"\n\n\"As it really is to whom, or in whom?\"\n\n\"To the Absolute, we will say; to God, if you like.\"\n\n\"Well, but what is the relation of the pain as it is in God to the\npain that appears to us?\"\n\n\"I don't pretend to know,\" he said, \"but that is hardly the point. The\npoint is, that it is only in connection with what is in God that the\nword Good has any real meaning. Appearance is neither good nor bad; it\nis simply not real.\"\n\n\"But,\" cried Audubon, interrupting in a kind of passion, \"It is in\nappearance that we live and move and have our being. What is the use\nof saying that appearance is neither good nor bad, when we are feeling\nit as the one or the other every moment of our lives? And as to the\nGood that is in God, who knows or cares about it? What consolation is\nit to me when I am suffering from the toothache, to be told that God\nis enjoying the pain that tortures me? It is simply absurd to call\nGod's Good good at all, unless it has some kind of relation to our\nGood.\"\n\n\"Well,\" said Dennis, \"as to that, I can only say that, in my opinion,\nit is nothing but our weakness that leads us to take such a view. When\nI am really at my best, when my intellect and imagination are working\nfreely, and the humours and passions of the flesh are laid to rest, I\nseem to see, with a kind of direct intuition, that the world, just as\nit is, is good, and that it is only the confusion and obscurity due to\nimperfect vision that makes us call it defective and wish to alter it\nfor the better. When I perceive Truth at all, I perceive that it is\nalso Good; and I cannot then distinguish between what is, and what\nought to be.\"\n\n\"Really,\" cried Audubon, \"really? Well, that I cannot understand.\"\n\n\"I hardly know how to make it clear,\" he replied, \"unless it were by\na concrete example. I find that when I think out any particular aspect\nof things, so far, that is to say, as I can think it out at all, all\nthe parts and details fall into such perfect order and arrangement\nthat it becomes impossible for me any longer to desire that anything\nshould be other than it is. And that, even in the regions where at\nother times I am most prone to discover error and defect. You know,\nfor instance, that I am something of an economist?\"\n\n\"What are you not?\" I said. \"If you sin, it is not from lack of\nlight!\"\n\n\"Well,\" he continued, \"there is, I suppose, no department of affairs\nwhich one is more inclined to criticise than this. And yet the more\none investigates the more one discovers, even here, the harmony\nand necessity that pervade the whole universe. The ebb and flow of\nbusiness from this trade or country to that, the rise and fall of\nwages, or of the rate of interest, the pouring of capital into or\nout of one industry or another, the varying relations of imports\nto exports, the periods of depression and recovery, and in close\nconnection with all this the ever-changing conditions of the lives of\ncountless workmen throughout the world, their well-being or ill-being,\nit may be their very life and death, together with the whole fate\nof future generations in health, capacity, opportunity, and the\nlike,--all this complexus of things, so chaotic and unintelligible at\nthe first view, so full, as we say, of iniquity, injustice, and the\nlike, falls, as we penetrate further, into one vast and harmonious\nsystem, so inspiring to the imagination, so inevitable to the\nunderstanding, that our objections and cavillings, ethical, \u00e6sthetic,\nor what you will, simply vanish away at the clearer vision, or, if\nthey persist, persist as mere irrelevant illusions; while we\nabandon ourselves to the contemplation of the whole, as of some\nworld-symphony, whose dissonances, no less than its concords, are\ntaken up and resolved in the irresistible march and progress, the\nocean-flooding of the Whole. You will think,\" he continued, \"that I am\nabsurdly rhapsodical over what, after all, is matter prosaic enough;\nbut what I wanted to suggest was that it is Reality so conceived that\nappeals to me at once as Truth and as Good. This partial vision of\nmine in the economic sphere is a kind of type of the way in which\nI conceive the Absolute. I conceive Him to be a Being necessary and\ntherefore perfect; a Being in face of whom our own incoherent and\ntentative criticisms, our complaints that this or that should, if only\nit could, be otherwise, our regrets, desires, aspirations, and\nthe like, shew but as so many testimonies to our own essential\nimperfection, weaknesses to be surmounted, rather than signs of worth\nto stamp us, as we vainly boast, the elect of creation.\"\n\nHe finished; and I half expected that Leslie would intervene, since\nI saw, as I thought, many weak points in the position. But he kept\nsilence, impressed, perhaps, by that idea of the Perfect and Eternal\nwhich has a natural home in the minds of the generous and the young.\nSo I began myself rather tentatively:\n\n\"I think,\" I said, \"I understand the position you wish to indicate;\nand so stated, in general terms, no doubt it is attractive. It is when\nwe endeavour to work it out in detail that the difficulties appear.\nThe position, as I understand it, is, that, from the point of view of\nthe Absolute, what we call Evil and what we call Good simply have\nno existence. Good and Evil, in our sense, are mere appearances; and\nGood, in the absolute sense, is identical with the Absolute or with\nGod?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" he said, \"that is my notion.\"\n\n\"And so, for example, to apply the idea in detail, in the region which\nyou yourself selected, all that we regret, or hate, or fear in our\nsocial system--poverty, disease, starvation and the rest--is not\nreally evil at all, does not in fact exist, but is merely what appears\nto us? There is, in fact, no social evil?\"\n\n\"No,\" he replied, \"in the sense I have explained there is none.\"\n\n\"Well then,\" I continued, \"how is it with all our social and other\nideals? Our desire to make our own lives and other people's lives\nhappier? Our efforts to subdue nature, to conquer disease, to\nintroduce order and harmony where there appears to be discord and\nconfusion? How is it with those finer and less directly practical\nimpulses by which you yourself are mainly pre-occupied--the quest\nof knowledge or of beauty for their own sake, the mere putting of\nourselves into right relations with the universe, apart from any\nattempt to modify it? Are all these desires and activities mere\nillusions of ours, or worse than illusions, errors and even vices,\nimpious misapprehensions of the absolutely Good, frivolous attempts to\nadapt the Perfect to our own imperfections?\"\n\n\"No,\" he replied, \"I would not put it so. Some meaning, I apprehend,\nthere must be in time and change, and some meaning also in our\nefforts, though not, I believe, the meaning which we imagine. The\ndivine life, as I conceive it, is a process; only a process that\nis somehow eternal, circular, so to speak, not rectilinear, much as\nMilton appears to imagine it when he describes the blessed spirits\n'progressing the dateless and irrevoluble circle of eternity'; and\nof this eternal process our activity, which we suppose to be moving\ntowards an end, is somehow or other an essential element. So that,\nin this way, it is necessary and right that we should strive after\nideals; only, when we are thinking philosophically, we ought to make\nclear to ourselves that in truth the Ideal is eternally fulfilled, its\nfulfilment consisting precisely In that process which we are apt to\nregard as a mere means to its realization. This, as Hegel has it, is\nthe 'cunning' of the Absolute Reason, which deludes us into the\nbelief that there is a purpose to be attained, and by the help of that\ndelusion preserves that energy of action which all the time is really\nitself the End.\"\n\nI looked up at him as he finished, to see whether he was quite\nserious; and as he appeared to be so, and as Leslie still kept\nsilence, I took up the argument as follows.\n\n\"I understand,\" I said, \"in a sort of way what you mean; but still the\nsame difficulty recurs which Audubon has already put forward. On\nyour hypothesis there seems to be an impassable gulf between God's\nconception of Good and ours. To God, as it seems, the world is\neternally good; and in its goodness is included that illusion by which\nit appears to us so bad, that we are continually employed in trying to\nmake it better. The maintenance of this illusion is essential to the\nnature of the world; to us, evil always must appear. But, as we know\nby experience, the evil that _appears_ is just as terrible and just\nas hateful as it would be if it really _were_. A toothache, as Audubon\nput it, is no less a pain to us because it is a pleasure to God. We\ncannot, if we would, adopt His point of view; and clearly it would\nbe impious to try, since we should be endeavouring to defeat His\ningenious plan to keep the world going by hoodwinking us. We therefore\nare chained and bound to the whirling wheel of appearance; to us what\nseems good is good, and what seems bad, bad; and your contention that\nall existence is somehow eternally good is for us simply irrelevant;\nit belongs to the point of view of God to which we have no access.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" cried Audubon, \"and what a God to call God at all! Why not\njust as much the devil? What are we to think of the Being who is\nresponsible for a world of whose economy our evil is not merely\nan accident, a mistake, but positively an essential, inseparable\ncondition!\"\n\n\"What, indeed!\" exclaimed Leslie. \"Call Him God, by all means, if you\nlike, but such a God as Zeus was to Prometheus, omnipotent, indeed,\nand able to exact with infallible precision His daily and hourly toll\nof blood and tears, but powerless at least to chain the mind He has\ncreated free, or to exact allegiance and homage from spirits greater,\nthough weaker, than Himself.\"\n\nThis was the sort of talk, I knew, that rather annoyed Dennis. I did\nnot therefore, for the moment, leave him time to reply, but proceeded\nto a somewhat different point:\n\n\"Even putting aside,\" I said, \"the moral character of God, as it\nappears in your scheme of the universe, must we not perhaps accuse Him\nof a slight lapse of intelligence? For, as I understand the matter,\nit was essential to the success of the Absolute's plan that we should\nnever discover the deception that is being played upon us. But, it\nseems, we do discover it. Hegel, for example, by your own confession,\nhas not only detected but exposed it. Well then, what is to be done?\nDo you suppose that we could, even if we would, continue to lend\nourselves to the imposition? Must not our aims and purposes cease to\nhave any interest for us, once we are clear that they are not true\nends? And that which, according to the hypothesis, _is_ the true end,\nthe 'dateless and irrevoluble circle' of activity, that, surely, we\nat least cannot sanction or approve, seeing that it involves and\nperpetuates the very misery and pain whose destruction was our only\nmotive for acting at all. For, whatever may be the case with God, we,\nyou will surely admit, are forbidden by all that in us is highest and\nbest, to approve or even to acquiesce in the deliberate perpetuation\nof a world of whose existence all that we call evil is an essential\nand eternal constituent So that, as I said at first, it looks as if\nthe Absolute Reason had not been, after all, quite as cunning as\nit thought, since it has allowed us to discover and expose the very\nimposition it had invented to cheat us into concurrence with its\nplans.\"\n\nDennis laughed a little at this; and then, \"Well,\" he began, \"between\nyou, with your genial irony, and Audubon and Leslie with their\nheaven-defying rhetoric, I scarcely know whether I stand on my head or\nmy heels. But, the fact is, I think I made a slip in stating my view;\nor perhaps there was really a latent contradiction in my mind. At any\nrate, what I believe, whether or no I can believe it consistently, is\nthat it is possible for us, so to speak, to take God's point of\nview; so that the evil against which we rebel we may come at last to\nacquiesce in, as seen from the higher point of view. And, seriously,\ndon't you think it is conceivable that that may be, after all, the\ntrue meaning of the discipline of life?\"\n\n\"I cannot tell,\" I said, \"perhaps it may. But, meantime, allow me to\npress home the importance of your admission. For, as you say, there is\nat least one of our aims which has a real significance, namely, that\nof reaching the point of view of God. But this is something that lies\nin the future, something to be brought about. And so, on your own\nhypothesis, Good, after all, would not be that which eternally exists,\nbut something which has to be realized in time--namely, a change of\nmind on the part of all rational beings, whereby they view the world\nno longer in a partial imperfect way, but, in Spinoza's phrase, '_sub\nspecie \u00e6ternitatis_'\"\n\n\"No,\" he said, \"I cannot admit that that is an end for the Absolute,\nthough I admit it is an end for us. The Absolute, somehow or other, is\neternally perfect and good; and this eternal perfection and goodness\nare unaffected by any change that may take place in our minds.\"\n\n\"Well,\" I said, \"I must leave it to the Absolute and yourself to\nsettle how that can possibly be. Meantime, I am content with your\nadmission that, for us, at least, there is an end and a Good lying\nbefore us to be realized in the future. For that, as I understand, you\ndo admit. In your own life, for example, even if you aim at nothing\nelse, or at nothing else which you wholly approve, yet you do aim, at\nleast, with your whole nature at this--to attain a view of the world\nas it may be conceived in its essence to be, not merely as it appears\nto us.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" he said, \"I admit that is my aim.\"\n\n\"That aim, then, is your Good?\"\n\n\"I suppose so.\"\n\n\"And it is something, as I said, that lies in the future? For you do\nnot, I suppose, count yourself to have attained, or at least to have\nattained as perfectly as you hope to?\"\n\nHe agreed again.\n\n\"Well then,\" I continued, \"what may be the relation of this Good of\nyours, awaiting realization in the future, to that eternal Good of God\nin which you also believe, we will reserve, with your permission, for\nsome future inquiry. It is enough for our present purpose that even\nyou, who assert the eternal perfection of the world, do nevertheless\nat the same time admit a future Good; and much more do other men admit\nit, who have no idea that the world is perfect at all. So that we may,\nI think, safely suppose it to be generally agreed that the Good is\nsomething to be realized in the future, so far, at any rate as it\nconcerns us--and, for my part, I have no desire to go farther than\nthat.\"\n\n\"Well,\" he said, \"I am content for the present to leave the matter so.\nBut I reserve the right to go back upon the argument.\"\n\n\"Of course!\" I replied, \"for it is not, I hope, an argument, but a\ndiscussion; and a discussion not for victory but for truth. Meantime,\nthen, let us take as a hypothesis that Good is something to be brought\nabout; and let us consider next the other point that Is included in\nyour position. According to you, as I understand, what requires to be\nbrought about, if ever Good is to be realized, is not any change in\nthe actual stuff, so to speak, of the world, in the structure, as it\nwere, of our experience, but only a change in our attitude towards all\nthis--a change in the subject, as they say, and not in the object.\nOur aim should be not to abolish what we call evil, by successive\nmodifications of physical and social conditions, but rather, all these\nremaining essentially the same, to come to see that what appears to be\nevil is not really so.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" he said, \"that is the view I would suggest.\"\n\n\"So that, for example, though we might still experience a toothache,\nwe should no longer regard it as an evil; and so with all the host\nof things we are in the habit of calling bad: they would continue\nunchanged 'in themselves,' as you Hegelians say, only to us they would\nappear no longer bad, but good?\"\n\n\"Yes; as I said at first, all reality is good, and all Evil,\nso-called, is merely illusion.\"\n\nI was about to reply when I was forestalled by Bartlett. For some time\npast the discussion had been left pretty much to Dennis and myself,\nwith an occasional incursion from Audubon and Leslie. Ellis had gone\nindoors; Parry and Wilson were talking together about something else;\nand Bartlett appeared to be still absorbed in the _Chronicle_. I\nnoticed, however, that for the last few moments he had been getting\nrestless, and I suspected that he was listening, behind his newspaper,\nto what we were saying. I was not therefore altogether surprised when,\nupon Dennis' last remark, he suddenly broke into our debate with the\nexclamation;\n\n\"Would it be' in order' to introduce a concrete example? There is a\ncuriously apt one here in the _Chronicle_.\"\n\nAnd upon our assenting, he read us a long extract about\nphosphorus-poisoning, the details of which I now forget, but at any\nrate it brought before us, very vividly, a tale of cruel suffering and\noppression.\n\n\"Now,\" he said, as he finished, \"is that, may I ask, the kind of thing\nthat it amuses you to call mere illusion?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" replied Dennis stoutly, \"that will do very well for an\nexample.\"\n\n\"Well,\" he rejoined, \"I do not propose to dispute about words; but for\nmy own part I should have thought that, if anything is real, that\nis; and so, I think, you would find it, if you yourself were the\nsufferer.\"\n\n\"But,\" objected Dennis, \"do you think that it is in the moment of\nsuffering that one is most competent to judge about the reality of\npain?\"\n\n\"Certainly, for it is only in the moment of suffering that one really\nknows what it is that one is judging about.\"\n\n\"I am not sure about that. I doubt whether it is true that experience\ninvolves knowledge and _vice versa_. It is, indeed, to my mind,\npart of the irony of life, that we know so much which we can never\nexperience, and experience so much which we can never know.\"\n\n\"I don't follow that,\" said Bartlett, \"but of one thing I am sure,\nthat you will never get rid of evil by calling it illusion.\"\n\n\"No,\" Dennis conceded, \"you will never of course get rid of it, in the\nsense you mean, by that, or indeed, in my opinion, by any other means.\nBut we were discussing not what we are to do with evil, but how we are\nto conceive it.\"\n\n\"But,\" he objected, \"if you begin by conceiving it as illusion, you\nwill never do anything with it at all.\"\n\n\"Perhaps not, but I am not sure that that is my business.\"\n\n\"At any rate, Dennis,\" I interposed, \"you will, I expect, admit, that\nfor us, while we live in the region of what you call 'Appearance,'\nEvil is at least as pressing and as obvious as Good.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" he said, \"I am ready to admit that.\"\n\n\"And,\" I continued, \"for my part I agree with Bartlett and with\nLeslie, that it is Appearance with which we are concerned. What I have\nbeen contending for throughout, is that in the world in which we live\n(whether we are to call it Reality or Appearance), Evil and Good are\nthe really dominating facts; and that we cannot dismiss them from our\nconsideration either on the ground that we know nothing of them (as\nEllis was inclined to maintain) or on the ground that we know all\nabout them (as Parry and Wilson seemed to think). On the contrary, it\nis, I believe, our main business to find out about them; and that\nwe can find out about them is with me an article of faith, and so, I\nbelieve, it is with most people, whether or no they are aware of it or\nare ready to admit it.\"\n\nDennis was preparing to reply, when Ellis reappeared to summon us to\nlunch. We followed him in gladly enough, for it was past our usual\nhour and we were hungry; and the conversation naturally taking a\nlighter turn, I have nothing further to record until we reassembled in\nthe afternoon.\n\n\n\n\nBOOK II.\n\n\nWhen we reassembled for coffee on the loggia after lunch, I did not\nsuppose we should continue the morning's discussion. The conversation\nhad been turning mostly on climbing, and other such topics, and\nfinally had died away into a long silence, which, for my own part, I\nfelt no particular inclination to break. We had let down an awning to\nshelter us from the sun, where it began to shine in upon us, so that\nit was still cool and pleasant where we sat; and so delightful did I\nfeel the situation to be, that I was almost vexed to be challenged to\nrenew our interrupted debate. The challenge, rather to my surprise,\ncame from Audubon, who suddenly said to me, _\u00e0 propos_ of nothing, in\na tone at once ironic and genial:\n\n\"Well, I thought you talked very well this morning.\"\n\n\"Really!\" I rejoined, \"I imagined you were thinking it all great\nnonsense.\"\n\n\"So no doubt it was,\" he replied; \"still, it amused me to hear you.\"\n\n\"I am glad of that, at any rate; I was afraid perhaps you were bored.\"\n\n\"Not at all. Of course, I couldn't fail to see that you weren't\narriving anywhere. But that I never expected. In fact, what amuses me\nmost about you is, the way in which you continue to hope that you're\ngoing to get at some result.\"\n\n\"But didn't we?\"\n\n\"I don't see that you did. You showed, or tried to show, that we must\nbelieve in Good; but you made no attempt to discover what Good is.\"\n\n\"No,\" I admitted; \"that, of course, is much more difficult.\"\n\n\"Exactly; but it is the only point of importance.\"\n\n\"Well,\" I said, \"perhaps if we were to try, we should find that we can\ncome to some agreement even about that.\"\n\n\"I don't believe it.\"\n\n\"But why not?\"\n\n\"Because people are so radically different, that there is no common\nground to build upon.\"\n\n\"But is the difference really so radical as all that?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" he said, \"I think so. At any rate, the proof of the pudding\nis in the eating, and I make you an offer. Here are eight of us, all\nEnglishmen, all contemporaries, all brought up more or less in the\nsame way. And I venture to say that, if you will raise the question,\nyou won't find, even among ourselves, with all the chances in your\nfavour, any substantial agreement about what we think good.\"\n\nThis direct challenge was rather alarming. I didn't feel that I could\nrefuse to take it up, but I was anxious to guard myself against the\nconsequences of failure. So I began, with some hesitation, \"You must\nremember that I have never maintained that at any given moment any\ngiven set of people will be found to be in agreement on all points.\nAll I ventured to suggest was, that instead of our all being made, as\nyou contend, radically different, we have, underneath our differences,\na common nature, capable of judging, and judging truly, about Good,\nthough only on the basis of actual experience of Good. And on this\nview I shall, of course, expect to find differences of opinion,\ncorresponding to differences of experience, even among people as much\nalike as ourselves; only I shall not expect the differences to be\nfinally irreconcilable, but that we shall be able to supplement and\nelucidate one another's conclusions by bringing to bear each his own\nexperience upon that of the rest.\"\n\n\"Well,\" he said, \"we shall see. I have invited you to make the\nexperiment.\"\n\n\"I am willing,\" I replied, \"if it is agreeable to the others. Only I\nmust ask you to understand from the beginning precisely what it is I\nam trying to do. I shall be merely describing to you what I have\nbeen able to perceive, with such experience as I have had, in this\ndifficult matter; and you will judge, all of you, whether or no, and\nto what extent, your perceptions coincide with mine, the object being\nsimply to clear up these perceptions of ours, if we can; to define\nsomehow, as it were, what we have seen, in the hope of coming to see\nsomething more.\"\n\nThey agreed to take me on my own terms, and I was about to begin,\nwhen, happening to catch Dennis' eye, I suddenly felt discouraged.\n\"After all,\" I said, \"I doubt whether it's much use my making the\nattempt.\"\n\n\"Why, what's the matter?\"\n\n\"Nothing,\" I said. \"At least--well, I may as well confess it, though\nit seems like giving away my whole case. The fact is, that there are\ncertain quite fundamental points in this connection on which Dennis\nand I have never been able to agree; and although I believe we should\nin time come to understand one another, I doubt whether we can do so\nhere and now. At any rate, he doesn't look at all as if he meant\nto make it easy for me; and if I cannot carry him along with me, I\nsuppose I may as well give up at once.\"\n\n\"Oh,\" said Audubon, \"if that is all, I will make a concession. We\nwill leave Dennis out of the reckoning. It shall be enough if you can\npersuade the rest of us.\"\n\n\"But,\" I urged, \"I doubt, even so, whether Dennis will ever allow me\nto get to the end. You see, he never lets things pass if he doesn't\nhappen to agree.\"\n\n\"Oh,\" cried Ellis, \"it's all right. We will keep him in order.\"\n\nDennis laughed. \"You're disposing of me,\" he said, \"in a very easy\nmanner. But perhaps I had better go away altogether; for, if I stay, I\ncertainly cannot pledge myself not to interrupt.\"\n\n\"No,\" I said, \"that seems hardly fair. What I propose is, that we\nshould both try to be as conciliatory as we can. And then, by the\nprocess of 'give and take,' I shall perhaps slip past you without any\nreally scandalous concession on either side.\"\n\n\"Well,\" he said, \"you can try.\"\n\nSo, after casting about in my mind, I began, with some hesitation, as\nfollows:\n\n\"The first thing, then, that I want to say is this: Good, as it seems\nto me, necessarily involves some form of conscious activity.\"\n\nAs I had expected, Dennis interrupted me at once.\n\n\"I don't see that at all,\" he said. \"Consciousness may have nothing to\ndo with it.\"\n\n\"Perhaps, indeed, it may not,\" I replied, with all the suavity I could\ncommand. \"I should rather have said that I, as a matter of fact, can\nform no idea of Good except in connection with consciousness.\"\n\n\"Can you not?\" he exclaimed, \"but I can! If a thing is good it's good,\nso it appears to me, whether or no there is any consciousness of it.\"\n\n\"But,\" I said, \"I, you see, myself, have no experience of anything\nexisting apart from consciousness, so it is difficult for me to\nknow whether such a thing would be good or no. But you, perhaps, are\ndifferently constituted.\"\n\n\"Not in that point,\" he replied. \"I admit, of course, that there is no\nexperience without consciousness. But we can surely conceive that of\nwhich we have no experience? And I should have thought it was clear\nthat Good, like Truth, _is_, whether or no anyone is aware of it. Or\nwould you say that 2 + 2 = 4 is only true when someone is thinking of\nit?\"\n\n\"As to that,\" I replied, \"I would rather not say anything about it\njust now. On the logical point you may be right; but that, I think,\nneed not at present detain us, because what I am trying to get at, for\nthe moment, is something rather different. I will put it like this:\nGood, if it is to be conceived as an object of human action, must be\nconceived, must it not, as an object of consciousness? For otherwise\ndo you think we should trouble to pursue it?\"\n\n\"I don't know,\" he said, \"whether we should; but perhaps we ought to.\"\n\n\"But,\" I urged, \"do you really think we ought? Do you think, to take\nan example, that it could be a possible or a right aim for an\nartist, say, to be perpetually producing, in a state of complete\nunconsciousness, works which on completion should be immediately\nhermetically sealed and buried for all eternity at the bottom of the\nsea? Do you think that he could or ought to consider such production\nas a Good? And so with all the works of man. Do we, and really ought\nwe to, do anything except with some reference to consciousness?\"\n\n\"I don't know whether we do,\" he replied, \"but I think it quite\npossible that we ought.\"\n\n\"Well,\" I said, \"we shall not, I suppose, just now, come to a closer\nagreement But is there anyone else who shares your view? for, if not,\nI will, with your permission, go on to the next point\"\n\nNone spoke, and Dennis made no further opposition. So, after a pause,\nI proceeded as follows: \"I shall assume, then, that Good, in the sense\nin which I am conceiving it, as an end of human action, involves some\nkind of conscious activity. And the next question would seem to be,\nactivity of whom?\"\n\n\"That, at any rate,\" said Leslie, \"appears to be simple enough. It\nmust be an activity of some person or persons.\"\n\n\"Once more,\" murmured Dennis, \"I protest.\"\n\nBut this time I ventured to ignore him, and merely said, in answer to\nLeslie, \"The question, then, will be, what persons?\"\n\n\"Why,\" he replied, \"ourselves, I suppose!\"\n\n\"What do you say, Parry?\" I asked.\n\n\"I don't quite understand,\" he replied, \"the kind of way you put your\nquestions. But my own idea has always been, what I suppose is most\npeople's now, that the Good we are working for is that of some future\ngeneration.\"\n\nAt this Leslie made some inarticulate interjection, which I thought\nit better to ignore. And, answering Parry, I said, \"Suppose, then, we\nwere to make a beginning by examining your hypothesis.\"\n\n\"By all means,\" he said, \"though I should have thought we should all\nhave accepted it--unless, perhaps, it were Dennis.\"\n\n\"I most certainly don't!\" cried Leslie.\n\n\"Nor I,\" added Audubon.\n\n\"Oh you!\" cried Parry, \"you accept nothing!\"\n\n\"True\"; he replied, \"my motto is 'j'attends.'\"\n\n\"Well,\" I resumed, \"let us follow the argument and see where it leads\nus. The hypothesis is, that Good involves some state of activity of\nsome generation indefinitely remote. Is not that so, Parry?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" he said, \"and one can more or less define what the state of\nactivity, as you call it, will be.\"\n\n\"Of course,\" interposed Ellis, \"it will be one of heterogeneous,\nco-ordinate, coherent----\"\n\n\"That,\" I interrupted, \"is not at present the question. The question\nis merely as to the location of Good. According to Parry, it is\nlocated in this particular remote generation, and, I suppose, in those\nthat follow it. But now, what about all the other generations, from\nthe beginning of the world onward? Good, it would seem, can have no\nmeaning for them, since it is the special privilege of those who come\nafter them.\"\n\n\"Oh, yes, it has!\" he replied, \"for it is their business to bring it\nabout, not indeed for themselves, but for their successors.\"\n\n\"But,\" cried Leslie, \"what an absurd idea! Countless myriads of men\nand women are born upon the earth, live through their complex lives of\naction and suffering, pleasure and pain, hopes, fears, satisfactions,\naspirations, and the like, pursuing what they call Good, and avoiding\nwhat they call Bad, under the na\u00eff impression that there is Good and\nBad for them--and yet the significance of all this is not really for\nthemselves at all, but for some quite other people who will have the\nluck to be born in the remote future, and for whose sake alone their\nfellow-creatures, from the very beginning of time, have been brought\ninto being like so many lifeless tools, to be used up and laid aside,\nwhen done with, on the black infinite ash-heap of the dead.\"\n\n\"Oh, come!\" said Parry, \"you exaggerate! These tools, as you call\nthem, have a good enough time. It does not follow, because the final\nGood lies in the future, that the present has no Good at all. It has\njust as much Good as people can get out of it.\"\n\n\"But then,\" said Leslie, \"in that case it is this Good of their own\nwith which each generation is really concerned. So far as they do get\nGood at all they get it as an activity in themselves.\"\n\n\"Certainly,\" said Ellis; \"and for my own part, I am sick of that\ncant of living for future generations. Let us, at least, live for\nourselves, whether we live well or badly.\"\n\n\"Well,\" replied Parry, rather stiffly, \"of course every one has his\nown ideas. But I confess that, for my own part, the men I admire are\nthose who have sacrificed themselves for the future.\"\n\n\"But, Parry,\" I interposed, \"let us get clear about this; and with a\nview to clearness let us take our own case. We, as I understand you,\nhave to keep in view a double Good: first, a Good for ourselves, which\nis not indeed the perfect Good (for that is reserved for a future\ngeneration), but still is something Good as far as it goes--whether\nit be a certain degree of happiness, or however else we may have to\ndefine it; and as to this Good, there appears to be no difficulty,\nfor we who pursue it are also the people who get it That is so, is it\nnot?\"\n\nHe agreed.\n\n\"But now,\" I continued, \"we come to the point of dispute. For besides\nthis Good of our own, we have also, according to the theory, to\nconsider a Good in which we have no share, that of those who are to be\nborn in some indefinite future. And to this remote and alien Good we\nhave even, on occasion, to sacrifice our own.\"\n\n\"Certainly,\" he said, \"all good citizens will think so.\"\n\n\"I believe,\" I admitted, \"that they will. And yet, how strange it\nseems! For consider it in this way. Imagine that the successive\ngenerations can somehow be viewed as contemporaneous--being projected,\nas it were, from the plane of time into that of space.\"\n\n\"It's rather hard,\" he said, \"to imagine that.\"\n\n\"Well, but try, for the sake of argument; and consider what we shall\nhave. We shall have a society divided into two classes, composed, the\none of all the generations who, if they followed one another in\ntime, would precede the first millenarian one; the other of all the\nmillenarian-generations themselves. And of these two classes the first\nwould be perpetually engaged in working for the second, sacrificing to\nit, if need be, on occasion, all its own Good, but without any hope\nor prospect of ever entering itself into that other Good which is the\nmonopoly of the other class, but to the production of which its own\nefforts are directed. What should we say of such a society? Should we\nnot say that it was founded on injustice and inequality, and all those\nother phrases with which we are wont to denounce a system of serfdom\nor slavery?\"\n\n\"But,\" he objected, \"your projection of time into space has falsified\nthe whole situation. For in fact the millenarian generation would not\ncome into being until the others had ceased to be; and therefore the\nlatter would not be being sacrificed to it.\"\n\n\"No,\" I said, \"but they would have been sacrificed; and surely it\ncomes to the same thing?\"\n\n\"I am not sure,\" he replied, \"and anyhow, I don't think sacrifice is\nthe right word. In a society every man's interest is in the Whole; and\nwhen he works for the Whole he is also working for himself.\"\n\n\"No doubt that is true,\" I replied, \"in a society properly\nconstituted, but I question whether it would be true in such a society\nas I have described. And then there is a further difficulty--and here,\nI confess, my projection of time into space really does falsify the\nissue; for in the succession of generations in time, where _is_ the\nWhole? Each generation comes into being, passes, and disappears; but\nhow, or in what, are they summed up?\"\n\n\"Why,\" he said, \"in a sense they are all summed up in the last\ngeneration.\"\n\n\"But in what sense? Do you mean that their consciousness somehow\npersists into it, so that they actually enjoy its Good?\"\n\n\"Of course not,\" he said, \"but I mean that it was conditioned by them,\nand is the result of their labour and activities.\"\n\n\"In that sense,\" I replied, \"you might say that the oysters I eat are\nsummed up in me. But it would be a poor consolation to the oysters!\"\n\n\"Well,\" he rejoined, \"whatever you may say, I still think it right\nthat each generation should sacrifice itself (as you call it) for the\nnext. And so, I believe, would you, when it came to the point. At any\nrate, I have often heard you inveigh against the shortsightedness of\nmodern politicians, and their unwillingness to run great risks and\nundertake great labours for the future.\"\n\n\"Quite true,\" I said, \"that is the view I take. But I was trying to\nsee how the view could be justified. For it seems to me, I confess,\nthat we can only be expected to labour for what is, in some sense\nor other, our own Good; and I do not see how the Good of future\ngenerations, in your way of putting it, is also ours.\"\n\n\"But,\" he said, \"we have an instinct that it is.\"\n\n\"I believe we have,\" I replied, \"but the question would be, what that\ninstinct really means. Somehow or other, I think it must mean, as you\nyourself suggested, that our Good is the Good of the Whole. Only the\ndifficulty is to see how there is a Whole at all.\"\n\n\"Well,\" he said, \"perhaps there is no Whole. What then?\"\n\n\"Why, then,\" I replied, \"how can we justify an instinct which bids us\nlabour and sacrifice ourselves for a Good, which, on this hypothesis,\nhas no significance for us, but only for other people.\"\n\n\"Perhaps,\" he said, \"we cannot justify it, but I am sure we ought to\nobey it; and, indeed, I believe we cannot do otherwise. Even taking\nthe view that the order of the world is altogether unjust, as I admit\nit would be on the view we are considering, yet, since we cannot\nremedy the injustice, we are bound at least to make the best of it;\nand the best we can do is to prepare the Good for those who come after\nus, even though we can never enter into it ourselves.\"\n\n\"I am not so sure about that,\" Ellis interrupted, \"I think the best\nwe can do is to try and realize Good for ourselves--as much as we\ncan get, even if we admit that this is but little. For we do at least\nknow, or may hope to discover, what Good for ourselves is; whereas\nGood for other people is far more hypothetical.\"\n\n\"But, surely,\" he objected, \"that would lead to action we cannot\napprove--to a sacrifice of all larger Goods to our own pleasure of the\nmoment. We should breed, for example, without any regard to the future\nefficacy of the race----\"\n\n\"That,\" interrupted Ellis, \"we do as it is.\"\n\n\"Yes, but we don't justify it--those of us, at least, who think. And,\nagain, we should squander on immediate gratifications wealth which\nought to be stored up against the future. And so on, and so on; it is\nnot necessary to multiply examples.\"\n\n\"But,\" I objected, \"we should only do these things if we thought that\nkind of short-sighted activity to be good; but, as a matter of fact,\nwe do not, we who object to it. And that is because, as I hinted\nbefore, our idea of even our own Good is that of an activity in and\nfor the Whole, and not merely in and for ourselves. And, whether it is\nreasonable or no, we cannot help extending the idea of the Whole, so\nas to include future generations. But, as it seems to me, the real\nmeaning and justification of our action is not merely that we are\nseeking the Good of future generations but that we are endeavouring to\nrealize our own Good, which consists in some such form of activity. So\nthat really, as was suggested at the beginning, Good will be a kind of\nactivity in ourselves, even though that activity be directed towards\nends in which we do not expect to share.\"\n\nAt this point, Dennis, who had been struggling to speak, broke in at\nlast, in spite of Ellis's efforts to restrain him.\n\n\"Why do you keep saying '_Our_ Good'?\" he cried. \"Why do you not say\n_the_ Good? I can't understand this talk of me and thee, our Good, and\ntheir Good, as if there were as many Goods as there are people.\"\n\n\"Well,\" I said, \"the distinction, after all, was introduced by Parry,\nwho said that we ought to aim at the Good of a future generation.\nStill, I admit that I was getting a little unhappy myself at the kind\nof language into which I was betrayed. But what I want to say is\nthis: So far as it is true at all that it is good to labour for future\ngenerations, goodness consists in the activity of so labouring, as\nmuch, at least, as in the result produced in those for whose sake the\nlabour is. That, at least, is the only way in which I can find the\nposition reasonable at all.\"\n\n\"I don't see it,\" said Parry, and was preparing to re-state his\nposition, when Wilson suddenly intervened with a new train of thought.\n\n\"The fact is,\" he said, \"you have begun altogether at the wrong end.\"\n\n\"I daresay,\" I said, \"I can't find the end; it's all such a coil.\"\n\n\"Well,\" he said, \"this is where I believe the trouble came in. You\nstarted with the idea that the Good must be good for individuals; and\nthat was sure to land you in confusion.\"\n\n\"What then is your idea?\" I asked.\n\n\"Why,\" he said, \"as you might expect from a biologist, I regard\neverything from the point of view of the species.\"\n\nAt this I saw Ellis sit up and prepare for an encounter.\n\n\"Nature,\" continued Wilson, \"has always in view the Whole not the\nPart, the species not the individual. And this law, which is true of\nthe whole creation, is thrown into special relief in the case of man,\nbecause there the interest of the species is embodied in a particular\nform--the Society or the State--and may be clearly envisaged, as a\nthing apart, towards the maintenance of which conscious efforts may be\ndirected.\"\n\n\"And this, which is the end of Nature, according to you, is also the\nGood?\"\n\n\"Naturally.\"\n\n\"Well,\" I said, \"I will not recapitulate here the objections I have\nalready urged against the view that the course of Nature determines\nthe content of the Good. For, quite apart from that, it is a view\nwhich many people hold--and one which was held long before there was a\nscience of biology--that the community is the end, and the individual\nonly the means.\"\n\n\"But,\" he said, \"biology has given a new basis and a new colour to the\nview.\"\n\n\"I don't know about that,\" cried Ellis, unable any longer to restrain\nhimself, \"but I am sure it has given us a new kind of language. In\nthe old days, when Wilson's opinion was represented by Plato, men\nwere still men, and were spoken of as such, however much they might be\nsubordinated to the community. But now!--why, if you open one of these\nsociological books, mostly, I am bound to say, in German, 'Entwurf\neiner Sozial-anthropologie,' 'Versuch einer anthropologischen\nDarstellung der menschlichen Gesellschaft vom Sozial-biologischen\nStandpunkt aus,' and the like--you will hardly be able to realize that\nyou are dealing with human beings at all. I have seen an unmarried\nwoman called a 'female non-childbearing human.' And at the worst, men\nactually cease to be even animals; they become mere numbers; they are\ncalculated by the theory of combinations; they are masses, averages,\nclasses, curves, anything but men! For every million of the\npopulation, it has been solemnly estimated, there will be one genius,\none imbecile, 256,791 individuals just above the mean, 256,791 just\nbelow it! Observe, 256,791! Not, as one might have been tempted to\nbelieve, 256,790! What a saving grace in that odd unit! And this is\nthe kind of thing that is revolutionizing history and politics!\nNo more great men, no more heroic actions, no more inspirations,\npassions, and ideals! Nothing but calculations of the chances that A\nwill meet and breed out of B! Nothing but analysis of the mechanism of\nsurvival! Nothing but----\"\n\n\"My dear Ellis,\" interrupted Wilson, \"you appear to me to be\ndigressing.\"\n\n\"Digressing!\" he cried \"Would that I could digress out of this world\naltogether! Would that I could digress to a planet where they have no\narithmetic! Where a man could be a man, not a figure in an addition\nsum, a unit in an average, an individual in a species----\"\n\n\"Where,\" exclaimed Audubon, taking him up, \"a man could be himself, as\nI have often said, 'imperial, plain, and true.'\"\n\nThere was a chorus of protestation at the too familiar quotation;\nand for a time I was unable to lay hold of the broken thread of the\nargument. But at last I got a hearing for the question I was anxious\nto address to Wilson.\n\n\"You say,\" I began, \"that by Good we mean the Good of the community?\"\n\n\"I say,\" he replied, \"that that is what we ought to mean.\"\n\n\"But in what sense do you understand the word community?\"\n\n\"In the sense of that organization of individuals which represents, so\nto speak, the species.\"\n\n\"How represents?\"\n\n\"In the sense that it is its function to maintain and perfect the\nspecies.\"\n\n\"But is that the function of the community?\"\n\n\"If it is not, it ought to be; and to a great extent it is. If you\nlook at the social mechanism, not with the eyes of a mere historian,\nwho usually sees nothing, but with those of a biologist and man of\nscience, intent upon essentials, you will find that it is nothing but\nan elaborate apparatus of selection, natural or artificial, as you\nlike to call it. First, there is the struggle of races, which may be\ntraced not only in war and conquest, but more insidiously under the\nguise of peace, so that, for example, at this day you may witness\nthroughout Europe the gradual extinction of the long-headed fair by\nthe round-headed dark stock. Then there is the struggle of nation with\nnation, resulting in the gradual elimination of the weaker--that, of\ncourse, is obvious enough; but what is not always so clearly seen is\nthe not less certain fact, that within the limits of each society the\nsame process is everywhere at work. To pass over the economic struggle\nfor existence, of which we are perhaps sufficiently aware, what else\nis our system of examinations but a mechanism of selection, whereby it\nis determined that certain persons only shall have access to certain\nprofessions? What else is the convention whereby marriages are\nconfined to people of the same class, thus securing the perpetuation\nof certain types, and especially of the better-gifted and\nbetter-disposed? Turn where we may we find the same phenomenon.\nSociety is a machine for sifting out the various elements of the race,\ncombining the like, disparting the unlike, bringing some to the top,\nothers to the bottom, preserving these, eliminating those, indifferent\nto the fate, good or bad, of the individuals it controls, but\nenvisaging always the well-being of the Whole.\"\n\n\"But,\" I objected, \"is it so certain that it is well-being that is\nkept in view? Do you not recognize a process of deterioration as well\nas of improvement? You mentioned, for instance, that the long-headed\nfair race, is giving place to what I understand is regarded as an\ninferior type.\"\n\n\"No doubt,\" he admitted, \"there are periods of decline. Still, on the\nwhole, the movement is an upward one.\"\n\n\"Well,\" I replied, \"that, after all, is not the question we are at\npresent discussing. Your main point is, that when we speak of Good\nwe mean, or should mean, the Good, not of the individual, but of\nthe species. But what, I should like to know, is the species? Is it\nsomehow an entity, or being, that it has a Good?\"\n\n\"No,\" he replied, \"it is merely, of course, a general name for the\nindividuals; only for all the individuals taken together, not one by\none or in groups.\"\n\n\"The Good of the species, then, is the Good of all the individuals\ntaken together.\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"But\" I said, \"how can that be? It is good for the species, according\nto you, that certain individuals should be eliminated, or should sink\nto the bottom, or whatever else their fate may be. But is that also\ngood for the individual in question?\"\n\n\"I don't know about that,\" he replied, \"and I don't see that it\nmatters. I only say that it is good for the species.\"\n\n\"But they are part of the species; so that if it is good for the\nspecies it is good for them.\"\n\n\"No! for the Good of the species consists in the selection of the best\nindividuals. It is indifferent to all the rest\"\n\n\"Then by the Good of the species you mean the good of the selected\nindividuals?\"\n\n\"Not exactly; I mean it is good that those individuals should be\nselected.\"\n\n\"But good for whom, if not for them? For the individuals who are\neliminated? Or for you who look on? Or perhaps, for God?\"\n\n\"God! No! I mean good, simply good.\"\n\n\"I'm afraid I don't understand,\" I said. \"Does Good then hang, as it\nwere, in the air, being Good for nobody at all?\"\n\n\"Well, if you like, we will say it is good for Nature.\"\n\n\"But is Nature, then, a conscious being?\"\n\n\"I don't say that\"\n\n\"I am very sorry,\" I said, \"but really I cannot understand you. If you\nreject God, I see only two alternatives remaining. Either the Good you\nspeak of is that of all the individuals of the species taken together,\nor it is that of the best individuals; and in either case I seem to\nsee difficulties.\"\n\n\"What difficulties?\" asked Parry. For Wilson did not speak.\n\n\"Why,\" I said, \"taking the first alternative, I do not see how it can\nbe good for the inferior individuals to be degraded or eliminated. I\nshould have thought, if there were any Good for them, it would consist\nin their being made better.\"\n\n\"I don't see that,\" objected Dennis; \"it might be the best possible\nthing, for them, to be eliminated.\"\n\n\"But in that case,\" I said, \"the best possible thing would be absence\nof Bad, not Good. And so far as we could talk of Good at all, we could\nnot apply it to them?\"\n\n\"Perhaps not\"\n\n\"Well then, in that case we have to fall back upon the other\nalternative, and say that by the Good of the species we mean that of\nthe ultimately selected individuals.\"\n\n\"Well, what then?\"\n\n\"Why, then, we return, do we not, to the position of Parry, that the\nGood is that of some particular generation? And there, too, we were\nmet by difficulties. So that altogether I do not really see what\nmeaning to attach to Wilson's conception.\"\n\n\"There is no meaning to be attached to it!\" cried Ellis. \"The species\nis a mere screen invented to conceal the massacre of individuals.\nI'm sick of these biologico-sociologico-anthropologico-historico\ntreatises, with their talk of races, of nations, of classes, never of\nmen! their prate about laws as if they were the real entities, and\nthe people who are supposed to be subject to them mere indifferent\nparticles of stuff! their analysis of the perfection with which the\nmachine works, its combinations, differentiations, subordinations,\nco-ordinations, and all the other abominations of desolations\nstanding where they ought not, as depressing to the mind as they are\ncacophonous to the ear! and, worst of all, their impudent demand that\nwe should admire the diabolical process! Admire! As though we should\nbe asked to admire the beauty of the rack and the thumbscrew!\"\n\n\"It's a matter of taste, no doubt,\" said Wilson, \"but in me the\nspectacle of natural law does awaken feelings of admiration.\"\n\n\"In me,\" replied Ellis, \"it awakens, just as often, feelings of\ndisgust, and especially when its theatre is human life.\"\n\n\"At any rate, whether you admire it or not, the spectacle is there.\"\n\n\"No doubt, if you choose to look at it; but why should you? It's not\na good drama; it isn't up to date; it has no first-hand knowledge, nor\noriginal vision of life. It simply ignores all the important facts.\"\n\n\"Which do you call the important facts?\"\n\n\"Why, of course, the emotions; the hopes, fears, aspirations,\nsympathies and the rest! There's more valuable information contained\nin even an inferior novel that in all the sociological treatises that\never have been or will be written.\"\n\n\"Oh, come!\" cried Parry.\n\n\"I assure you,\" replied Ellis, \"I am serious. Take, for example,\nthese unfortunate creatures who are in process of elimination. To\nthe sociologist their elimination is their only _raison d'\u00eatre_. He\ncancels them out with the same delight as if they were figures in a\ncomplex fraction. But pick up any novel dealing with the life of\nthe slums, and you find that these figures are really composed of\ninnumerable individual units, existing each for himself, and each his\nown sufficient justification, each a sacred book comprising its own\nunique secret, a master-piece of the divine tragedian, a universe\nself-moved and self-contained, a centre of infinity, a mirror of\ntotality, in a word, a human soul.\"\n\n\"All that I altogether deny,\" said Wilson, \"but, even if it were true,\nit would not affect the sociological laws.\"\n\n\"I don't say it would. I only say that the sociological laws are as\nunimportant, if possible, as the law of gravitation.\"\n\n\"Which,\" replied Wilson, \"may be regarded as a _reductio ad absurdum_\nof your view.\"\n\n\"Anyhow,\" I interposed, \"we are digressing from our point. What I\nreally want to know is whether Wilson has any more light to throw on\nmy difficulties with regard to his notion of the species.\"\n\n\"I have nothing more to say,\" he replied, \"than I have said already.\"\n\n\"But I have!\" cried Dennis, \"and something very much to the point.\nYou see now the absurdities into which you are led by the position\nyou insisted on assuming, that Good involves conscious activity. If\nit does, as you rightly inquired (though with a suicidal audacity),\nconscious activity in whom? And to that question, of course, you can\nfind no answer.\"\n\n\"And yet,\" I said, endeavouring to turn the tables upon him, \"I have\nknown you to maintain yourself that Good not merely involves, but is,\na conscious activity; only an activity in or of God.\"\n\n\"Rather,\" he replied, \"that it _is_ God. But I don't really know\nwhether we ought to call God a conscious activity. Whatever He or It\nbe, is something that transcends our imagination. Only the things we\ncall good are somehow reflexes of God; and we have to accept them\nas such without further inquiry. At any rate, we have no right to\nendeavour, as you keep doing, to locate Good in some individual\npersons.\"\n\n\"Well,\" I said, \"here we come again to a fundamental difference\nof view. All the Good of which I am aware as actually existing is\nassociated, somehow or other, with personal consciousness. I am\nwilling to admit, for the sake of argument, that the ultimate Good, if\never we come to know it, might, perhaps, not be so associated. But of\nthat, as yet, I know nothing; you, perhaps, are more fortunate. And if\nyou can give us an account of Good, I mean, of course, of its content,\nwhich shall represent it intelligibly to us as independent of any\nconsciousness like our own, I am quite ready to relinquish the\nargument to you.\"\n\n\"I don't know,\" he replied, \"that I can represent It to you in a way\nthat you would admit to be intelligible. I don't profess to have had\nwhat you call 'experience' of it.\"\n\n\"Well, then,\" said Ellis, \"what's the good of talking?\"\n\n\"What, indeed!\" I echoed, in some despondency. For I began to feel it\nwas impossible to carry on the conversation. But at this point, to my\ngreat relief, Bartlett came to the rescue, not indeed with a solution\nof the difficulty in which we were involved, but with a diversion of\nwhich I was only too glad to take advantage.\n\n\"It seems to me,\" he said, \"that you are getting off the track!\nWhatever the ultimate Good may be, what we really want to know, is the\nkind of thing we can conceive to be good for people like ourselves.\nAnd I thought that was what you were going to discuss.\"\n\n\"So I was,\" I said, \"if Dennis would have let me.\"\n\n\"I will let you, by all means,\" Dennis interposed, \"so long as it is\nquite understood that everything you say has nothing to do with the\nreal subject.\"\n\n\"Very well,\" said Bartlett, \"that's understood. And now let's get\nalong, on the basis of you and me and the man in the street. What are\nwe trying to get, when we try to get Good? That I take it is the real\nquestion.\"\n\n\"And I can only answer,\" I said, \"as I did before, that we are\ntrying to get some state of conscious experience, to enter into some\nactivity.\"\n\n\"Very well, then, what activity?\" he inquired, catching me up sharp,\nas if he were afraid of Dennis interposing again.\n\n\"What activity!\" cried Ellis, \"why all and every one as much as\nanother, and the more the merrier.\"\n\n\"What!\" I exclaimed, rather taken aback, \"all at once do you mean?\nwhether they be good or whether they be bad, all alike indifferently?\"\n\n\"There are no bad activities,\" he replied, \"none bad essentially in\nthemselves. Their goodness and badness depends on the way in which\nthey are interchanged or combined. Any pursuit or occupation palls in\ntime if it is followed exclusively; but all may be delightful in the\njust measure and proportion. We are complex creatures, and we ought to\nemploy all our faculties alike, never one alone at the cost of all the\nothers.\"\n\n\"That may be sound enough,\" I said, \"but will you not describe more in\ndetail the kind of life which you consider to be good?\"\n\n\"How can I?\" he replied. \"It is like trying to sum infinity! The most\nI can do is to hint and rhapsodize.\"\n\n\"Hint away, then!\" cried Parry; \"rhapsodize away! we're all\nlistening.\"\n\n\"Well, then,\" he said, \"my ideal of the good life would be to move in\na cycle of ever-changing activity, tasting to the full the peculiar\nflavour of each new phase in the shock of its contrast with that of\nall the rest. To pass, let us say, from the city with all its bustle,\nsmoke, and din, its press of business, gaiety, and crime, straight\naway, without word or warning, breaking all engagements, to the\nfarthest and loneliest corner of the world. To hunt or fish for weeks\nand months in strange wild places, camping out among strange beasts\nand birds, lost in pathless forests, or wandering over silent plains.\nThen, suddenly, back in the crowd, to feel the press of business, to\nmake or lose millions in a week, to adventure, compete, and win; but\nalways, at the moment when this might pall, with a haven of rest\nin view, an ancient English mansion, stately, formal, and august,\nislanded, over its sunken fence, by acres of buttercups. There to\nstudy, perhaps to write, perhaps to experiment, dreaming in my garden\nat night of new discoveries, to revolutionize science and bring the\nworld of commerce to my feet. Then, before I have time to tire, to be\noff on my travels again, washing gold in Klondike, trading for furs\nin Siberia, fighting in Madagascar, in Cuba, or in Crete, or smoking\nhasheesh in tents with Persian mystics. To make my end action itself,\nnot anything action may gain, choosing not to pursue the Good for fear\nI should let slip Goods, but, in my pursuit of Goods, attaining the\nonly Good I can conceive--a full and harmonious exercise of all my\nfaculties and powers.\"\n\nOn hearing him speak thus I felt, I confess, such a warmth of sympathy\nthat I hesitated to attempt an answer. But Leslie, who was young\nenough still to live mainly in ideas, broke in with his usual zeal and\npassion.\n\n\"But,\" he said, \"all this activity of which you speak is no more\ngood than it is bad; every phase of it, by your own confession, is so\nimperfect in itself that it requires to be constantly exchanged for\nsome other, equally defective.\"\n\n\"Not at all,\" answered Ellis, \"each phase is good in its time and\nplace; but each becomes bad if it is pursued exclusively to the\ndetriment of others.\"\n\n\"But is each good in itself? or, at least, is it more good than bad?\nYou choose, in imagination, to dwell upon the good aspect of each; but\nin practice you would have to experience also the bad. Your hunting\nin trackless forests will involve exposure, fatigue, and hunger; your\nfighting in Madagascar, fever, wounds, and disillusionment; and so\nthrough all your chapter of accidents--for accidents they are at best,\nand never the substance of Good; rather, indeed, a substance of Evil,\ndogged by a shadow of Good.\"\n\n\"Oh!\" cried Ellis, \"what a horrid prosaic view--from an idealist, too!\nWhy, the Bad is all part of the Good; one takes the rough with the\nsmooth. Or rather the Good stands above what you call good and bad; it\nconsists in the activity itself which feeds upon both alike. If I were\nDennis I should say it is the synthesis of both.\"\n\n\"Well,\" said Leslie, \"I never heard before of a synthesis produced by\none side of the antithesis simply swallowing the other.\"\n\n\"Didn't you?\" said Ellis. \"Then you have a great deal yet to learn.\nThis is known as the synthesis of the lion and the lamb.\"\n\n\"Oh, synthesis!\" cried Parry. \"Heaven save us from synthesis! What is\nit you are trying to say?\"\n\n\"That's what I want to know,\" I said \"We seem to be coming perilously\nnear to Dennis's position, that what we call Evil is mere appearance.\"\n\n\"Well,\" said Ellis, \"extremes meet! Dennis arrived at his view by a\ndenial of the world; I arrive at mine by an affirmation of it.\"\n\n\"But do you really think,\" I urged, \"that everything in the world is\ngood?\"\n\n\"I think,\" he replied, \"that everything may be made to minister to\nGood if you approach it in the proper way.\"\n\n\"That reads,\" said Audubon, \"like an extract from a sermon.\"\n\n\"As I remarked before,\" replied Ellis, \"extremes meet\"\n\n\"But, Ellis,\" I protested, \"do explain! How are you going to answer\nLeslie?\"\n\n\"Leslie is really too young,\" he replied, \"to be answerable at all.\nBut if you insist on my being serious, what I meant to suggest is,\nthat when our activity is freshest and keenest we find delight in what\nis called Evil no less than in what is called Good. The complexity of\nthe world charms us, its 'downs' as well as its 'ups,' its abysses\nand glooms no less than its sunny levels. We would not alter it if we\ncould; it is better than we could make it; and we accept it not merely\nwith acquiescence but with triumph.\"\n\n\"Oh, do we!\" said Audubon.\n\n\"We,\" answered Ellis, \"not you! You, of course, do not accept\nanything.\"\n\n\"But who are 'we'?\" asked Leslie.\n\n\"All of us,\" he replied, \"who try to make an art of living. Yes, art,\nthat is the word! To me life appears like a great tragi-comedy. It has\nits shadows as well as its lights, but we would not lose one of them,\nfor fear of destroying the harmony of the whole. Call it good, or call\nit bad, no matter, so it is. The villain no less than the hero claims\nour applause; it would be dull without him. We can't afford to miss\nanything or anyone.\"\n\n\"In fact,\" cried Audubon, \"'Konx Ompax! Totality!' You and Dennis are\nstrangely agreed for once!\"\n\n\"Yes,\" he replied, \"but for very different reasons, as the judge said\non the one occasion when he concurred with his colleagues. Dennis\naccepts the Whole because he finds it a perfect logical system; I,\nbecause I find it a perfect work of art. His prophet is Hegel; mine is\nWalt Whitman.\"\n\n\"Walt Whitman! And you profess to be an artist!\"\n\n\"So was he, not in words but in life. One thing to him was no better\nnor worse than another; small and great, high and low, good and\nbad, he accepts them all, with the instinctive delight of an actual\nphysical contact. Listen to him!\" And he began to quote:\n\n \"I do not call one greater and one smaller,\n  That which fills its period and place is equal to any.\n  I believe a leaf of grass is no less than the journey-work of the stars.\n  And the pismire is equally perfect, and a grain of sand, and the egg of\n       the wren,\n  And the tree-toad is a 'chef-d'oeuvre' for the highest;\n  And the running blackberry would adorn the parlours of heaven,\n  And the narrowest hinge in my hand puts to scorn all machinery,\n  And the cow-crunching with depressed head surpasses any statue,\n  And a mouse is miracle enough to stagger sextillions of infidels.\"\n\n\"That's all very well,\" objected Leslie, \"though, of course, it's\nrather absurd; but it does not touch the question of evil at all.\"\n\n\"Wait a bit,\" cried Ellis, \"he's ready for you there.\"\n\n  \"I am not the poet of goodness only, I do not decline to be the poet of\n       wickedness also.\n  What blurt is this about virtue and about vice?\n  Evil propels me and reform of evil propels me, I stand indifferent,\n  My gait is no fault-finder's or rejector's gait,\n  I moisten the roots of all that grows.\"\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n  \"This is the meal equally set, this is the meat for natural hunger,\n  It is for the wicked just the same as the righteous, I make appointment\n       with all,\n  I will not have a single person slighted or kept away,\n  The kept-woman, spunger, thief are hereby invited,\n  The heavy-lipped slave is invited, the venerealee is invited;\n  There shall be no difference between them and the rest.\"\n\n\"That's rather strong,\" remarked Parry.\n\n\"Don't you like it?\" Ellis inquired.\n\n\"I think I might like it if I were drunk.\"\n\n\"Ah, but a poet, you see, is always drunk!\"\n\n'Well, I unfortunately, am often sober; and then I find the sponger\nand the venerealee anything but agreeable objects.\"\n\n\"Besides,\" said Audubon, \"though it's very good of Walt Whitman to\ninvite us all, the mere fact of dining with him, however miscellaneous\nthe company, doesn't alter the character of the dinner.\"\n\n\"No,\" cried Leslie, \"and that's just the point Ellis has missed all\nthrough. Even if it be true that the world appears to him as a work of\nart, it doesn't appear so to the personages of the drama. What's play\nto him is grim earnest to them; and, what's more, he himself is an\nactor not a mere spectator, and may have that fact brought home to\nhim, any moment, in his flesh and blood.\"\n\n\"Of course!\" replied Ellis, \"and I wouldn't have it otherwise. The\npoint of the position is that one should play one's part oneself,\nbut play it as an artist with one's eye upon the total effect, never\ncomplaining of Evil merely because one happens to suffer, but taking\nthe suffering itself as an element in the \u00e6sthetic perfection of the\nWhole.\"\n\n\"I should like to see you doing that,\" said Bartlett, rather brutally,\n\"when you were down with a fit of yellow fever.\"\n\n\"Or shut up in a mad-house,\" said Leslie.\n\n\"Or working eight hours a day at business,\" said Audubon, \"with the\nthermometer 100 degrees in the shade.\"\n\n\"Oh well,\" answered Ellis, \"those are the confounded accidents of our\nunhealthy habits of life.\"\n\n\"I am afraid,\" I said, \"they are accidents very essential to the\nsubstance of the world.\"\n\n\"Besides,\" cried Parry, \"there's the whole moral question, which you\nseem to ignore altogether. If there be any activity that is good,\nit must be, I suppose, the one that is right; and the activity you\ndescribe seems to have nothing to do with right and wrong.\"\n\n\"Right and wrong! Right and wrong!\" echoed Ellis,\n\n  \"Das h\u00f6r ich sechzlg Jahre wiederholen,\n  Ich fluche drauf, aber verstohlen.\"\n\n\"You may curse as much as you like,\" replied Parry, \"but you can\nhardly deny that there is an intimate connection between Good and\nRight.\"\n\nInstead of replying Ellis began to whistle; so I took up Parry's point\nand said, \"Yes, but what is the connection? My own idea is that Right\nis really a means to Good. And I should separate off all activity\nthat is merely a means from that which is really an end in itself, and\ngood.\"\n\n\"But is there any activity,\" objected Leslie, \"which is not merely a\nmeans?\"\n\n\"Oh yes,\" I said, \"I should have thought so. Most men, it seems to\nme, are well enough content with what they are doing for its own sake;\neven though at the same time they have remoter ends in view, and if\nthese were cut off would cease, perhaps, to take pleasure in the work\nof the moment. The attitude is not very logical, perhaps, but I think\nit is very common. Why else is it that men who believe and maintain\nthat they only work in order to make money, nevertheless are so\nunwilling to retire when the money is made; or, if they do, are so\noften dissatisfied and unhappy?\"\n\n\"Oh,\" said Audubon, \"that is only because boredom is worse than pain.\nIt is not that they find any satisfaction in their work; it's only\nthat they find even greater distress in idleness.\"\n\n\"But, surely,\" I replied, \"even you yourself would hardly maintain\nthat there is nothing men do for its own sake, and because they take\ndelight in it. If there were nothing else at least there is play--and\nI have known you play cricket yourself!\"\n\n\"Known him play cricket!\" cried Ellis. \"Why, if he had his way, he\nwould do nothing else, except at the times when he was riding or\nshooting.\"\n\n\"Well,\" I said, \"that's enough, for the moment, to refute him. And, in\nfact, I suppose none of us would seriously maintain that there is no\nform of activity which men feel to be good for its own sake, though\nthe Good of course may be partial and precarious.\"\n\n\"No,\" said Ellis, \"I should rather inquire whether there is any form\nwhich they pursue merely and exclusively as a means to something\nelse.\"\n\n\"Oh, surely!\" I said. \"One might mention, for instance, the act of\nvisiting the dentist. Or what is more important, and what, I suppose,\nParry had in his mind, there is the whole class of activities which\none distinguishes as moral.\"\n\n\"Do you mean to say,\" said Parry, \"that moral action has no Good in\nitself but is only a means to some other Good?\"\n\n\"I don't know,\" I replied; \"I am rather inclined to think so. But it\nall depends upon how we define it.\"\n\n\"And how do you define it?\"\n\n\"I should say that its specific quality consists in the refusal to\nseize some immediate and inferior Good with a view to the attainment\nof one that is remoter but higher.\"\n\n\"Oh, well, of course,\" cried Leslie, \"if you define it so, your\nproposition follows of itself.\"\n\n\"So I thought,\" I said. \"But how would you define it?\"\n\n\"I should say it is a free and perfect activity in Good.\"\n\n\"In that case, it is of course the very activity we are in quest of,\nand we should come upon it, if we were successful, at the end of our\ninquiry. But I was supposing that the essence of morality is expressed\nin the word 'ought'; and in that I take to be implied the definition\nI suggested--namely, action pursued not for its own sake, but for the\nsake of something else.\"\n\n\"Oh, oh!\" cried Dennis, \"there I really must protest! I've kept silent\nas long as I possibly could; but when it comes to describing as a mere\nmeans the only kind of activity which is an end in itself----\"\n\n\"The only kind that is an end in itself!\" I repeated, in some dismay.\n\"Is that really what you think?\"\n\n\"Of course it is! why not?\"\n\n\"I don't know. I have always supposed that, when we are doing what we\nought, we are acting with a view to some ultimate Good.\"\n\n\"Well, I, on the contrary, believe that we ought absolutely, without\nreference to anything else. It is a unique form of activity, dependent\non nothing but itself; and for anything we have yet shown, it may be\nthe Good we are in quest of.\"\n\nThis suggestion, unexpected as it was, threw me into great perplexity.\nI did not see exactly how to meet it; yet it awakened no response in\nme, nor as I thought In any of the others. But while I was hesitating,\nLeslie began:\n\n\"Do you mean that the Good might consist simply in doing what we\nought, without any other accompaniment or conditions?\"\n\n\"Yes, I think it might.\"\n\n\"So that, for example, a man might be in possession of the Good, even\nwhile he was being racked or burnt alive, so long only as he was doing\nwhat he ought\"\n\n\"Yes, I suppose he might be.\"\n\n\"It's a trifle paradoxical,\" said Ellis.\n\n\"In fact,\" added Bartlett, \"it might be called nonsense.\"\n\n\"I don't see why,\" replied Dennis; \"for we haven't yet shown that the\nGood is dependent on the things we call good.\"\n\n\"No,\" I said, \"but we did show--or at least for the time being we\nagreed to admit--that it must have some relation to what we call\ngoods; that they do somehow or other, and more or less, express\nits nature; and indeed our whole present inquiry is based upon the\nhypothesis that it is by examining goods that we may get to know\nsomething about the Good. So that I do not see how we can entertain an\nidea of Good which flatly contradicts all our experience of goods.\"\n\n\"Well,\" said Dennis, \"I ought perhaps to modify the position. Let us\nsay that the Good consists in the activity of doing what we ought,\nonly that activity can't exist in its true perfection unless everybody\nparticipates in it at once. But if everybody participated in it,\nthere would be no more burnings; and so Leslie's difficulty would not\narise.\"\n\n\"Well,\" I said, \"the modification is very radical! But even so, I\ndon't know what to make of the position. For it is very difficult to\nconceive a society perpetually and exclusively occupied, so to speak,\nin 'oughting.' Just imagine the kind of life It would be--without\npleasure, without business, without knowledge, without anything at all\nanalogous to what we call good, purged wholly and completely of all\nthat might taint the purity of the moral sense, of philanthropy, of\nfriendship, of love, even, I suppose, of the love of virtue, a life\nsimply of obligation, without anything to be obliged to except a law.\"\n\n\"But,\" he protested, \"you are taking an absurd and impossible case.\"\n\n\"I am taking the case which you yourself put, when you said that Good\nconsisted simply in doing what one ought, independently of all other\naccompaniment or condition. But perhaps that is not what you really\nmeant?\"\n\n\"No,\" he said; \"of course, what I meant was that it is life according\nto the moral law that is Good; but I did not intend to separate the\nlaw from the life, and call it Good all by itself.\"\n\n\"But is the life the better for the law, in the sense, I mean, in\nwhich law involves constraint? Or would it not be better still if the\nsame life were pursued freely for its own sake?\"\n\n\"Perhaps so.\"\n\n\"But, then, in that case, the more we realized Good the less we should\nbe aware of obligation. And would a life without conscious and felt\nobligation be a life specifically ethical, in the sense in which you\nseemed to be using the word?\"\n\n\"I should think not; for 'ought' in the ethical sense does certainly\nseem to me to involve the idea of obligation.\"\n\n\"In that case it would seem to be truer to say that activity is Good,\nnot in so far as it is ethical but precisely in so far as it is not.\nAt any rate, I should maintain that we come nearer to a realization\nof Good in the activities which we pursue without effort or friction,\nthan in those which involve a struggle between duty and inclination.\"\n\n\"But the activities we pursue without effort or friction often enough\nare bad.\"\n\n\"No doubt; but some of them are good, and it is to those I should look\nfor the best idea I could form of what Good might be.\"\n\n\"Well,\" he said, \"go on! Once more I have entered my protest; and now\nI leave the road clear.\"\n\n\"The worst of you is,\" said Ellis, \"that you always turn up in front!\nWhen we think we have passed you once for all, you take a short cut\nacross the fields, and there you are in the middle of the road, with\nthe same old story, that we're altogether on the wrong track.\"\n\n\"Well,\" said Dennis, sententiously, \"I do my duty.\"\n\n\"And,\" replied Ellis, \"no doubt you have your reward! Proceed!\" he\ncontinued, turning to me.\n\n\"Well,\" I said, \"I suppose I must try to go through to the end,\nthough these tactics of Dennis make me very nervous. I shall suppose,\nhowever, that I have convinced him that it is not in ethical activity\nas such that we can expect to find the most perfect example of Good.\nAnd now I propose to examine in turn some other of our activities,\nstarting with that which seems to be the most primitive of all.\"\n\n\"And which is that?\"\n\n\"I was thinking of the activity of our bodily senses, our direct\ncontact, so to speak, with objects, without the intermediation of\nreflection, through the touch, the sight, the hearing, and the rest.\nIs there anything in all this which we could call good?\"\n\n\"Is there anything!\" cried Ellis. \"What a question to ask!\" And he\nbroke out with the lines from Browning's \"Saul\":\n\n  \"Oh, the wild joys of living! the leaping from rock up to rock,\n  The strong rending of boughs from the fir-tree, the cool silver shock\n  Of the plunge in a pool's living water, the hunt of the bear,\n  And the sultriness showing the lion is couched in his lair.\n  And the meal, the rich dates yellowed over with gold dust divine,\n  And the locust-flesh steeped in the pitcher, the full draught of wine,\n  And the sleep in the dried river-channel where bulrushes tell\n  That the water was wont to go warbling so softly and well.\n  How good is man's life, the mere living! how fit to employ\n  All the heart and the soul and the senses for ever in joy.\"\n\nThe quotation seemed to loosen all tongues; and there followed a flood\nof such talk as may be heard in almost every company of Englishmen,\nin praise of sport and physical exercise, touched with a sentiment\nnot far removed from poetry--the only poetry of which they are not\nhalf-ashamed. Audubon even joined in, forgetting for the moment his\ncustomary pose, and rhapsodizing with the rest over his favourite\npursuits of snipe-shooting and cricket. Much of this talk was lost\nupon me, for I am nothing of a sportsman; but some touches there were\nthat recalled experiences of my own, and for that reason, I suppose,\nhave lingered in my memory. Thus, I recollect, some one spoke of\nskating on Derwentwater, the miles of black, virgin ice, the ringing\nand roaring of the skates, the sunset glow, and the moon rising full\nover the mountains; and another recalled a bathe on the shore of\n\u00c6gina, the sun on the rocks and the hot scent of the firs, as though\nthe whole naked body were plunged in some \u00e6thereal liqueur, drinking\nit in with every sense and at every pore, like a great sponge of sheer\nsensation. After some minutes of this talk, as I still sat silent,\nEllis turned to me with the appeal, \"But what about you, who are\nsupposed to be our protagonist? Here are we all rhapsodizing and you\nsit silent. Have you nothing to contribute to your own theme?\"\n\n\"Oh,\" I replied, \"any experiences of mine would be so trivial they\nwould be hardly worth recording. The most that could be said of them\nwould be that they might, perhaps, illustrate more exactly than yours\nwhat one might call the pure Goods of sense. For, as far as I can\nunderstand, the delights you have been describing are really very\ncomplex. In addition to pleasures of mere sensation, there is clearly\nan \u00e6sthetic charm--you kept speaking of heather and sunrises, and\ncolours and wide prospects; and then there is the satisfaction you\nevidently feel in skill, acquiring or acquired, and in the knowledge\nyou possess of the habits of beasts and birds. All this, of course,\ngoes beyond the delight of simple sense perception, though, no doubt,\ninextricably bound up with it But what I was thinking of at first was\nsomething less complex and more elementary in which, nevertheless,\nI think we can detect Good--Good of sheer unadulterated sensation.\nThink, for example, of the joys of a cold bath when one is dusty and\nhot! You will laugh at me, but sometimes when I have felt the\nwater pouring down my back I have shouted to myself in my tub 'nunc\ndimittis.'\"\n\nThey burst out laughing, and Ellis cried:\n\n\"You gross sensualist! And to think of all this being concealed behind\nthat masque of austere philosophy!\"\n\nThen they set off again In praise of the delights of such simple\nsensations, and especially of those of the palate, instancing, I\nremember, the famous tale about Keats--how he covered his tongue\nand throat with cayenne pepper that he might enjoy, as he said, \"the\ndelicious coolness of claret in all its glory.\" And when this had\ngone on for some time, \"Perhaps enough has been said,\" I began, \"to\nillustrate this particular kind of Good. We have, I think, recognized\nto the full its merits; and we shall be equally ready, I suppose, to\nrecognize its defects.\"\n\n\"I don't know about that,\" said Ellis. \"I, for my part, at any rate,\nshall be very loth to dwell upon them. I sometimes think these are the\nonly pure Goods.\"\n\n\"But at least,\" I replied, \"you will admit that they are precarious.\nIt is only at moments, and at moments that come and go without choice\nof ours, that this harmonious relation becomes established between our\nsenses and the outer world. The very same things which at such times\nappear to be perfectly at one with ourselves, as if they had been made\nfor us and we for them, we see and feel to have also a nature not only\ndistinct but even alien and hostile to our own. The water which cools\nour skin and quenches our thirst also drowns; the fire which warms\nand comforts also burns; and so on through all the chapter--I need not\nweary you with details. Nature, you will agree, not only ministers to\nour bodies, she torments and destroys them; she is our foe in ways at\nleast as varied and efficacious as she is our friend.\"\n\n\"But,\" objected Ellis, \"that is only because we don't treat her\nproperly; we have to learn how to manage her.\"\n\n\"Perhaps,\" I replied, \"though I should prefer to say, we have to learn\nhow to fight and subdue her. But in any case we have laid our finger\nhere upon a defect in this first kind of Goods--they are, as I said,\nprecarious. And the discovery of that fact, one might say, was the\nsword of the angel that drove man out of his imaginary Eden. For\nat first we may suppose him, (if Wilson will permit me to romance\na little,) seizing every delight as it offered itself, under an\ninstinctive impression that there were nothing but delights to be\nmet with, eating when he was hungry, drinking when he was thirsty,\nsleeping when he was tired, and so on, in unquestioning trust of\nhis natural impulses. But then, as he learnt by experience how evil\nfollows good, and pleasure often enough is bought by pain, he would\nbegin, would he not, instead of simply accepting Good where it is, to\nendeavour to create it where it is not, sacrificing often enough the\npresent to the future, and rejecting many immediate delights for the\nsake of those more remote? And this involves a complete change in his\nattitude; for he is endeavouring now to establish by his own effort\nthat harmony between himself and the world which he fondly hoped at\nfirst was immediately given.\"\n\n\"But,\" objected Wilson, \"he never did hope anything of the kind. This\nreconstruction of the past is all imaginary.\"\n\n\"I dare say it may be,\" I replied, \"but that is of little consequence,\nif it helps us to seize our point more clearly; for we are not at\npresent writing history. Man, then, we will suppose, is thus set out\nupon what is, whether he knows it or not, his quest to create, since\nhe is unable to find ready-made, a world of objects harmonious to\nhimself. But in this quest has he been, should you say, successful?\"\n\n\"More or less, I suppose,\" answered Parry, \"for he is progressively\nsatisfying his needs, even if they are never completely satisfied.\"\n\n\"Perhaps,\" I replied, \"though I sometimes have my doubts. The relation\nof man to nature, I have thought, is very strange and obscure. It\nis as though he began with the idea that he had only to remove a few\nblemishes from her face to make her completely accordant with\nhis desire. But no sooner has he gone to work than these surface\nblemishes, as he thought them, prove to have roots deeper than all\nhis probings; the more he cuts away the more he exposes of an element\nradically alien to himself, terrible and incomprehensible, branching\nwide and striking deep, and throwing up from depths unknown those\nsymptoms and symbols of itself which he mistook for mere superficial\nstains.\"\n\n\"Really,\" protested Parry, \"I see no grounds for such a view.\"\n\n\"Perhaps not,\" I said, \"but anyhow you will, I suppose, admit that a\ncertain precariousness does attach to these Goods of sense, whether\nthey be freely offered by nature or painfully acquired by the labour\nof man.\"\n\n\"Not necessarily,\" he objected, \"for we are constantly reducing to\norder and routine what was once haphazard and uncontrolled. For\nthe great mass of civilized men the primitive goods of life, food,\nshelter, clothing and the like, are practically secured against all\nchance.\"\n\n\"Are they?\" cried Bartlett, \"I admire your optimism!\"\n\n\"And I too,\" I said. \"But even granting that it were as you say,\nwe are then met by this curious fact, that the Goods we really care\nabout, in our practical activity, are never those that are secure but\nthose that are precarious. As soon as we are safe against one risk we\nproceed to take another, so that there is always a margin, as it were,\nof precarious Goods, and those exactly the ones which we hold most\nprecious.\"\n\n\"In fact,\" said Audubon, \"as soon as you get your Good it ceases to be\ngood. That's precisely what I am always saying.\"\n\n\"Then,\" I said, \"there is the less need to labour the point. One way\nor other, it seems, either because they are difficult to secure, or\nbecause, when secured, they lose their specific quality. Goods of this\nkind are caught in the wheels of chance and change, whether they be\noffered to man by the free gift of Nature, or wrung from her in the\nsweat of his brow. In other words, they are, as I said, precarious.\nAnd now, have they any other defects?\"\n\n\"Have they any?\" cried Leslie, \"why they have nothing else!\"\n\n\"Well,\" I said, \"but what in particular?\"\n\n\"Oh,\" he replied, \"it's all summed up, I suppose, in the fact that\nthey are Goods of sense, and not of intellect or of imagination.\"\n\n\"Is it then,\" I asked, \"a defect in content that you are driving\nat? Do you mean that they satisfy only a part of our nature, not the\nwhole? For that, I suppose, would be equally true of the other Goods\nyou mentioned, such as those of the intellect.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" he replied, \"but it is the inferior part to which the Goods we\nare speaking of appeal.\"\n\n\"Perhaps; but in what respect inferior?\"\n\n\"Why, simply as the body is inferior to the soul.\"\n\n\"But how is that? You will think me very stupid, but the more I think\nof it the less I understand this famous distinction between body and\nsoul, and the relation of one to the other.\"\n\n\"I doubt,\" said Wilson, \"whether there is a distinction at all.\"\n\n\"I don't say that,\" I replied. \"I only say that I can't understand\nit; and I should be thankful, if possible, to keep it out of our\ndiscussion.\"\n\n\"So should I!\" said Wilson.\n\n\"Well, but,\" Leslie protested, \"how can we?\"\n\n\"I think perhaps we might,\" I said. \"For instance, in the case before\nus, why should we not try directly to define that specific property of\nthe Goods of sense which, according to you, constitutes their defect,\nwithout having recourse to these difficult terms body and soul at\nall?\"\n\n\"Well,\" he agreed, \"we might try.\"\n\n\"What, then\" I said, \"do you suggest?\"\n\nHe hesitated a little, and then began in a tentative kind of way:\n\n\"I think what I feel about these Goods is that we are somehow their\nslaves; they possess us, instead of our possessing them. They come\nupon us we hardly know how or whence; they satisfy our desires we\ncan't tell why; our relation to them seems to be passive rather than\nactive.\"\n\n\"And that, you think, would not be the case with a true and perfect\nGood?\"\n\n\"No, I think not\"\n\n\"How, then, should we feel towards such a Good?\"\n\n\"We should feel, I think, that it was somehow an expression of\nourselves, and we of it; that it was its nature and its whole nature\nto present itself as a Good and our nature and our whole nature to\nexperience it as such. There would be nothing in It alien to us and\nnothing in us alien to it.\"\n\n\"Whereas in the case of Goods of sense----?\"\n\n\"Whereas in their case,\" he said, \"surely nothing of the kind applies.\nFor these Goods appear to arise in things and under circumstances\nwhich have quite another nature than that of being good for us. It is\nnot the essence of water to quench our thirst, of fire to cook for us,\nor of the sun to give us light----\"\n\n\"Or of cork-trees to stop our ginger-beer bottles,\" added Ellis.\n\n\"Quite so,\" he continued; \"in every case these things that do us good\nare also quite as ready to do us harm, and, for that matter, to do\ninnumerable things which have no relation to us at all. So that the\ngoodness they have in them, so far as it is goodness to our senses,\nthey have, as it were, only by accident; and we feel that essentially\neither they are not Goods, or their goodness is something beyond and\ndifferent from that which is revealed to sense.\"\n\n\"Your quarrel, then\" I said, \"with the Goods of sense, so far as I\nunderstand you, is that they inhere, as it were, in a substance which,\nso far as we can tell, is indifferent to Good, or at any rate to Good\nof that kind?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"Whereas a true Good, you think, must be good in essence and\nsubstance?\"\n\n\"Yes; don't you think so too?\"\n\n\"I do,\" I replied, \"but how about the others?\"\n\nDennis assented, and the others did not object, not appearing, indeed,\nto have attended much to the argument. So I continued, \"We have then,\nso far, discovered in this class of Goods, two main defects, the\nfirst, that they are precarious; the second, which is closely\nconnected with the other, and is in fact, I suppose, its explanation,\nthat they are, shall we say, accidental, understanding the word in\nthe sense we have just defined. Now, let us see if we cannot find any\nclass of Goods similar to these, but free from their defects.\"\n\n\"But similar in what respect,\" he asked, \"if they are not to have\nsimilar defects?\"\n\n\"Similar, I meant, in being direct presentations to sense.\"\n\n\"But are there any such Goods?\"\n\n\"I think so,\" I said. \"What do you say to works of Art? These, are\nthey not, are direct presentations to sense? Yet such that it is their\nwhole nature and essence on the one hand to be beautiful, and to that\nextent Good--for I suppose you will admit that the Beautiful is a kind\nof Good; and on the other hand, if I may dare to say so, to be, in a\ncertain sense, eternal.\"\n\n\"Eternal!\" cried Ellis, \"I only wish they were! What wouldn't we give\nfor the works of Polygnotus and Apelles!\"\n\n\"Oh yes,\" I said, \"of course, in that way, regarded as material\nobjects, they are as perishable as all the works of nature. But I was\ntalking of them as Art, not as mere things; and from that point of\nview, surely, each is a moment, or a series of moments, cut away,\nas it were, from the contact of chance or change and set apart in\na timeless world of its own, never of its own nature, to pass into\nsomething else, but only through the alien nature of the matter to\nwhich it is bound.\"\n\n\"What do you mean?\" cried Parry. \"I am quite at sea.\"\n\n\"Perhaps,\" I said, \"you will understand the point better if I give it\nyou in the words of a poet.\"\n\nAnd I quoted the well-known stanzas from Keats' \"Ode on a Grecian\nUrn\":\n\n  \"Heard melodies are sweet, but those unheard\n    Are sweeter; therefore, ye soft pipes, play on;\n  Not to the sensual ear, but, more endear'd.\n    Pipe to the spirit ditties of no tone;\n  Fair youth beneath the trees, thou canst not leave\n    Thy song, nor ever can those trees be bare;\n      Bold lover, never, never canst thou kiss,\n  Though winning near the goal--yet, do not grieve;\n      She cannot fade, though thou hast not thy bliss,\n    For ever wilt thou love and she be fair!\n\n  \"Ah, happy, happy boughs! that cannot shed\n    Your leaves, nor ever bid the spring adieu;\n  And, happy melodist, unwearied,\n    For ever piping songs for ever new;\n  More happy love! more happy, happy love!\n    For ever warm and still to be enjoyed,\n      For ever panting and for ever young;\n  All breathing human passion far above,\n    That leaves a heart high-sorrowful and cloyed,\n      A burning forehead, and a parching tongue.\"\n\n\"Well,\" said Parry, when I had done, \"that's very pretty; but I don't\nsee how it bears on the argument.\"\n\n\"I think,\" I replied, \"that it illustrates the point I wanted to make.\nPart, I mean, of the peculiar charm of works of Art consists in the\nfact that they arrest a fleeting moment of delight, lift it from our\nsphere of corruption and change, and fix it like a star in the eighth\nheaven.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" said Ellis, \"we grant you that\"\n\n\"Or at least,\" added Parry, \"we don't care to dispute it\"\n\n\"And the other point which I want to make is, I think, clearer\nstill--that the Good of works of Art, that is to say their Beauty,\nresults from the very principle of their nature, and is not a mere\naccident of circumstances.\"\n\n\"Of course,\" said Leslie, \"their Beauty is their only _raison d'\u00eatre_?\"\n\n\"And yet,\" I went on, \"they are still Goods of sense, and so far\nresemble the other Goods of which we were speaking before.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" said Dennis, \"but with what a difference! That is the point I\nhave been waiting to come to.\"\n\n\"What point?\" I asked.\n\n\"Why,\" he said, \"in the case of what you call Goods of sense, in their\nsimplest and purest form, making abstraction from all \u00e6sthetic\nand other elements--as in the example you gave of a cold bath--the\nrelation of the object to the sense is so simple and direct, that\nreally, if we were to speak accurately, we should have, I think, to\nsay, that so far as the perception of Good is concerned the object is\nmerged in the subject, and what you get is simply a good sensation.\"\n\n\"Perhaps,\" I agreed, \"that is how we ought to put it. But at the time\nI did not think it necessary to be so precise.\"\n\n\"But it has become necessary now, I think,\" he replied, \"if we are to\nbring out a characteristic of works of Art which will throw light, I\nbelieve, on the general nature of Good.\"\n\n\"What characteristic is that?\"\n\n\"Why,\" he replied, \"when we come to works of Art, the important thing\nis the object, not the subject; if there is any merging of the one in\nthe other, it is the subject that is merged in the object, not\n_vice versa_. We have to contemplate the object, anyhow, as having a\ncharacter of its own; and it is to this character that I want to draw\nattention.\"\n\n\"In what respect?\"\n\n\"In respect that every work of Art, and, for that matter, every work\nof nature--so far as it can be viewed \u00e6sthetically--comprises a number\nof elements necessarily connected in a whole; and this necessary\nconnection is the point on which we ought to insist\"\n\n\"But necessary how?\" asked Wilson. \"Do you mean logically necessary?\"\n\n\"No,\" he replied, \"\u00e6sthetically. I mean, that we have a direct\nperception that nothing in the work could be omitted or altered\nwithout destroying the whole. This, at any rate, is the ideal; and\nit holds, more or less, in proportion as the work is more or less\nperfect. Everyone, I suppose, who understands these things would agree\nto that.\"\n\nNo one seemed inclined to dispute the statement; certainly I was not,\nmyself; so I answered, \"No doubt what you say is true of works of Art;\nbut will your contention be that it is also true of Good in general?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" he said, \"I think so, in so far at least as Good is to be\nconceived as comprising a number of elements. For no one, I suppose,\nwould imagine that such elements might be thrown together haphazard\nand yet constitute a good whole.\"\n\n\"I suppose not,\" I agreed, \"and, if you are right, what we seem to\nhave arrived at is this: among the works which man creates in his\nquest of the Good, there is one class, that of works of Art, which, in\nthe first place, may be said, in a sense, to be not precarious, seeing\nthat by their form, through which they are Art, they are set above the\nflux of time, though by their matter, we admit, they are bound to\nit And, in the second place, the Good which they have, they have by\nvirtue of their essence; Good is their substance, not an accident of\ntheir changing relations. And, lastly, being complex wholes, the parts\nof which they are composed are bound together in necessary connection.\nThese characteristics, at any rate, we have discovered in works of\nArt: and no doubt many more might be discoverable. But now, let us\nturn to the other side, and consider the defects in which this class\nof Goods is involved.\"\n\n\"Ah!\" cried Bartlett, \"when you come to that, I have something to\nsay.\"\n\n\"Well,\" I said, \"what is it? We shall be glad of any help.\"\n\n\"It can be summed up,\" he replied, \"in a single word. Whatever may be\nthe merits of a work of Art--and they may be all that you say--it has\nthis one grand defect--it isn't real!\"\n\n\"Real!\" cried Leslie. \"What is real? The word's the plague of my\nlife! People use it as if they meant something by it, something very\ntremendous and august, and when you press them they never know what\nit is. They talk of 'real life'--real life! what is it? As if one life\nwasn't as real as another!\"\n\n\"Oh, as to real life,\" said Ellis, \"I can tell you what that is. Real\nlife is the shady side of life.\"\n\n\"Nonsense,\" said Parry, \"real life is the life of men of the world.\"\n\n\"Or,\" retorted Ellis, \"more generally, it is the life of the person\nspeaking, as opposed to that of the person to whom he speaks.\"\n\n\"Well, but,\" I interposed, \"it is not 'real life' that is our present\nconcern, but Bartlett's meaning when he used the word 'real.' In what\nsense is Art not real?\"\n\n\"Why,\" he replied, \"by your own confession Art is something ideal. It\nis beautiful, it is good, it is lifted above chance and change; its\nconnection with matter, that is to say with reality, is a kind of\nflaw, an indecency from which we discreetly turn our eyes. The real\nworld is nothing of all this; on the contrary, it is ugly, brutal,\nmaterial, coarse, and bad as bad can be!\"\n\n\"I don't see that it is at all!\" cried Leslie, \"and, even if it were,\nyou have no right to assume that that is the reality of it. How do you\nknow that its reality doesn't consist precisely in the Ideal, as all\npoets and philosophers have thought? And, in that case, Art would be\nmore real than what you would call Reality, because it would represent\nthe essence of the world, the thing it would like to be if it could,\nand is, so far as it can. That was Aristotle's view, anyhow.\"\n\n\"Then all I can say is,\" replied Bartlett, \"that I don't agree with\nAristotle! Anyhow, even if Art represents what the world would like to\nbe, it certainly doesn't represent what it is.\"\n\n\"I don't know; surely it does, sometimes,\" said Parry, \"for instance,\nthere's the realistic novel!\"\n\n\"Oh, that!\" cried Ellis. \"That's the most ideal of all--only it's apt\nto be such bad idealism!\"\n\n\"Anyhow,\" said Bartlett, \"in so far as it is real, it's not Art, in\nthe sense, in which we have been using the word.\"\n\nI began to be afraid that we should drift away into a discussion of\nrealism in Art. So, to recall the conversation to the point at issue,\nI turned to Bartlett, and said:\n\n\"Your criticism seems to me to be fair enough as far as it goes. You\nsay that the world of Art is a world by itself; that side by side of\nit, and unaffected by it, moves the world of what you call real life.\nAnd that whatever be the relation between the two worlds, whether\nwe are to say that the one imitates the other, or interprets it, or\nidealizes it, it does not, in any case, set it aside. Art is a refuge\nfrom life, not a substitute for it; a little blessed island in the\nhowling sea of fact. Its Good is thus only a partial Good; whereas the\ntrue Good, I suppose, would be somehow universal.\"\n\n\"Still,\" said Leslie, \"as far as it goes it is a Good without\nblemish.\"\n\n\"I am not so sure,\" I said, \"even of that. I am inclined to think that\nBartlett's criticism, if we squeeze it tight, will yield us more than\nwe have yet got out of it--perhaps even more than he knows is in it\"\n\n\"You don't mean to say,\" cried Bartlett, \"that you are coming over to\nmy side!\"\n\n\"Yes,\" I said, \"like a spy to the enemy's camp to see where your\nstrength really lies.\"\n\n\"I have no objection,\" he replied, \"if it ends in your discovering new\ndefences for me.\"\n\n\"Well,\" I said, \"we shall see. Anyhow, this is what I had in my mind.\nWe were saying just now that when people talk about 'real life,' the\n'real world,' and so on, they are not always very clear as to what\nthey mean. But one thing, I think, perhaps they have obscurely in\ntheir heads--that the Real is something from which you cannot escape;\nsomething which forces itself upon you without reference to choice or\ndesire, having a nature of its own which may or may not conform, more\nor less to yours, but in any case is distinct and independent. That\nis why they would say, for example, that the illusions of a madman\nare not real, meaning that they do not represent real things, however\nvivid their appearance may be, because they are the productions merely\nof his own consciousness; whereas the very same appearances presented\nto a sane man would be called without hesitation real, because they\nwould be conceived to proceed from objects having an independent\nnature of their own. Something of this kind, I suppose, is included in\nthe notion 'real' as it is held by ordinary people.\"\n\n\"Perhaps\" said Leslie, \"but what then? And how does it bear upon Art?\"\n\n\"I am not sure,\" I replied, \"but it occurred to me that works of\nArt, though of course they are real objects, are such that a certain\nviolence, as it were, has been done to their reality in our interest.\nWhat I mean will be best understood, I think, if we put ourselves for\nthe moment into the position of the artist. To him certain materials\nare presented which of course are real in our present acceptation\nof the term, being such as they are of their own nature, without\nany dependence upon him. Upon these materials he flings himself, and\nshapes them according to his desire, impressing, as it were, his\nown nature upon theirs, till they confront him as a kind of image of\nhimself in an alien stuff. So far, then, he has a Good, and a Good\npresented to him as real; but for the Goodness of this reality he is\nhimself responsible. In so far as it is, so to speak, merely real, it\nhas still the nature which was first presented to him, before he began\nhis work--a nature indifferent, if not opposed, to all his operations,\nas is shown by the fact that it changes and passes away into something\nelse, just as it would have done if he had never touched it. To this\nnature he has, as I said, done a certain violence in order to stamp\nupon it the appearance of Good; but the Good is still, in a sense,\nonly an appearance; the reality of the thing remains independent and\nalien. So that what the man has found, in so far as he has found Good,\nis after all only a form of himself; and one can conceive him feeling\na kind of despair, like that of Wotan in the Walk\u00fcre, when in his\nquest for a free, substantial, self-subsistent Good he finds after\nall, for ever, nothing but images of himself:\n\n  \"'Das Andre, das ich ersehne,\n  Das Andre, erseh' ich nie.'\n\n\"I don't know whether what I am saying is intelligible, for I find it\nrather hard to put it into words.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" he said, \"I think I understand. But what you are saying, so far\nas it is true, seems to be true only for the artist himself. To\nall others the work of Art must appear as something independent of\nthemselves.\"\n\n\"True,\" I said, \"and yet I think that they too feel, or might be made\nto fed if it were brought home to them, this same antagonism between\nthe nature of the stuff and the form that has been given to it.\nThe form will seem from this point of view something factitious and\nartificial given to the stuff, not indeed by themselves, but by one\nlike themselves, and in their interest. They will contrast, perhaps,\nas is often done, a picture of the landscape with the landscape\nItself. The picture, they will say, however beautiful, is not a\n'natural' Good, not a real Good, not a Good in its own right; it is\na kind of makeshift produced by human effort, beautiful, if you will,\nadmirable, if you will, to be sought, to be cherished, to be loved in\ndefault of a better, with the best faculties of brain and soul, but\nstill not that ultimate thing we wanted, that Good in and of itself,\nas well as through and for us, Good by its own nature apart from our\ninterposition, self-moved, self-determined, self-dependent, and in\nwhich alone our desires could finally rest.--Don't you think that some\nsuch feeling may, perhaps, be at the bottom of Bartlett's criticism of\nArt as unreal?\"\n\nBartlett laughed. \"If so,\" he said, \"it is quite unknown to myself.\nFor to tell the truth, I have not understood a word that you have\nsaid.\"\n\n\"Well,\" I said, \"in that case, at any rate you can't disagree with me.\nBut what do the others think?\" And I turned to Dennis and Leslie, for\nWilson and Parry did not seem to be attending. Leslie assented with\nenthusiasm. But Dennis shook his head.\n\n\"I don't know,\" he said, \"what to think about all that. It seems to me\nrather irrelevant to the work of Art as such.\"\n\n\"Perhaps,\" I said, \"but surely not to the work of Art as Good? Or do\nyou not agree with me that the true Good must be such purely of its\nown nature?\"\n\n\"Perhaps so,\" he replied; \"it wants thinking over. But in any case I\nagree with you so far, that I should never place the Good in Art.\"\n\n\"In what then?\"\n\n\"I should be much more inclined to place it in Knowledge.\"\n\n\"In Knowledge!\" I repeated. \"That seems to me very strange!\"\n\n\"But why strange?\" he said. \"Surely there is good authority for the\nview. It was Aristotle's for example, and Spinoza's.\"\n\n\"I know,\" I replied, \"and I used to think it was also mine. But of\nlate I have come to realize more clearly what Knowledge is; and now I\nsee, or seem to see, that whatever its value may be, it is something\nthat falls very far short of Good.\"\n\n\"Why,\" he said, \"what is your idea of Knowledge?\"\n\n\"You had better ask Wilson,\" I replied, \"it is he who has instructed\nme.\"\n\n\"Very well,\" he said, \"I appeal to Wilson.\"\n\nAnd Wilson, nothing loth, enunciated his definition of Knowledge.\n\n\"Knowledge,\" he said, \"is the description and summing up in brief\nformul\u00e6 of the routine of our perceptions.\"\n\n\"There!\" I exclaimed. \"No one, I suppose, would identify that with\nGood?\"\n\n\"But\"--objected Dennis--\"in the first place, I don't understand the\ndefinition; and, in the second place, I don't agree with it.\"\n\n\"As to understanding it,\" replied Wilson, \"there need be no difficulty\nthere. You have only to seize clearly one or two main positions.\nFirst, that Knowledge is of perceptions only, not of things in\nthemselves; secondly, that these perceptions occur in fixed routines;\nthirdly ...\"\n\n\"But,\" interrupted Dennis, \"what is a perception? I suppose it's a\nperception of something?\"\n\n\"No,\" he said, \"I don't know that it is.\"\n\n\"What then? Simply a state in me?\"\n\n\"Very likely.\"\n\n\"Then does nothing exist except my states?\"\n\n\"Nothing else exists primarily for you.\"\n\n\"Then what about the world before I existed, and after I cease to\nexist?\"\n\n\"You infer such a world from your states.\"\n\n\"Then there is something besides my states--this world which I infer;\nand that, I suppose, and not merely my perceptions, is the reality of\nwhich I have knowledge?\"\n\n\"Not exactly,\" he replied, \"the fact is ...\"\n\n\"I don't think,\" I interrupted, \"that we ought to plunge into a\ndiscussion of the nature of Reality. It is Good with which we are at\npresent concerned.\"\n\n\"But,\" said Dennis, \"we wanted to find out the connection of Knowledge\nwith Good; and to do so we must first discover what Knowledge is.\"\n\n\"Well then,\" I said, \"let us first take Wilson's account of Knowledge,\nand see what he makes of that with regard to Good; and then we will\ntake yours, and see what we make of that. And if we don't find that\neither satisfies the requirements of Good we will leave Knowledge and\ngo on to something else.\"\n\n\"Very well,\" he replied, \"I am content, so long as I get my chance.\"\n\n\"You shall have your chance. But first we will take Wilson. And I\ndare say he will not keep us long. For you will hardly maintain, I\nsuppose,\" I continued, turning to him, \"that Knowledge, as you define\nit, could be identified with Good?\"\n\n\"I don't know,\" he said; \"to tell the truth, I don't much believe in\nGood, in any absolute sense. But that Knowledge, as I define it, is a\ngood thing, I have no doubt whatever.\"\n\n\"Neither have I,\" I replied; \"but good, as it seems to me, mainly as a\nmeans, in so far as it enables us to master Nature.\"\n\n\"Well,\" he said, \"and what greater Good could there be?\"\n\n\"I don't dispute the greatness of such a Good. I merely wish to point\nout that if we look at it so, it is in the mastery of Nature that the\nGood in question consists, and not in the Knowledge itself. Or should\nyou say that there is Good in the scientific activity itself, quite\napart from any practical results to which it may lead?\"\n\n\"Certainly,\" he replied, \"and the former, in my opinion, is the higher\nand more ideal Good.\"\n\n\"This activity itself of inventing brief formul\u00e6 to resume the routine\nof our perceptions?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"Well, but what _is_ the Good of it? That is what it is so hard for\na layman to get hold of. Does it consist in the discovery of Reality?\nFor that, I could understand, would be good.\"\n\n\"No,\" he said, \"for we do not profess to touch Reality. We deal merely\nwith our perceptions.\"\n\n\"So that when, for example, you conceive such and such a perfect\nfluid, or whatever you call it, and such and such motions in it, you\ndo not suppose this fluid to be real.\"\n\n\"No. It is merely a conception by means of which we are enabled to\ngive an account of the order in which certain of our perceptions\noccur. But it is very satisfactory to be able to give such an\naccount.\"\n\n\"I suppose it must be,\" I said, \"but once more, could you say more\nprecisely wherein the satisfaction consists? Is it, perhaps, in the\ndiscovery of necessary connections?\"\n\n\"No,\" he said, \"we don't admit necessity. We admit only an order which\nis, as a matter of fact, regular.\"\n\n\"You say, for example, that it so happens that all bodies do move\nin relation to one another in the way summed up in the law of\ngravitation; but that you see no reason why they should?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"But ...\" began Dennis, who had found difficulty all this time in\nrestraining himself.\n\n\"One moment!\" I pleaded, \"let Wilson have his say.\" And turning to him\nI continued: \"If, then, the satisfaction to be derived from scientific\nactivity does not consist in the discovery of Reality, nor yet in\nthat of necessary connection, wherein should you say, does it consist?\nPerhaps in the regulating of expectation?\"\n\n\"What do you mean by that?\"\n\n\"I mean, that it is painful for us to live in a world in which\nwe don't know what to expect; it excites not only our fears and\napprehensions, but also a kind of intellectual disgust. And,\nconversely, it is a relief and a pleasure to discover an order among\nour experiences, not only because it enables us the better to utilize\nthem for our ends (for that belongs to the practical results of\nscience), but because in itself we prefer order to disorder, even if\nno other advantage were to be got out of it.\"\n\n\"I don't know that we do!\" objected Ellis, \"it depends on the kind\nof order. An order of dull routine is far more intolerable than a\ndisorder of splendid possibilities! Ask the Oriental why he objects to\nBritish rule! Simply because it is regular! He prefers the chances\nof rapine, violent and picturesque, to the dreary machine-like\ndepredations of the tax-collector.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" I said, \"but there you take in a number of complex factors. I\nwas thinking merely of the Good to be got out of scientific activity\nas such. And I think there is an intellectual satisfaction in the\ndiscovery of order, even though it be dissociated from necessity.\"\n\n\"No doubt there is,\" said Wilson, \"but I shouldn't say that is the\nonly reason for our delight in Knowledge. The fact is, Knowledge is an\nextension of experience, and is good simply as such. The sense of More\nand still More beyond what has yet been discovered, of new facts, new\nsuccessions, new combinations, of ever fresh appeals to our interest,\nour wonder, our admiration, the mere excitement of discovery for its\nown sake, quite apart from anything else to which it may lead, a dash\nof adventure, too, a heightening of life--that is what is the real\nspur to science and, to my mind, its sufficient justification.\"\n\n\"But,\" I objected, \"that is rather an account of the general process\nof Experience than of the special one of Knowledge. No doubt there is\nan attraction in all activity--Ellis has already expounded it; and all\nexperience involves a kind of Knowledge; but what we wanted to get at\nwas the special attraction of scientific activity; and that seems to\nbe, so far as I can see, simply the discovery of order.\"\n\n\"Well,\" he said, \"if you like--what then?\"\n\n\"Why, then,\" I said, \"we can easily see the defect in this kind of\nactivity, when viewed from the standpoint of Good.\"\n\n\"What is it?\"\n\n\"Why, clearly, that that in which we discover the order may be bad.\nThere is a science of disease as well as of health; and an activity\nconcerned with the Bad could hardly be purely good, even though it\nwere a discovery of order in the Bad. Or do you think that if all men\nwere diseased, they would nevertheless be in possession of the Good,\nif only they had perfect knowledge of the laws of disease?\"\n\n\"No,\" he said, \"of course not. We have to take into account, not only\nthe character of Knowledge, but the character of the object known.\"\n\n\"Quite so, that is my point. You agree then with me that Knowledge\nmay be in various ways good, but that in so far as it is, or may be\nknowledge of Bad, it cannot be said by itself to constitute the Good.\"\n\n\"I think,\" he agreed, \"that I might admit that.\"\n\n\"Well, then,\" I said, \"let us leave it there. And now, what has Dennis\nto say?\"\n\n\"Ah!\" he said, \"you unmuzzle me at last. It has really been very hard\nto sit by in silence and listen to these heresies without a protest.\"\n\n\"Heresies!\" retorted Wilson, \"if it comes to that, which of us is the\nheretic?\"\n\n\"What,\" I asked, \"is the point of disagreement?\"\n\n\"It's a fundamental one. On Wilson's view, Knowledge is merely\nthe discovery of order among our perceptions. If that were all,\nI shouldn't value it much. But on my view, it is the discovery of\nnecessary connection; and in the necessity lies the fascination.\"\n\n\"But where,\" argued Wilson, \"do you find your necessity? All that is\nreally given is succession. The necessity is merely what we read into\nthe facts.\"\n\n\"Not at all! The necessity is 'given,' as you call it, as much as\nanything else, if only you choose to look for it. The type of all\nKnowledge is mathematical knowledge; and all mathematical knowledge is\nnecessary.\"\n\n\"But it is all based on assumptions.\"\n\n\"That may be; but granting the assumptions, it deduces from them\nnecessary consequences. And all true science is of that type. A law of\nNature is not a mere description of a routine; it's a statement\nthat, given such and such conditions, such and such results follow of\nnecessity.\"\n\n\"Still, you admit that the conditions have to be given! Everything is\nbased ultimately on certain successions and coincidences of which all\nthat can be said is simply that they exist, without any possibility of\ngetting behind them.\"\n\n\"I don't know about that,\" he said, \"but at any rate it would be the\nideal of Knowledge to establish necessary connections throughout; so\nthat, given any one phenomenon of the universe, all the rest would\ninevitably follow. And it is only in so far as it progresses towards\nthis consummation that Knowledge is Knowledge at all. A routine simply\ngiven without internal coherence is to my mind a contradiction in\nterms; either the routine is necessary, or it's not a routine at all,\nbut at best a mere appearance of a routine.\"\n\n\"I think,\" I interposed, \"we must leave you and Wilson to fight this\nout in private. At present, let us assume that your conception of\nKnowledge is the true one, as we did with his, and examine it from the\npoint of view of the Good. Your conception, then, to begin with, seems\nto me to be involved in the same defect we have already noted--namely,\nthat it may be knowledge of Bad just as much as knowledge of Good. And\nI suppose you would hardly maintain, any more than Wilson did, that\nthe Good may consist in knowledge of Bad?\"\n\n\"But,\" he objected, \"I protest altogether against this notion that\nthere is Knowledge on the one hand and something of which there is\nknowledge on the other. True Knowledge, if ever we could attain to\nit, would be a unique kind of activity, in which there would be no\ndistinction, or at least no antagonism, between thinking on the one\nhand and the thing thought on the other.\"\n\n\"I don't know,\" I said, \"that I quite understand. Have we in fact any\nknowledge of that kind, that might serve as a kind of type of what you\nmean?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" he replied, \"I think we have. For example, if we are dealing\nwith pure number, as in arithmetic, we have an object which is somehow\nnative to our thought, commensurate with it, or however you like\nto put it; and it is the same with other abstract notions, such as\nsubstance and causation.\"\n\n\"I see,\" I said. \"And on the other hand, the element which is alien\nto thought, and which is the cause of the impurity of most of what we\ncall knowledge, is the element of sense--the something given, which\nthought cannot, as it were, digest, though it may dress and serve it\nup in its own sauce?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" he said, \"that is my idea.\"\n\n\"So that knowledge, to be perfect, must not be of sense, but only of\npure thought, as Plato suggested long ago?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"And such a knowledge, if we could attain it, you would call the\nGood?\"\n\n\"I think so.\"\n\n\"Well,\" I said, \"in the first place, I have to point out that such a\nGood (if it be one) implies an existence not merely better than\nthat of which we have an experience, but radically and fundamentally\ndifferent. For our whole life is bathed in sense. Not only are we sunk\nin it up to the neck, but the greater part of the time our heads are\nunder too,--in fact most of us never get them out at all; it is only\na few philosophers every now and again who emerge for a moment or two\ninto sun and air, to breathe that element of pure thought which is too\nfine even for them, except as a rare indulgence. At other times, they\ntoo must be content with the grosser atmosphere which is the common\nsustenance of common men.\"\n\n\"Well,\" he said, \"but what of that? We have not been maintaining that\nthe Good is within easy reach of all.\"\n\n\"No,\" cried Ellis. \"But even if it were, and were such as you describe\nit, very few people would care to put out their hands to take it. I,\nat any rate, for my part can see hardly a vestige of Good in the kind\nof activity I understand you to mean. It is as though you should say,\nthat Good consists in the perpetual perception that 2 + 2 = 4.\"\n\n\"But that is an absurd parody. For the point of knowledge would be,\nthat it would be a closed circle of necessary connections. One would\nmove in it, as in infinity, with a motion that is also rest, central\nat once and peripheral, free and yet bound by law. That is my ideal of\na perfect activity!\"\n\n\"In form, perhaps,\" I said, \"but surely not in content! For what, in\nfact, in our experience comes nearest to what you describe? I suppose\nthe movement of a logic like Hegel's?\"\n\n\"Yes; only that, of course, is imperfect, full of lapses and flaws!\"\n\n\"But even if it were perfect,\" cried Ellis, \"would it be any the\nbetter? Imagine being deprived of the whole content of life--of\nnature, of history, of art, of religion, of everything in which we\nare really interested; imagine being left to turn for ever, like a\nsquirrel in a cage, or rather like the idea of a squirrel in the idea\nof a cage, round and round the wheel of these hollow notions, without\nhands, without feet, without anything anywhere by which we could lay\nhold of a something that is not thought, a something solid, resistant,\npalpitating, 'luscious and aplomb,' as Walt Whitman might say, a\nsense, a flesh, call it what you will, the unintelligible, but still\nthe indispensable, that which, even if it be bad, we cannot afford to\nmiss, and which, if it be not the Good itself, the Good must somehow\ninclude!\"\n\nDennis appeared to be somewhat struck by this way of putting the\nmatter. \"But,\" he urged, \"my difficulty is that if you admit sense, or\nanything analogous to it, anything at once directly presented and also\nalien to thought, you get, as you said yourself, something which is\nunintelligible; and a Good which is not intelligible will be, so far,\nnot good.\"\n\n\"But,\" I said, \"what do you mean by intelligible?\"\n\n\"I think,\" he replied, \"that I mean two things, both of which must be\npresent. First, that there shall be a necessary connection among the\nelements presented; and secondly, that the elements themselves should\nbe of such a kind as to be, as it were, transparent to that which\napprehends them, so that it asks no questions as to what they are\nor whence they come, but accepts them naturally and as a matter of\ncourse, with the same inevitability as it accepts its own being.\"\n\n\"And these conditions, you think, are fulfilled by the objects of\nthought as you defined them?\n\n\"I think so.\"\n\n\"I am not so sure of that,\" I said, \"it would require a long\ndiscussion. But, anyhow, you also seemed to admit, when Ellis pressed\nyou, that thought of that kind could hardly be identified absolutely\nwith Good.\"\n\n\"I admit,\" he replied, \"that there are difficulties in that view.\"\n\n\"But at the same time the Good, whatever it be, ought to be\nintelligible in the sense you have explained?\"\n\n\"I should say so.\"\n\n\"And so should I. But now, the question is, can we not conceive of\nany other kind of object, which might have, on the one hand, the\nintelligibility you ascribe to pure ideas, and on the other, that\nimmediate something, 'luscious and aplomb,' to borrow Ellis's\nquotation, which he desiderated as a constituent of the Good?\"\n\n\"I don't know,\" he said, \"perhaps we might. What is it you have in\nyour mind?\"\n\n\"Well,\" I replied, \"let us recur for a moment to works of art. In them\nwe have, to begin with, directly presented elements other than mere\nideas.\"\n\n\"No doubt.\"\n\n\"And further, these elements, we agreed, have a necessary connection\none with the other.\"\n\n\"Yes, but not logically necessary.\"\n\n\"No doubt, but still a necessary connection. And it is the necessity\nof the connection, surely, that is important; the character of the\nnecessity is a secondary consideration.\"\n\n\"Perhaps.\"\n\n\"One condition, then, of intelligibility is satisfied by a work\nof art. But how is it with the other? How is it with the elements\nthemselves? Are they transparent, to use your phrase, to that which\napprehends them?\"\n\n\"Certainly not, for they are mere sense--of all things the most\nobscure and baffling.\"\n\n\"And yet,\" I replied, \"not mere sense, for they are sense made\nbeautiful; as beautiful, they are akin to us, and, so far,\nintelligible.\"\n\n\"You suggest, then, that Beauty is akin to something in us, in a\nway analogous to that in which, according to me, ideas are akin to\nthought?\"\n\n\"It seems so to me. In so far as a thing is beautiful it does not, I\nthink, demand explanation, but only in so far as it is something else\nas well.\"\n\n\"Perhaps. But anyhow, inasmuch as a work of art is also sense, so far\nat least it is not intelligible.\"\n\n\"True; and here we come by a new path upon the defect which we\nnoticed before in works of art--that their Beauty, or Goodness, is not\nessential to their whole nature, but is something imposed, as it were,\non an alien stuff. And it is this alien element that we now pronounce\nto be unintelligible.\"\n\n\"Yes; and so, as we agreed before, we cannot pronounce works of art to\nbe absolutely good.\"\n\n\"No. But what are we to do then? Where are we to turn? Is there\nnothing in our experience to suggest the kind of object we seem to\nwant?\"\n\nNo one answered. I looked round in vain for any help, and then, in\na kind of despair, moved by I know not what impulse, I made a direct\nappeal to Audubon.\n\n\"Come!\" I cried, \"you have said nothing for the last hour! I am sure\nyou must have something to suggest.\"\n\n\"No,\" he said, \"I haven't. Your whole way of dealing with these things\nis a mystery to me. I can't conceive, for example, why you have never\nonce referred all through to what I should have thought was the best\nGood we know--if, indeed, we know any Good at all.\"\n\n\"What do you mean?\"\n\n\"Why,\" he said, \"one's relations to persons. They're the only things\nthat I think really worth having--if anything were worth having.\"\n\nA light suddenly broke on me, and I cried, \"Yes! an idea!\"\n\n\"Well,\" said Ellis, \"what is it, you man of forlorn hopes?\"\n\n\"Why,\" I said, \"suppose the very object we are in search of should be\nfound just there?\"\n\n\"Where?\"\n\n\"Why, in persons!\"\n\n\"Persons!\" he repeated. \"But what persons? Any, every, all?\"\n\n\"Wait one moment,\" I cried, \"and don't confuse me! Let me approach the\nmatter properly.\"\n\n\"Very well,\" he said, \"you shan't be hurried! You shall have your\nchance.\"\n\n\"Let us remind ourselves, then,\" I proceeded, \"of the point we had\nreached. The Good, we agreed, so far as we have been able to form\na conception of it, must be something immediately presented,\nand presented in such a way, that it should be directly\nintelligible--intelligible not only in the relations that obtain\nbetween its elements, but also in the substance, so to speak, of the\nelements themselves. Of such intelligibility we had a type, as Dennis\nmaintained, in the objects of pure thought, ideas and their relations.\nBut the Good, we held, could not consist in these. It must be\nsomething, we felt, somehow analogous to sense, and yet it could not\nbe sense, for sense did not seem to be intelligible. But now, when\nAudubon spoke, it occurred to me that perhaps we might find in persons\nwhat we want And that is what I should like to examine now.\"\n\n\"Well,\" said Ellis, \"proceed.\"\n\n\"To begin with, then, a person, I suppose we shall agree, is not\nsense, though he is manifested through sense.\"\n\n\"What does that mean?\" said Wilson.\n\n\"It means only, that a person is not his body, although we know him\nthrough his body.\"\n\n\"If he isn't his body,\" said Wilson, \"he is probably only a function\nof it.\"\n\n\"Oh!\" I said, \"I know nothing about that. I only know that when we\ntalk of a person, we don't mean merely his body.\"\n\n\"No,\" said Ellis, \"but we certainly mean also his body. Heaven save\nme from a mere naked soul, 'ganz ohne K\u00f6rper, ganz abstrakt,' as Heine\nsays.\"\n\n\"But, at any rate,\" I said, \"let me ask you, for the moment, to\nconsider the soul apart from the body.\"\n\n\"The soul,\" cried Wilson, \"I thought we weren't to talk about body and\nsoul.\"\n\n\"Well,\" I said, \"I didn't intend to, but I seem to have been driven\ninto it unawares.\"\n\n\"But what do you mean by the soul?\"\n\n\"I mean,\" I replied, \"what I suppose to be the proper object of\npsychology--for even people who object to the word 'soul' don't mind\ntalking (in Greek, of course) of the science of the soul. Anyhow, what\nI mean is that which thinks and feels and wills.\"\n\n\"Well, but what about it?\" said Ellis.\n\n\"The first thing about it is that it is, as it seems to me, of all\nthings the most intelligible.\"\n\n\"I should have said,\" Wilson objected, \"that it was of all things the\nleast.\"\n\n\"Yes; but we are probably thinking of different things. What you have\nin your mind is the connection of this thing which you refuse to call\nthe soul, with the body, the genesis and relations of its various\nfaculties, the measurement of its response to stimuli, and all the\nother points which are examined in books of psychology. All that\nI agree is very unintelligible; I, at least, make no profession of\nunderstanding it. But what I meant was, that looking at persons as we\nknow them in ordinary life, or as they are shown to us in literature\nand art, they really are intelligible to us in the same way that we\nare intelligible to ourselves.\"\n\n\"And how is that?\"\n\n\"Why, through motives and passions. There is, I suppose, no feeling or\naction of which human beings are capable, from the very highest to\nthe very lowest, which other human beings may not sympathetically\nunderstand, through the mere fact that they have the same nature.\nThey will understand more or less according as they have more or\nless sympathy and insight; but in any case they are capable of\nunderstanding, and it is the business of literature and art to make\nthem understand.\"\n\n\"That is surely a curious use of the word 'understand.'\"\n\n\"But it is the one, I think, which is important for us. At any rate,\nwhat I mean is that the object presented is so akin, not indeed (as\nin the case of ideas) merely to our thought, but to our whole complex\nnature, that it does not demand explanation.\"\n\n\"What!\" cried Audubon. \"Well, all I can say is that most of the people\nI, at any rate, come across do most emphatically demand explanation.\nI don't see why they're there, or what they're doing, or what they're\nfor. Their existence Is a perpetual problem to me! And what's worse,\nprobably my existence is the same to them!\"\n\n\"But,\" I said, \"surely if you had leisure or inclination to study them\nall sympathetically, you would end by understanding them.\"\n\n\"I don't think I should. At least I might in a sort of pathological\nway, as one comes to understand a disease; but I shouldn't understand\nwhy they exist. It seems to me, most people aren't fit to exist; and I\ndare say they have the same opinion about me.\"\n\n\"But are there no people of whose existence you approve?\"\n\n\"Yes, a few: my friends.\"\n\n\"Surely,\" cried Ellis, \"you flatter us! How often have you said that\nyou don't see why we are this, that, or the other! How often have\nyou complained of our faces, our legs, our arms, in fact, our whole\nphysique, not to mention spiritual blemishes!\"\n\n\"Well,\" he replied, \"I don't deny that it's a great grief to me to\nbe unable really and objectively to approve of any of my friends.\nStill----\"\n\n\"Still,\" I interrupted, \"you have given me the suggestion I wanted.\nFor the relation of affection, however imperfect it may be, gives us\nat least something which perhaps we shall find comes nearer to what\nwe might conceive to be absolutely Good than anything else we have yet\nhit upon.\"\n\n\"How so?\"\n\n\"Well, to begin with, one's friend appears to one, does he not, as\nan object good in its own nature, not merely by imposition of our own\nideal upon an alien stuff, as we said was the case with works of art?\"\n\n\"I don't know about that!\" said Audubon. \"In my own case, at any rate,\nI am sure that my friends never see me at all as I really am, but\nsimply read into me their own ideal. They have just as much imposed\nupon me their own conception, as if I were the marble out of which\nthey had carded a statue.\"\n\n\"You must allow us to be the judges of that,\" I replied.\n\n\"Well, but,\" he said, \"anyhow you can't deny that such illusions are\ncommon. What lover ever saw his mistress as she really is?\"\n\n\"No,\" I said, \"I don't deny that. But at the same time I should affirm\nthat the truer the love, the less the illusion. In what is commonly\ncalled love, no doubt, the physical element is the predominant, or\neven the only one present; and in that case there may be illusion to\nan indefinite extent. But the love which is based upon years of common\nexperience, which has grown with the growth of the whole person,\nin power and intelligence and insight, which has survived countless\ndisappointments and surmounted countless obstacles, the love of\nhusband and wife, the love, as we began by saying, of friends--such\nlove, as Browning says boldly, 'is never blind.' And such love, I\nsuppose you will admit, does exist, however rarely?\"\n\n\"Yes, I suppose so.\"\n\n\"Well, then, in the case of such a love, it is the object as it really\nis, not as it has been falsely fashioned by the imagination, that is\ndirectly apprehended as good. And you cannot fairly say that its Good\nis merely the ideal of the lover transferred to the person of the\nloved.\"\n\n\"But,\" objected Leslie, \"though that may be so, yet still the Good,\nthat Is the person, does inhere in an alien stuff--the body.\"\n\n\"But,\" I replied,\"_is_ the body alien? Is it not rather an expression\nof the person? as essential, somehow or other, as the soul?\"\n\n\"Certainly!\" cried Ellis. \"Give me the flesh, the flesh!\n\n  \"'Not with my soul, Love!--bid no soul like mine\n  Lap thee around nor leave the poor sense room!\n  Take sense too--let me love entire and whole--\n        Not with my soul.'\"\n\n\"I don't agree with the sentiment of that,\" said Leslie, \"and anyhow,\nI don't see how it bears on the question. For the point of the poem\nis rather to emphasize than to deny the opposition between body and\nsoul.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" replied Ellis, \"but also to suggest what you idealists call the\ntranscending of it.\"\n\n\"Do you mean that in the marriage relation, for example ...\"\n\n\"Yes, I mean that in that act the flesh, so to speak, is annihilated\nat the very moment of its assertion, and what you get is a feeling of\ntotal union with the person, body and soul at once, or rather, neither\none nor the other, but simply that which is in and through both.\"\n\n\"I should have thought,\" objected Leslie, \"it was rather a case of the\nsoul being merged in the body.\"\n\n\"That depends,\" replied Ellis.\n\n\"Yes,\" I said, \"it depends on many things! But what I was thinking\nof was that, quite apart from that experience, and in the moments\nof sober observation, one does feel, does one not, a ^correspondence\nbetween body and soul, as though the one were the expression of the\nother?\"\n\n\"I don't know,\" objected Audubon. \"What I feel is much more often a\ndiscrepancy.\"\n\n\"But still,\" I urged, \"even when there appears to be a discrepancy\nto begin with, don't you think that in the course of years the spirit\ndoes tend to stamp its own likeness on the flesh, and especially on\nthe features of the face?\"\n\n\"'For soul is form,'\" quoted Leslie, \"'and doth the body make.'\"\n\n\"Yes,\" I said, \"and that verse, I believe, is not merely a beautiful\nfancy of the poet's, but rather as the Greeks maintained--and on such\na point they were good judges--a profound and significant truth.\nAt any rate, I find it to be so in the case of the people I care\nabout--though there I know Audubon will dissent. In them, every\nchange of expression, every tone of voice, every gesture has its\nsignificance; there is nothing that is not expressive--not a curl of\nthe hair, not a lift of the eyebrows, not a trick of speech or gait.\nThe body becomes, as it were, transparent and pervious to the soul;\nand that inexplicable element of sense, which baffles us everywhere\nelse, seems here at last to receive its explanation in presenting\nitself as the perfect medium of spirit.\"\n\n\"If you come to that,\" cried Ellis, \"you might as well extend your\nremarks to the clothes. For they, to a lover's eyes, are often as\nexpressive and adorable as the body itself.\"\n\n\"Well,\" I said, \"the clothes, too, are a sort of image of the soul,\n'an imitation of an imitation,' as Plato would say. But, seriously,\ndon't you agree with me that there is something in the view which\nregards the body as the 'word made flesh,' a direct expression of the\nperson, not a mere stuff in which he Inheres?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" he said, \"there may be something in it. At any rate, I\nunderstand what you mean.\"\n\n\"And in so far as that is so,\" I continued, \"the body, though it be\na thing of sense, would nevertheless be directly intelligible in the\nsame way as the soul?\"\n\n\"Perhaps, in a sort of way.\"\n\n\"And so we should have In the person loved an object which, though\npresented to sense, would be at once good and intelligible; and our\nactivity in relation to this object, the activity, that is, of love,\nwould come nearer than any other experience of ours to what we might\ncall a perfect Good?\"\n\n\"But,\" objected Leslie, \"it is still far enough from being the Good\nitself. For after all, say what you may about the body being the\nmedium of the soul, it is still body, still sense, and, like other\nsensible things, subject to change and decay, and in the end to death.\nAnd with the fate of the body, so far as we know, that of the person\nis involved. So that this, too, like all other Goods of sense, is\nprecarious.'\n\n\"Perhaps it is,\" I said, \"I cannot tell. But all that I mean to\nmaintain at present is that in the activity of love, as we have\nanalysed it, we have something which gives us, if it be only for\na moment, yet still in a real experience, an idea, at least, a\nsuggestion, to say no more, of what we might mean by a perfect Good,\neven though we could not say that it be the Good itself.\"\n\n\"But what, then, would you call the Good itself?\"\n\n\"A love, I suppose, which in the first place would be eternal, and in\nthe second all-comprehensive. For there is another defect in love, as\nwe know it, to which you did not refer, namely, that it is a relation\nonly to one or two individuals, while outside and beyond it proceeds\nthe main current of our lives, involving innumerable relations of a\nvery different kind from this.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" cried Ellis, \"and that is why this gospel of love, with all its\nattractiveness, which I admit, seems to me, nevertheless, so trivial\nand absurd. Just consider! Here is the great round world with all that\nin it is, infinite in time, infinite in space, infinite in complexity;\nhere is the whole range of human relations, to say nothing of those\nthat are not human, of activities innumerable in and upon nature and\nman himself, of inventions, discoveries, institutions, laws, arts,\nsciences, religions; and the meaning and purpose and end of all this\nwe calmly assert to be--what? A girl and a boy kissing on the village\ngreen!\"\n\n\"But,\" I protested, \"who said anything about boys and girls and kisses\nand village greens?\"\n\n\"Well, I suppose that is love, of a sort?\"\n\n\"Yes, of a sort, no doubt; but not a very good one.\"\n\n\"You are thinking, then, of a special kind of love?\"\n\n\"I am thinking of the kind which I conceive to be the best.\"\n\n\"And what is that?\"\n\n\"One, as I said just now, that should be eternal and\nall-comprehensive.\"\n\n\"And so, in the end, you have nothing better than an imaginary heaven\nto land us in!\"\n\n\"I have no power, I fear, to land you there. But I believe there\nis that dwelling within you which will not let you rest in anything\nshort.\"\n\n\"Then I fear I shall never rest!\"\n\n\"That may be. But meantime all I want to do is to ascertain, if we\ncan, the meaning of your unrest. I have no interest in what you call\nan imaginary heaven, except in so far as its conception is necessary\nto enable us to interpret the world we know.\"\n\n\"But how should it be necessary? I have never found it so.\"\n\n\"It is necessary, I think, to explain our dissatisfaction. For the\nGoods we actually realize always point away from themselves to\nsome other Good whose realization perhaps, as you say, for us is\nimpossible. But even if the Good were chimerical, we cannot deny the\npassion that pursues it; for it is the same passion that urges us to\nthe pursuit of such Goods as we really can attain. And if we want to\nunderstand the nature of that passion, we must understand the nature\nof its Good, whether it be attainable or no. Only it is for the sake\nof life here that we need that comprehension, not for the sake of life\nsomewhere else.\"\n\n\"But do you reduce our passion for Good to this passion for Love?\"\n\n\"I don't 'reduce' it; I interpret it so.\"\n\n\"And so we come back to the girl and the boy and the village green!\"\n\n\"No! we come back to the whole of life, of which that is only an\nepisode. Let me try to explain how the thing presents itself to me.\"\n\n\"By all means! That is what I want.\"\n\n\"Very well; I will do my best. Let us look then at life just as it is.\nHere we find ourselves involved with one another in the most complex\nrelations--economic, political, social, domestic, and the rest; and\nabout and in these relations centres the interest of our life,\nwhether it be pleasurable or painful, empty or full, or whatever its\ncharacter. Among these relations some few perhaps--or, it may be,\neven none--realize for a longer or shorter time, with more or less\ncompleteness, that ultimate identity in diversity, that 'me in thee'\nwhich we call love; the rest comprise various degrees of attraction\nand repulsion, hatred, contempt, indifference, toleration, respect,\nsympathy, and so on; and all together, always changing, dissolving,\nand combining anew, weave about us, as they cross and intertwine, the\nshifting, restless web we call life. Now these relations are an effect\nand result of the pursuit of Good; but they are never the final goal\nof that pursuit. The goal, I think, would be a perfect union of all\nwith all; and is not attained by anything that falls short of this,\nwhether the defect be in depth or In extent. And that is how it is\nthat love itself, even in its richer phases, and still more in those\nwhich are merely light and sensual, though, as I think, through it\nalone can we form our truest conception of Good, yet, as we have it,\nnever is the Good, even if it appear to be so for the moment; for\nthose who seek Good, I believe, will never feel that they have found\nit merely in union with one other person. For what love gains in\nintension it is apt to lose in extension; so that in practice it may\neven come to frustrate the very end it seeks, limiting instead of\nexpanding, narrowing just in proportion as it deepens, and, by causing\nthe disruption of all other ties, impoverishing the natures it should\nhave enriched. Or don't you think that this happens sometimes, for\ninstance in married life?\"\n\n\"I do indeed.\"\n\n\"And, on the other hand,\" I continued, \"it may very well be that one\nwho passes through life without attaining the fruition of love,\nyet with his gaze always set upon it, in and through many other\nconnections, may yet come closer to the end of his seeking than one\nwho, having known love, has sunk to rest in it then and there, as\nthough he had come already to his journey's end, when really he has\nonly reached an inn upon the road. So that I am far from thinking, as\nyou pretended to suppose, that the boy and girl on the village green\nrealize then and there the consummation of the world.\"\n\n\"Still,\" he objected, \"I do not see, in the scheme you put forward,\nwhat place is left for the common business of life--for the things\nwhich really do, for the most part, occupy and possess men's minds,\nand the more, in my opinion, the greater their force and capacity.\"\n\n\"You mean, I suppose, war and politics, and such things as that?\n\n\"Yes, and generally all that one calls business.\"\n\n\"Well,\" I said, \"what these things mean to those who pursue them, I am\nnot as competent as you to say. But surely, what they are in\nessence is just, like most other activities, relations between human\nbeings--relations of command and obedience, of respect, admiration,\nantagonism, comradeship, infinitely complex, infinitely various, but\nstill all of them strung, as it were, upon a single thread of passion;\nall of them at tension to become something else; all pointing to the\nconsummation which it is the nature of that which created them to\nseek, and all, in that sense, paradoxical as it may sound, only means\nto love.\"\n\n\"You don't repudiate such activities then?\"\n\n\"How should I? I repudiate nothing. I am not trying to judge, but, if\nI could, to explain. It is the men of action, I suppose, who have\nthe greatest extension of life, and sometimes, no doubt, the greatest\nintension too. But every man has to live his own way, according to his\nopportunities and capacity. Only, as I think myself, all are involved\nin the same scheme, and all are driven to the same consummation.\"\n\n\"A consummation in the clouds!\"\n\n\"I do not know about that; but at any rate, and this is the important\npoint, that which urges us to it is here and now. Everything is rooted\nin it. Our pleasures and pains alike, our longing and dissatisfaction,\nour restlessness never-to-be-quenched, our counting as nothing what\nhas been attained in the pressing on to more, our lying down and\nrising up, our stumbling and recovering, whether we fail, as we call\nit, or succeed, whether we act or suffer, whether we hate or love, all\nthat we are, all that we hope to be springs from the passion for Good,\nand points, if we are right in our analysis, to love as its end.\"\n\nUpon this Audubon broke out:--\"That's all very well! But the one\ncrucial point you persistently evade. It may be quite true, for aught\nI know, that the Good you describe is the Good we seek--though I am\nnot aware of seeking it myself. But, after all, the real question is,\nCan we get it? If not, we are mere fools to seek it.\"\n\n\"So,\" I said, \"you have brought me to bay at last! And, since you\nchallenge me, I am bound to admit that I don't know whether we can get\nit or no.\"\n\n\"Well then,\" he said, impatiently, \"what is the good of all this\ndiscussion?\"\n\n\"Clearly,\" I replied, \"no good at all, if there be no Good, which is\nthe point to which you are always harking back. But you have surely\nforgotten the basis of our whole argument?\"\n\n\"What basis?\"\n\n\"Why, that from the very beginning we have been trying to find out,\nnot so much what we know (for on that point I admit that we know\nlittle enough), as what it is necessary for us to believe, if we are\nto find significance in life.\"\n\n\"But how can we believe what we don't know?\"\n\n\"Why,\" I replied, \"we can surely adopt postulates, as indeed we always\ndo in practical life. Every man who is about to undertake anything\nmakes the assumption, in the first place, that it is worth doing, and\nIn the second place that it is possible to be done. He may be wrong in\nboth these assumptions, but without them he could not move a step. And\nso with regard to the business of life, as a whole, it is necessary\nto assume, if we are to make anything of it at all, both that there is\nGood, and that we know something about it; and also, I think, that it\nis somehow or other realizable; but I do not know that any of these\nassumptions could be proved.\"\n\n\"But what right have we, then, to make such assumptions?\"\n\n\"We have none at all, so far as knowledge is concerned. Indeed, to my\nmind, it is necessary, if we are to be honest with ourselves, that we\nshould never forget that they are assumptions, so long as they have\nnot received definite proof. But still they are, I think, as I said,\nassumptions we are bound to make, if we are to give any meaning to\nlife. We might perhaps call them 'postulates of the will'; and our\nattitude, when we adopt them, that of faith.\"\n\n\"Faith!\" protested Wilson, \"that is a dangerous word!\"\n\n\"It is,\" I agreed. \"Yet I doubt whether we can dispense with it.\nOnly we must remember that to have 'faith' in a proposition is not to\naffirm that it is true, but to live as we should do if it were. It\nis, in fact, an attitude of the will, not of the understanding; the\nattitude of the general going into battle, not of the philosopher in\nhis closet.\"\n\n\"But,\" he objected, \"where we do not know, the proper attitude is\nsuspense of mind.\"\n\n\"In many matters, no doubt,\" I replied, \"but surely not in those with\nwhich we are dealing. For we must live or die; and if we are to choose\nto do either, we must do so by virtue of some assumption about the\nGood.\"\n\n\"But why should we choose to do either? Why should not we simply\nwait?\"\n\n\"But wait how? wait affirming or denying? active or passive? Is it\npossible to wait without adopting an attitude? Is not waiting itself\nan attitude, an acting on the assumption that it is good to wait?\"\n\n\"But, at any rate, it does not involve assumptions as large as those\nwhich you are trying to make us accept.\"\n\n\"I am not trying to make you do anything; I am only trying to discover\nwhat you make yourself do. And do you, as a matter of fact, really\ndispute the main conclusions to which we have come, or rather, if you\nwill accept my phrase, the main 'postulates of the will' which we have\nelicited?\"\n\n\"What are they? Let me have them again.\"\n\n\"Well,\" I said, \"here they are. First, that Good has some meaning.\"\n\n\"Agreed!\"\n\n\"Second, that we know something about that meaning.\"\n\n\"Doubtful!\" said Dennis. \"But it will be no use now to resume that\ncontroversy.\"\n\n\"No,\" I replied, \"only I thought I had shown that if we know nothing\nabout it, then, for us, it has no meaning; and so our first assumption\nis also destroyed, and with it all significance in life.\"\n\n\"Well,\" he said, \"go on. We can't go over all that again.\"\n\n\"Third,\" I continued, \"that among our experiences the one which comes\nnearest to Good is that which we called love.\"\n\n\"Possible!\" said Dennis, \"but a very tentative approximation.\"\n\n\"Certainly,\" I agreed, \"and subject to constant revision.\"\n\n\"And after that?\"\n\n\"Well,\" I said, \"now comes the point Audubon raised. Is it necessary\nto include also the postulate that Good can be realized?\"\n\n\"But surely,\" objected Wilson, \"here at least there is no room for\nwhat you call faith. For whether or no the Good can be realized is a\nquestion of knowledge.\"\n\n\"No doubt,\" I replied, \"and so are all questions--if only we could\nknow. But I was assuming that this is one of the things we do not\nknow.\"\n\n\"But,\" he said, \"it is one we are always coming to know. Every year we\nare learning more and more about the course and destiny of mankind.\"\n\n\"Should you say, then,\" I asked, \"that we are nearer to knowing\nwhether or no the soul is immortal?\"\n\nHe looked at me in sheer amazement; and then, \"What a question!\" he\ncried. \"I should say that we have long known that it isn't\"\n\n\"Then,\" I said, \"if so, we know that the Good cannot be realized.\"\n\n\"What!\" he exclaimed. \"I had not understood that your conception of\nthe Good involved the idea of personal immortality.\"\n\n\"I am almost afraid it does,\" I replied, \"but I am not quite sure.\nWe have already touched upon the point, if you remember, when we\nwere considering whether we must regard the Good as realizable in\nourselves, or only in some generation of people to come. And we\nthought then that it must somehow be realizable in us.\"\n\n\"But we did not see at the time what that would involve, though I was\nafraid all along of something of the kind.\"\n\n\"Well,\" I said, \"for fear you should think you have been cheated, we\nwill reconsider the point; and first, if you like, we will suppose\nthat we mean by the Good of some future generation, still retaining\nfor Good the signification we gave to it. The question then of whether\nor no the Good can be realized, will be the question whether or no it\nis possible that at some future time all individuals should be knit\ntogether in that ultimate relation which we called love.\"\n\n\"But,\" cried Leslie, \"the love was to be eternal! So that _their_\nsouls at least would have to be immortal; and if theirs, why not\nours?\"\n\nI looked at Wilson; and \"Well,\" I said, \"what are we to say?\"\n\n\"For my part,\" he replied, \"I have nothing to say. I consider the\nwhole idea of immortality illegitimate.\"\n\n\"Yet on that,\" I said, \"hangs the eternal nature of our Good. But may\nwe retain, perhaps, the all-comprehensiveness?\"\n\n\"How could we!\" cried Leslie, \"for it is only the individuals who\nhappened to be alive who could be comprehended so long as they were\nalive.\"\n\n\"Another glory shorn from our Good!\" I said. \"Still, let us hold fast\nto what we may! Shall we say that if the Good is to be realized the\nindividuals then alive, so long as they are alive, will be bound\ntogether in this relation?\"\n\n\"You can say that if you like,\" said Wilson, \"and something of that\nkind I suppose one would envisage as the end. Only I'm not sure that I\nvery well know what you mean by love.\"\n\n\"Alas!\" I cried, \"is even that to go? Is nothing at all to be left of\nmy poor conception?\"\n\n\"You, can say if you like,\" he replied, \"and I suppose it comes\nto much the same thing, that all individuals will be related in a\nperfectly harmonious way.\"\n\n\"In other words,\" cried Ellis, \"that you will have a society perfectly\ndefinite, heterogeneous, and co-ordinate! 'There's glory for you!' as\nHumpty Dumpty said.\"\n\n\"Well,\" I said, \"this is something very different from what we defined\nto be Good! But this, at any rate, you think, on grounds of positive\nscience, that it might be possible to realize?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" replied Wilson; \"or if not that, I think at any rate that\nscience may ultimately be in a position to decide whether or no it can\nbe realized.\"\n\n\"But,\" I said, \"do you not think the same about personal immortality?\"\n\n\"To be honest,\" he replied, \"I do not think that the question of\npersonal immortality is one which science ought even to entertain.\"\n\n\"But,\" I urged, \"I thought science was beginning to entertain it. Does\nnot the 'Society for Psychical Research' deal with such questions?\"\n\n\"'The Society for Psychical Research!'\" he exclaimed. \"I do not call\nthat science.\"\n\n\"Well,\" I said, \"at any rate there are men of a scientific turn of\nmind connected with it\" And I mentioned the names of one or two,\nwhereupon Wilson broke out into indignation, declaring with much\nvehemence that the gentlemen in question were bringing discredit both\nupon themselves and the University to which they belonged; and then\nfollowed a discussion upon the proper objects and methods of science,\nwhich I do not exactly recall. Only I remember that Wilson took up a\nposition which led Ellis, with some justice as I thought, to declare\nthat science appeared to be developing all the vices of theology\nwithout any of its virtues--the dogmatism, the \"index expurgatorius,\"\nand the whole machinery for suppressing speculation, without any of\nthe capacity to impose upon the conscience a clear and well-defined\nscheme of life. This debate, however, was carried on in a tone too\npolemic to elicit any really fruitful result; and as soon as I was\nable I endeavoured to steer the conversation back into the smoother\nwaters from which it had been driven.\n\n\"Let us admit,\" I said, \"if you like, for the sake of argument, that\non the question of the immortality of the soul we do not and cannot\nknow anything at all.\"\n\n\"But,\" objected Wilson, \"I maintain that we do know that there is no\nfoundation at all for the idea. It is a mere reflection of our hopes\nand fears, or of those of our ancestors.\"\n\n\"But,\" I said, \"even if it be, that does not prove that it is not\ntrue; it merely shows that we have no sufficient reason for thinking\nit to be true.\"\n\n\"Well,\" he said, \"put it so, if you like; that is enough to relegate\nthe notion to the limbo of centaurs and chim\u00e6ras. What we have no\nreason to suppose to be true, we have no reason to concern ourselves\nwith.\"\n\n\"Pardon me,\" I replied, \"but I think we have, if the idea is one that\ninterests us, as Is the case with what we are discussing. We may not\nknow whether or no it is true, but we cannot help profoundly caring.\"\n\n\"Well,\" he said, \"I may be peculiarly constituted, but, honestly, I do\nnot myself care in the least\"\n\n\"But,\" I said, \"perhaps you ought to, if you care about the Good;\nand that is really the question I want to come back to. What is the\nminimum we must believe if we are to make life significant? Is it\nsufficient to believe in what you call the 'progress of the race'? Or\nmust we also believe in the progress of the individual, involving, as\nit does, personal immortality?\"\n\n\"Well,\" said Wilson, \"I don't profess to take lofty views of\nlife--that I leave to the philosophers. But I must say it seems to me\nto be a finer thing to work for a future in which one knows one will\nnot participate oneself than for one in which one's personal happiness\nis involved. I have always sympathized with Comte, pedant as he was,\nin the remark he made when he was dying.\"\n\n\"Which one?\" interrupted Ellis. \"'Quelle perte irr\u00e9parable?' That\nalways struck me as the most humorous thing ever said.\"\n\n\"No,\" said Wilson, gravely, \"but when he said that the prospect of\ndeath would be to him infinitely less sublime, if it did not involve\nhis own extinction; the notion being, I suppose, that death is\nthe triumphant affirmation of the supremacy of the race over the\nindividual. And that, I think myself, is the sound and healthy and\nmanly view.\"\n\n\"My dear Wilson,\" cried Ellis, \"you talk of lofty views; but this is\na pinnacle of loftiness to which I, for one, could never aspire.\nPositively, to rejoice in the extinction of the individual with his\nfaculties undeveloped, his opportunities unrealized, his ambitions\nunfulfilled--why it's sublime! its Kiplingese--there's no other word\nfor it! Shake hands, Wilson! you're a hero.\"\n\n\"Really,\" said Wilson, rather impatiently, \"I see nothing strained\nor high-faluting in the view. And as to what you say about faculties\nundeveloped and the rest, that seems to me unreal and exaggerated!\nMost men have a good enough time, and get pretty much what they\ndeserve. A healthy, normal man is ready to die--he has done what he\nhad it in him to do, and passed on his work to the next generation.\"\n\n\"I have often wondered,\" said Ellis, meditatively, \"what 'normal'\nmeans. Does it mean one in a million, should you say? Or perhaps that\nis too large a proportion? Some people say, do they not, that there\nnever was a normal man?\"\n\n\"By 'normal,'\" retorted Wilson, doggedly, \"I mean average, and I\ninclude every one except a few decadents and faddists.\"\n\nAt this point, seeing that we were threatened with another digression,\nI thought it best to intervene again.\n\n\"We are diverging,\" I said, \"a little from the issue. Wilson's\nposition, as I understand him, is that the prospect of the future\nGood of the race is sufficient to give significance to the life of the\nindividual, even though he realize no Good for himself.\"\n\n\"No,\" replied Wilson, \"I don't say that; for I think he always does\nrealize sufficient Good for himself.\"\n\n\"But is it because of that Good which he realizes for himself that his\nlife has significance? Or because of the future Good of the race?\"\n\n\"I don't know; both, I suppose.\"\n\n\"You do not think then that the future Good of the race is sufficient,\nby itself, to give significance to the lives of individuals who are\nnever to partake in it?\"\n\n\"I don't like that way of putting the question. What I believe is,\nthat in realizing his own Good a man is also contributing to that of\nthe race. There is no such antagonism between the two ends as you seem\nto suggest.\"\n\n\"I don't say that there is an antagonism; but I do insist that there\nis a distinction. And I cannot help feeling--and this is where we seem\nto disagree--that in estimating the Good of individual lives we must\nhave regard to that which they realize in and for themselves, not\nmerely to that which they may be contributing to produce some day in\nsomebody else.\"\n\n\"These 'somebody elses,'\" cried Ellis, \"being after all nothing but\nother individuals like themselves! so that you get an infinite series\nof people doing Good to one another, and none of them getting any\nGood for themselves, like the: islanders who lived by taking in one\nanother's washing!\"\n\n\"Well, but,\" said Wilson, \"supposing I consent, for the sake of\nargument, to let you estimate the worth of life by the Good which\nindividuals realize in themselves. What follows then?\"\n\n\"Why, then\" I said, \"it would, I think, be very hard to maintain that\nwe do most of us realize Good enough to make it seem worth while to\nhave lived at all, if indeed we are simply extinguished at death. At\nany rate, if we set aside an exceptional few, and look frankly at the\nmass of men and women, judging them not as means to something else,\nbut as ends in themselves, with reference not to happiness, or\ncontent, or acquiescence, or indifference, but simply to Good--if we\nlook at them so, can we honestly say that there is enough significance\nin their lives to justify the labour and expense of producing and\nmaintaining them?\"\n\n\"I don't know,\" he replied, \"they probably think themselves that there\nis.\"\n\n\"Probably,\" I rejoined, \"they do not think about it at all. But what I\nshould like to know is, what do you think?\"\n\n\"I don't see,\" he objected, \"how I can have any opinion; the problem\nis too vast and indeterminate.\"\n\n\"Is it?\" cried Audubon, intervening in his curious abrupt way, and\nwith more than his usual energy of protest \"Well, indeterminate or no,\nit's the one point on which I have no doubt. Most people are only fit\nto have their necks broken, and it would be the kindest thing for them\nif some one would do it.\"\n\n\"Well,\" I said, \"at any rate that is a vigorous opinion. Does anyone\nelse share it?\"\n\n\"I do,\" said Leslie, \"on the whole. Most men, if they are not actually\nbad, are at best indifferent--'sacs merely, floating with open mouths\nfor food to slip in.'\"\n\n\"Upon my word!\" cried Bartlett, \"it's wonderful how much you know\nabout them, considering how very little you've seen of them!\"\n\n\"Oh!\" I said, turning to him, \"then you do not agree with this\nestimate?\"\n\n\"I!\" he said. \"Oh, no! I am not a superior person! Most men, I\nsuppose, are as good as we are, and probably a great deal better!\"\n\n\"They might well be that,\" I replied, \"without being particularly\ngood. But perhaps, as you seem to suggest, it might be better to\nconfine ourselves to our own experience and consider whether for\nourselves, so far as we can see, we should think life much worth\nhaving, supposing death to be the end of it all.\"\n\n\"Oh, as to that, of course I should, for my part,\" cried Ellis, \"and\nso, I hope, should we all. In fact, I consider it rather monstrous to\nask the question at all.\"\n\n\"My dear Ellis,\" I protested, \"you are really the most inconsistent of\nmen! Not a minute ago you were laughing at Wilson for his acquiescence\nin the extinction of the individual 'with his opportunities\nunrealized, his faculties undeveloped,' and all the rest of it. And\nnow you appear to be adopting precisely the same attitude yourself.\"\n\n\"I can't help it,\" he replied; \"consistent or no, life's good enough\nfor me. And so it should be for you, you ungrateful ruffian!\"\n\n\"I am not so sure,\" I said, \"that it should be; not so sure as I was a\nfew years ago.\"\n\n\"Why, you Methuselah, what has age got to do with it?\"\n\n\"Just this,\" I replied, \"that up to a certain time of life all the\nGood that we get we take to be prophetic of more Good to come. What\nwe actually realize we value less for itself than for something else\nwhich it promises. The moments of good experience we expand till they\nfill all infinity; the intervening tracts of indifferent or bad we\nsimply forget or ignore. Life is good, we say, because the universe\nis good; and this goodness we expect to grasp in its entirety, not\nto-day, perhaps, nor to-morrow, but at least the day after. And so,\nlike the proverbial ass, we are lured on by a wisp of hay. But being,\nat bottom, intelligent brutes, we begin, in time, to reflect; we put\nback our ears, and plant our feet stiff and rigid where we stand, and\nrefuse to budge an inch till we have some further information as to\nthe meaning of the journey into which we are being enticed. That,\nat least, is the point that has been reached by this ass who is now\naddressing you. I want to know something more about that bundle of\nhay; and that is why I am interested in the question of personal\nimmortality.\"\n\n\"Which means--to drop the metaphor----?\"\n\n\"Which means, that I have come to realize that I am not likely to get\nmore Good out of life than I have already had, and that I may very\nlikely get less; or if more in some respects, then less in others.\nFor, in the first place, the world, as it seems, is just as much bad\nas good, and whether Good or Bad predominate I cannot say. And in the\nsecond place, even of what Good there is--and I do not under-estimate\nits worth--it is but an infinitesimal portion that I am capable of\nrealizing, so limited am I by temperament and circumstance, so\nbound by the errors and illusions of the past, so hampered by the\ndisabilities crowding in from the future. For though, as I think, the\nolder I get the more clearly I recognize what is good, and the more I\nlearn to value and to perceive it, yet at the same time the less do I\nbecome capable of making it my own, and must in the nature of things\nbecome less and less so, in so far at least as Goods other than those\nof the intellect are concerned. And this is a position which seems to\nbe involved in the mere fact of age and death frankly seen from\nthe naturalistic point of view; and so it has always been felt\nand expressed from the time of the Greeks onwards, and not least\neffectively, perhaps, by Browning in his 'Cleon'--you remember the\npassage:\n\n  \"'... Every day my sense of joy\n  Grows more acute, my soul (intensified\n  By power and insight) more enlarged, more keen;\n  While every day my hairs fall more and more,\n  My hand shakes, and the heavy years increase--\n  The horror quickening still from year to year,\n  The consummation coming past escape,\n  When I shall know most, and yet least enjoy--\n  When all my works wherein I prove my worth,\n  Being present still to mock me in men's mouths,\n  Alive still in the phrase of such as thou,\n  I, I the feeling, thinking, acting man,\n  The man who loved his life so over-much,\n  Shall sleep in my urn.'\n\n\"You see the point; indeed, it is so familiar, I have laboured it,\nperhaps, too much. But the result seems to be, that while it is\nnatural enough that in youth, for those who are capable of Good,\nlife should seem to be pre-eminently worth the having, yet the last\njudgment of age, for those who believe that death is the end, will be\na doubt, and perhaps more than a doubt, even in the case of those\nmost favoured by fortune, whether after all a life has been worth the\ntrouble of living which has unfolded such infinite promise only to\nbury it fruitless in the grave.\"\n\n\"I think that's rather a morbid view!\" said Parry.\n\n\"I do not know,\" I said, \"whether it is morbid, nor do I very much\ncare; the question is, whether it is reasonable, and whether it is not\nthe position naturally and perhaps inevitably adopted not by the\nworst but by the best men among those who have abandoned the belief in\npersonal immortality.\"\n\n\"That,\" interposed Wilson, \"is surely not the case. One knows of\npeople who, though they have no belief in survival after death, yet\nmaintain a perfectly cheerful and healthy attitude towards life.\nHarriet Martineau is one that occurs to me. To her, you may remember,\nlife appeared not less but more worth living when she had become\nconvinced of her own annihilation at death; and she awaited\nwith perfect equanimity and calm its imminent approach, not as\na deliverance from a condition which was daily becoming more\nintolerable, but as a fitting crown and consummation to a career of\nuntiring and fruitful activity.\"\n\n\"That,\" exclaimed Parry with enthusiasm, \"is what I call magnanimous!\"\n\n\"I don't!\" retorted Leslie, \"I call it simply stupid and\nunimaginative.\"\n\n\"Call it what you like,\" said Wilson; \"anyhow it is a position which\ncan be and has been adopted.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" I agreed, \"but one which, I think, a clearer analysis of the\nfacts, a franker survey and a more penetrating insight, would make it\nincreasingly difficult to sustain. And after all, an estimate which is\nto endure must be not only magnanimous but reasonable.\"\n\n\"But to her, and to others like her, it did and does appear to be\nreasonable. And you ought to admit, I think, that there are cases in\nwhich life is well worth living quite apart from the hypothesis of\npersonal immortality.\"\n\n\"I am ready to admit,\" I replied, \"that there are people to whom it\nseems to be so, but I doubt whether they are very numerous, among\nthose, I mean, who have reflected on the subject, and whose opinions\nalone we need consider. I, at any rate, have commonly found in talking\nto people about death--supposing, which is unusual, that they are\nwilling to talk about it at all--that they adopt one of two views,\neither of which presupposes the worthlessness of life, if life, as we\nknow it, be indeed all\"\n\n\"What views do you mean?\"\n\n\"Why, either they believe that death means annihilation, and rejoice\nin the prospect as a deliverance from an intolerable evil; or they\nhold that there is a life beyond, and that they will find there the\nreason and justification for existence which they have never been able\nto discover here.\"\n\n\"You forget, surely,\" said Wilson, \"a third point of view, which I\nshould have thought was as common as either of the others,--that of\nthose who believe in a life after death, but look forward to it with\ninexpressible fear of the possible evils which it may contain.\"\n\n\"True,\" I said, \"but such fear, I suppose, is a reflex of actual\nexperience, and implies, does it not, a vivid sense of the evils of\nexistence as we know it? So that these people, too, I should maintain,\nhave not really found life satisfactory, or they would look forward\nwith hope rather than fear to the possibility of Its continuance.\"\n\n\"But in their case, at any rate, the hypothesis of personal\nimmortality is an aggravation, not a remedy, of the evil.\"\n\n\"No doubt; but I have been assuming throughout that the hypothesis\ninvolves the realization of that Good which, without it, we recognize\nto be unattainable; and it is only in that sense, and from that point\nof view, that I have introduced it.\"\n\n\"Well,\" he persisted, \"considering how improbable the hypothesis is,\nI should be very loth to admit that it is one which it is practically\nnecessary to adopt. And I still maintain that most people do not\nrequire it--ordinary simple people, I mean, who do their work and make\nno fuss about it.\"\n\n\"Perhaps not,\" I replied, \"for it is characteristic of such people\nto make no hypothesis at all, but to adopt for the moment any view\nsuggested by the state of their spirits. But I believe that if ever\nyou can get a man, no matter how plain and unsophisticated, to reflect\nfairly upon his own experience, and to look impartially at the facts\nall round, abstracting from all bias of habit and mood and prejudice,\nhe will admit that if it be true that the individual is extinguished\nat death, together with all his possibilities of realizing Good,\nthen life cannot rationally be judged to be worth the living, however\nimperatively we may be compelled to continue to live it.\"\n\n\"But it Is just that imperative compulsion,\" cried Parry, \"on which I\nrely! That seems to me the justification of life--the fact that we are\nforced to live! I trust that instinct more than all the inclination in\nthe world!\"\n\n\"But,\" I said, \"when you say that you trust the instinct, do you mean\nthat you judge it to be good?\"\n\n\"Yes, I suppose so.\"\n\n\"Then in trusting the instinct you are really trusting your reason,\nwhich judges the instinct to be good, or, if not your reason, the\nfaculty, whatever it be, which judges of Good. And the only difference\nbetween us is, that I try to ascertain what we do really believe to\nbe good, whereas you accept and cling to a particular judgment about\nGood, without any attempt to test it and harmonize it with others.\"\n\n\"But you admit yourself that all your results are tentative and\nproblematical in the extreme.\"\n\n\"Certainly.\"\n\n\"And yet these results you venture to set in opposition to a simple,\nprofound, imperative cry of Nature!\"\n\n\"Why should I not? For I have no right to suppose that nature is good,\nexcept in so far as I can reasonably judge her to be so.\"\n\n\"That seems to me a sort of blasphemy.\"\n\n\"I am afraid,\" I said, \"if I must choose, I would rather blaspheme\nNature than Reason. But I hope I am not blaspheming either. For it may\nbe that what you call Nature has provided for the realization of Good.\nThat, at any rate, is the hypothesis I was suggesting; and it is you\nwho appear to be setting it aside.\"\n\n\"But,\" objected Wilson, \"you talk of this hypothesis as if it were\nsomething one could really entertain! To me it is not a hypothesis at\nall; it's simply an inconceivability.\"\n\n\"Do you mean that it is self-contradictory?\"\n\n\"No, not exactly that. Simply that it is unimaginable.\"\n\n\"Oh!\" I said; \"but what one can imagine depends on the quality of\none's imagination! To me, for example, the immortality of the soul\ndoes not seem any harder to imagine than birth and life, and death and\nconsciousness. It's all such a mystery together, if once one begins\ntrying to realize it.\"\n\n\"No one,\" interposed Ellis, \"has put that point better than Walt\nWhitman.\"\n\n\"True,\" I replied, \"and that reminds me that I think you hardly did\njustice to his view when you were quoting him a little while ago. It\nis true that he does, as you said, accept all facts, good and bad, and\neven appears at times to obliterate the distinction between them. But\nalso, whether consistently or no, he regards them all as phases of\na process, good only because of what they promise to be. So that his\nview really requires a belief in immortality to justify it; and to him\nsuch belief is as natural and simple as to Wilson it is absurd. There\nis a passage somewhere, I remember--perhaps you can quote it--it\nbegins, 'Is it wonderful that I should be immortal?'\"\n\n\"Yes,\" he said, \"I remember\":\n\n    \"Is it wonderful that I should be immortal? as every one is\n    immortal;\n\n    \"I know it is wonderful--but my eyesight is equally wonderful, and\n    how I was conceived in my mother's womb is equally wonderful,\n\n    \"And passed from a babe, in the creeping trance of a couple of\n    summers and winters to articulate and walk. All this is equally\n    wonderful.\n\n    \"And that my soul embraces you this hour, and we affect each other\n    without ever seeing each other, and never perhaps to see each other,\n    is every bit as wonderful.\n\n    \"And that I can think such thoughts as these is just as wonderful,\n\n    \"And that I can remind you, and you think them and know them to be\n    true, is just as wonderful.\n\n    \"And that the moon spins round the earth, and on with the earth, is\n    equally wonderful,\n\n    \"And that they balance themselves with the sun and stars is equally\n    wonderful.\"\n\n\"That,\" I said, \"is the passage I meant, and it shows that Whitman, at\nany rate, did not share Wilson's feeling that the immortality of the\nsoul is unimaginable.\"\n\n\"Well,\" said Wilson, \"imaginable or no, we have no reason to believe\nit to be true.\"\n\n\"No reason, indeed,\" I agreed, \"so far as demonstration is concerned,\nthough equally, as I think, no reason to deny it. But the point I\nraised was, whether, if we are to take a positive view of life and\nhold that it somehow has a good significance, we are not bound to\nadopt this, hypothesis of immortality--to believe, that is, that,\nsomehow or other, there awaits us a state of being in which all souls\nshall be bound together in that harmonious and perfect relation of\nwhich we have a type and foretaste in what we call love. For, if it be\ntrue that perfect Good does involve some such relation, and yet that\nit is one unattainable under the conditions of our present life, then\nwe must say either that such Good is unattainable--and in that case\nwhy should we idly pursue it?--or that we believe we shall attain it\nunder some other conditions of existence. And according as we adopt\none or the other position--so it seems to me--our attitude towards\nlife will be one of affirmation or of negation.\"\n\n\"But,\" he objected, \"even if you were right in your conception\nof Good, and even if it be true that Good in its perfection is\nunattainable, yet we might still choose to get at least what Good\nwe can--and some Good you admit we can get--and might find in that\npursuit a sufficient justification for life.\"\n\n\"We might, indeed,\" I admitted, \"but also we might very well find,\nthat the Good we can attain is so small, and the Evil so immensely\npreponderant, that we ought to labour rather to bring to an end an\nexistence so pitiful than to perpetuate it indefinitely in the persons\nof our luckless descendants.\"\n\n\"That, thank heaven,\" said Parry, \"is not the view which is taken by\nthe Western world.\"\n\n\"The West\" I replied, \"has not yet learned to reflect. Its activity is\nthe slave of instinct, blind and irresponsible.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" he assented eagerly, \"and that is its saving grace! This\ninstinct, which you call blind, is health and sanity and vigour.\"\n\n\"I know,\" I said, \"that you think so, and so does Mr. Kipling, and\nall the train of violent and bloody bards who follow the camp of the\nmodern army of progress. I have no quarrel with you or with them; you\nmay very well be right in your somewhat savage worship of activity. I\nam only trying to ascertain the conditions of your being right, and I\nseem to find it in personal immortality.\"\n\n\"No,\" he persisted. \"We are right without condition, right absolutely\nand beyond all argument. Pursue Good is the one ultimate law; whether\nor no it can be attained is a minor matter; and if to inquire into the\nconditions of its attainment is only to weaken us in the pursuit, then\nI say the inquiry is wrong, and ought to be discouraged.\"\n\n\"Well\" I said, \"I will not dispute with you further. Whether you are\nright or wrong I cannot but admire your strenuous belief in Good\nand in our obligation to pursue it. And that, after all, was my main\npoint. On the other question about what Good is and whether it is\nattainable, I could hardly wish to make converts, so conscious am I\nthat I have infinitely more to learn than to teach. Only, that there\nis really something to learn, of that I am profoundly convinced.\nPerhaps even Audubon will agree with me there?\"\n\n\"I don't know that I do,\" he replied, \"and anyhow it doesn't seem to\nme to make much difference. Whatever we may think about Good, that\ndoesn't affect the nature of Reality--and Reality, I believe, is bad!\"\n\n\"Ah, Reality!\" I rejoined, \"but what is Reality? Is it just what we\nsee and touch and handle?\"\n\n\"Yes, I suppose so.\"\n\n\"That is a sober view, and one which I have constantly tried to\nimpress upon myself. Sometimes, even, I think I have succeeded,\nunder the combined stress of logic and experience. But there comes\nan unguarded moment, some evening in summer, like this, when I am\nwalking, perhaps, alone in a solitary wood, or in a meadow beside a\nquiet stream; and suddenly all my work is undone, and I am overwhelmed\nby a direct apprehension, or what seems at least for the moment to be\nsuch, that everything I hear and see and touch is mere illusion after\nall, and behind it lies the true Reality, if only I could find the\nway to seize it. It is due, I suppose, to some native and ineradicable\nstrain of mysticism; or perhaps, as I sometimes think, to the memory\nof a strange experience which I once underwent and have never been\nable to forget\"\n\n\"What was that?\"\n\n\"It will not be very easy, I fear, to describe, but perhaps it may be\nworth while to make the attempt, for it bears, more or less, on the\nsubject of our conversation. Once then, you must know, and once\nonly, a good many years ago now, I was put under the influence\nof an\u00e6sthetics; and during the time I was unconscious, or rather,\nconscious in a new way, I had a very curious dream, if dream it were,\nwhich has never ceased to affect my thoughts and my life. It was as\nfollows:\n\n\"As soon as I lost consciousness of the world without, my soul, I\nthought, which seemed at first to be diffused throughout my body,\nbegan to draw itself upward, beginning at the feet. It passed through\nthe veins of the legs and belly to the heart, which was beating like a\nthousand drums, and thence by the aorta and the carotids to the brain,\nwhence it emerged by the fissures of the skull into the outer air.\nNo sooner was it free (though still attached, as I felt with some\nuneasiness, by a thin elastic cord to the pia mater) than it gathered\nitself together (into what form I could not say), and with incredible\nspeed shot upwards, till it reached what seemed to be the floor of\nheaven. Through this it passed, I know not how, and found itself all\nat once in a new world.\n\n\"What this world was like I must now endeavour to explain, difficult\nthough it be to find suitable language; for the things here, of which\nour words are symbols, are themselves only symbols of the things\nthere. The feeling I had, however, (for I was now identified with my\nsoul, and had forgotten all about my body)--the feeling I had was that\nof sitting alone beside a river. What kind of country it was I can\nhardly describe, for there was nowhere any definite colour or form,\nonly a suggestion, such as I have seen in drawings, of vast infinite\ntracts of empty space. I could not even say there was light or\ndarkness, for my organ of perception did not seem to be the eye; only\nI was aware of an emotional effect similar to that of twilight, cold,\ngrey, and formless as night itself. The silence was absolute, if\nindeed silence it were, for it was not by the ear that I perceived\neither sound or its absence; but something there was, analogous to\nsilence in its effect And in the midst of the silence and the twilight\n(since so I must call them) flowed the river, or what seemed such,\ndistinguishable, as I thought at first, rather by the fact that it\nflowed, than by any peculiarity of substance, colour, or form, from\nthe stretches of empty space that formed its banks. But presently,\nas I looked more closely, I saw, rising from its surface, dipping,\nrising, and dipping again, in a regular rhythm, without change or\npause, what I can only compare to a shoal of flying fish. Not that\nthey looked like fish, or indeed like anything I had ever seen, but\nthat was the image suggested by their motion. As soon as I saw them\nI knew what they were: they were souls; and the river down which they\npassed was the river of Time; and their dipping in and out again was\nthe sequence of their lives and deaths.\n\n\"All this did not surprise me at all. Rather, I felt it was\nsomething I had always known, yet something inexpressibly flat and\ndisillusioning. 'Of course!' I said to myself, or thought, or whatever\nmay have been my mode of cognition--'Of course! That is it, and that\nis all! Souls are indeed immortal--why should we ever have imagined\notherwise? They are immortal, and what of it? I see the death-side\nnow as I saw the life-side then; and one has as little meaning as the\nother. As it has been, so it will be, now, henceforth, and for ever,\nin and out, in and out, without pause or stint, futile, trivial,\nsilly, stale, tedious, monotonous, and vain!' The long pre-occupation\nof men with religion, philosophy, and art, seemed to me now as\nincomprehensible as it was ridiculous. There was nothing after all to\nbe interested about! There was simply this! The dreariness of my mood\nwas indescribable, and corresponded so closely to the scene before\nme that I found myself wondering which was effect, which cause. The\nsilence, the tracts of unformed space, the unsubstantial river, the\nceaseless vibration along its surface of infinite moving points,\nall this was a reflex of my thoughts and they of it. My misery was\nIntolerable; to escape became my only object; and with this in view I\nrose and began to move, I knew not whither, along the silent shore.\n\n\"As I went, I presently became aware of what looked like high towers\nstanding along the margin of the stream. I say they looked like\ntowers, but I should rather have said they symbolized them; for they\nhad no specific shape, round or square, nor any definite substance\nor dimensions. They suggested rather, if I may say so, the idea of\nverticality; and otherwise were as blank and void of form or colour as\neverything else in this strange land. I made my way towards them along\nthe bank; and when I had come close under the first, I saw that there\nwas a door in it, and written over the door, in a language I cannot\nnow recall, but which then I knew that I had always known, an\ninscription whose sense was:\n\n  \"'_I am the Eye; come into me and see_.'\n\n\"Miserable as I was, it was impossible that I should hesitate; I did\nnot know, it is true, what might await me within, but it could not be\nworse and might well be better than my present plight. The door was\nopen; I stepped in; and no sooner had I crossed the threshold than I\nwas aware of an experience more extraordinary and delightful than it\nhad ever been my lot to encounter. I had the sensation of seeing light\nfor the first time! For hitherto, as I have tried to explain, though\nit has been necessary to speak in terms of sight, I have done so\nonly by a metaphor, and it was not really by vision that I became\nacquainted with the scene I have described. But now I saw, and saw\npure light! And yet not only saw, but, as I thought apprehended it\nwith the other senses, both with those we know and with others of\nwhich we have not yet dreamt. I heard light, I tasted and touched it,\nit enveloped and embraced me; I swam in it as in an element, wafted\nand washed and luxuriantly lapped. Pure light, and nothing else!\nNo objects, at first! It was only by degrees, and as the first\nintoxication subsided, that I began to be aware of anything but the\nmedium itself. I saw then that I was standing at what seemed to be a\nwindow, looking out over the scene I had just left But how changed it\nwas! The river now, like a blue and golden snake, ran through a sunny\nchampaign bright with flowers; above it hung a cloudless summer sky;\nand the happy souls went leaping in and out like dolphins on a calm\nday in the Mediterranean. On all this I gazed with inexpressible\ndelight; but as I looked an extraordinary thing occurred. The flowery\nplain before me seemed to globe itself into a sphere; the blue river\nclasped it like a girdle; for a moment it hung before me like a star,\nthen opened out and split into a thousand more, and these again into\nothers and yet others, till a whole heaven of stars was revolving\nabout me in the most wonderful dance-measure you can conceive,\ninfinitely complex, but never for a moment confused, for the stars\nwere of various colours, more beautiful far than any of ours, and by\nthese, as they crossed and intertwined in exquisite harmonies, the\nthreads of the intricate figure were kept distinct.\n\n\"What I was looking upon, I knew, was the same heaven that our\nastronomers describe; only I was privileged actually to perceive\nthe movements they can only infer and predict. For here on earth our\nfaculties are proportioned to our needs, and our apprehension of time\nand change is measured by units too small for us to be able to embrace\nby sense the large and spacious circuits of the stars. But I, in my\nthen condition, had powers commensurate with all existence; so that\nnot only could I follow with the eye the coils of that celestial\nmorrice, but in each one of the whirling orbs, as they approached\nor receded in the dance, I could trace, so far as I was minded,\nthe course of its secular history; whole series of changes and\ntransformations such as we laboriously infer, from fossils and rocks\nand hard unmalleable things, being there (as though petrifaction were\nreversed and solidest things made fluid) unrolled before me, molten\nand glowing and swift, in a stream of torrential evolution whose\nmoments were centuries. Wonderful it was, and strange, to see the\nfirst trembling film creep like a mantle over a globe of fire, shiver,\nand break, and form again, and gradually harden and cohere, now\ncrushed into ridges and pits, now extended into plains, and tossing\nthe hissing seas from bed to bed, as the levels of the viscous surface\nrose and fell. Wonderful, too, when the crust was formed and life\nbecame possible, how everywhere, in wet or dry, hot or cold alike,\nwherever footing could be found, came up and flourished and decayed\nthings that root and things that move, winged or finned or legged,\ncreeping, flying, running, breeding, in mud or sand, in jungle,\nforest, and marsh, pursuing and pursued, devouring and devoured,\npairing, contending, killing, things huge beyond belief, mammoth\nand icthyosaurus, things minute and numerous past the power of\ncalculation, coming and going as they could find space, species\nsucceeding to species, and crowding every point and vantage for life\non the heaving tumultuous bosom of eddying worlds.\n\n\"Wonderful it was, but terrible, too; for what struck me with a kind\nof chill, even while I was wrapt in admiration, was the fact that\nthough everything was in constant change, and in the change there was\nclearly an order and routine, yet I could not detect anything that\nseemed like purpose. Direction there was, but not direction to an end;\nfor the end was no better than the beginning, it was only different;\nthe idea of Good, in short, did not apply. And this fact, which was\nstriking enough in the case of the phenomena I have described, made\nitself felt with even more insistence when I turned to consider the\ncourse of human history. For that too I saw unrolled before me, not\nonly on our own, but on innumerable other worlds, in various phases\nand in various forms, both those which we know, and others of which we\nhave no conception, and which I am now quite unable to recall. Men\nI saw housing in caves, or on piles in swamps and lakes, dwellers in\nwagons and tents, hunters, or shepherds under the stars, men of the\nmountain, men of the plain, of the river-valley and the coast, nomad\ntribes, village tribes, cities, kingdoms, empires, wars and peace,\npolitics, laws, manners, arts and sciences. Yet in all this, so far as\nI could observe, although, through all vacillations, there appeared\nto be a steady trend in a definite direction, there was nothing to\nindicate what we call purpose. Men, I saw, had ideas about Good, but\nthese ideas of theirs, though they were part of the efficient causes\nof events, were in no sense the explanation of the process. There\nwas no explanation, for there was no final cause, no purpose, end, or\njustification at all. Man, like nature, was the plaything of a blind\nfate. The idea of Good had no application.\n\n\"The horror I felt as this truth (for so I thought it) was borne in\nupon me was proportioned to my previous delight. I had now but one\ndesire, to escape, even though it were only back to what I had left.\nAnd as the Angel-Boys in 'Faust' cry out to Pater Seraphicus for\nrelease, when they can no longer bear the sights they see through\nhis eyes, so I, in my anguish, cried, 'Let me out! Let me out!' And\ninstantly I found myself standing again at the foot of the tower, in\nthat land of twilight, silence, and infinite space, with the souls\ngoing down the river, in and out, in and out, futile, trivial,\ntedious, monotonous, and vain. Looking up, I saw written over the door\nfrom which I had emerged, and which was opposite to that by which I\nhad entered, words whose sense was:\n\n  \"'_Eye hath not seen_.'\n\n\"I walked round the Tower, and found a third door facing the river; and\nover that was written:\n\n  \"'_Turris scientiae_.'\n\n\"But all these doors were now closed; nor indeed, had they been open,\nshould I have felt any inclination to renew the experience from which\nI had escaped. I therefore turned away sadly enough and made my way\nalong the bank towards the second tower.\n\n\"Over the door of this was written in the same language as before:\n\n  \"'_I am the Ear; come into me and hear_.'\n\n\"The door was open, and I went in, this time with some apprehension,\nbut with still more curiosity and hope. No sooner was I within than I\nwas overwhelmed by an experience analogous to that which had greeted\nme in the Tower of Sight, but even more ravishingly sweet. This time\nwhat I felt was the sensation of pure sound: sound, not merely heard,\nbut, as before in the case of light, apprehended at once by every\navenue of sense, and folding and sustaining, as it seemed, my whole\nbeing in a clear and buoyant element of tone. It was only by degrees\nthat out of this absolute essence of sheer sound distinctions of\nrhythm and pitch began to appear, and to assume definite musical form.\nThe theme at first was pastoral and sweet, suggestive of rustling\ngrasses and murmuring reeds, interwoven with which was an exquisite\nlilting tune, the song of the souls as they sped down the river.\nBut one by one other elements crept into the strain; it increased in\nvolume and variety of tone, in complexity of rhythm and tune, till it\ngrew at length into a symphony so august, so solemn, and so profound,\nthat there is nothing I know of in our music here to which I can fitly\ncompare it. It reminded me, however, of Wagner more than of any other\ncomposer, in the richness of its colour, the insistence and force of\nits rhythms, its fragments of ineffable melody, and above all, its\nendless chromatic sequences, for ever suggesting but never actually\nreaching the full close which I knew not whether most to dread or\nto desire. The music itself was wonderful enough; but more wonderful\nstill was my clear perception, while I listened, that what was being\npresented to me now through the medium of sound was precisely the same\nworld which I had seen from the Tower of Sight. Every phenomenon, and\nsequence of phenomena, which I had witnessed there, I recognized now,\nin appropriate musical form. The foundation of all was a great basal\nrhythm, given out on something that throbbed like drums, terrible in\nits persistence and yet beautiful too; and this, I knew, represented\nthe mechanical basis of the world, the processes which science\nknows as 'laws of motion' and the like, but which really, as I then\nperceived, might more aptly be described as the more inveterate of\nNature's habits. Upon this foundation, which varied, indeed, but by\nalmost imperceptible gradations, was built up an infinitely complex\nstructure of intermediate parts, increasing from below upwards in\nfreedom, ease and beauty of form, till high above all floated on the\near snatches of melody, haunting, poignant, meltingly tender, or,\nas it might be, martial and gay exquisite in themselves, yet never\ncomplete, fragments rather, as it seemed, of some theme yet to come,\nwhich they had hardly time to suggest before they were torn, as it\nwere, from their roots and sent drifting down the stream, to reappear\nin new settings, richer combinations, and fairer forms; and these, I\nknew, were symbols of the lives and deaths of conscious beings.\n\n\"As this character of the music and its representative meaning grew\ngradually clearer to me, there began to mingle with my delight a\ncertain feeling of anguish. For while, on the one hand, I passionately\ndesired to hear given out in full the theme which as yet had been only\nsuggested in fragmentary hints, on the other, I knew that with its\nappearance the music would come to a close, just at the moment when\nits cessation would involve the keenest revulsion of feeling. And this\nmoment, I felt, was rapidly approaching. The rhythm grew more and\nmore rapid, the instruments scaled higher and higher, the tension of\nchromatic progressions was strained to what seemed breaking point,\ntill suddenly, with an effect as though a stream, long pent in a\ngorge, had escaped with a burst into broad sunny meadows, the whole\nsymphony broke away into the major key, and high and clear, chanted,\nas it seemed, on ten thousand trumpets, silver, \u00e6thereal, and\nexquisitely sweet for all their resonant clangour, I heard the\nultimate melody of things. For a moment only; for, as I had foreseen,\nwith the emergence of that air, the music came abruptly to a close;\nand I found myself sitting bathed in tears at the door of the tower on\nthe opposite side to that by which I had entered; and there once more\nwas the land of silence, twilight, and infinite space, with the\nsouls going down the river, in and out, in and out, futile, trivial,\ntedious, monotonous and vain!\n\n\"As soon as I had recovered myself, I looked up and saw written over\nthe door the inscription:\n\n  \"'_Ear hath not heard_.'\n\n\"And going round to the side facing the river, I saw there inscribed:\n\n  \"'_Turris Artis_?'\n\n\"Whereupon, full of perplexity, I made my way down towards the third\ntower, reflecting, as I went; in a curious passion at once of hope and\nfear, 'Neither this, then, nor that, neither Eye nor Ear, has given me\nwhat I sought. Each is a symbol; but this, as it seems, a more perfect\nsymbol than that; for it, at least, is Beauty, and the other was only\nPower. But is there, then, nothing but symbols? Or shall I, in one of\nthese towers, shall I perhaps find the thing that is symbolized?'\n\n\"By this time I had reached the third tower, and over the door facing\nme I saw written:\n\n  \"'_I am the Heart; come into me and feel_.'\n\n\"I entered without hesitation, and this time I was met by an experience\neven stranger and more delightful than before, but also, I fear, more\nindescribable. At first, I was aware of nothing but a pure feeling,\nwhich was not of any particular sense, (as, before, of sight and\nhearing,) but was rather, I think, the general feeling of Life itself,\nthe kind of diffused sensation of well-being one has in health,\nunderlying all particular activities. In this sensation I seemed, as\nbefore, to be lapped, as in an element; but this time the feeling\ndid not pass. On the contrary, I found, when I came to myself, that I\nactually was in the river, leaping along with the other souls in such\nan ecstasy of physical delight as I have never felt before or since.\nSuch, at least, was my first impression; but gradually it changed\ninto something which I despair of rendering in words, for indeed I\ncan hardly render it in my own thoughts. Conceive, however, that as,\naccording to the teaching of science, every part of matter is affected\nby every other, insomuch that, as they say, the fall of an apple\ndisturbs the balance of the universe; so, in my experience then, (and\nthis, I believe, is really true) all souls were intimately connected\nby spiritual ties. Nothing that happened in one but was somehow or\nother, more or less obscurely, reflected in the rest, so that all were\nso closely involved and embraced in a network of fine relations that\nthey formed what may be compared to a planetary system, sustained\nin their various orbits by force of attraction and repulsion,\ndistinguished into greater and lesser constellations, and fulfilling\nin due proportion their periods and paths under the control of\nspiritual laws. Of this system I was myself a member; about me were\ngrouped some of my dearest friends; and beyond and around stretched\naway, like infinite points of light, in a clear heaven of passion,\nthe world of souls. I speak, of course, in a figure, for what I am\ndescribing in terms of space, I apprehended through the medium of\nfeeling; and by 'feeling' I mean all degrees of affection, from\nextreme of love to extreme of hate. For hate there was, as well as\nlove, the one representing repulsion, the other attraction; and by\ntheir joint influence the whole system was sustained. It was not,\nhowever, in equilibrium; at least, not in stable equilibrium. There\nwas a trend, as I soon became aware, towards a centre. The energy of\nlove was constantly striving to annihilate distance and unite in a\nsingle sphere the scattered units that were only kept apart by the\nenergy of hate. This effort I felt proceeding in every particular\ngroup, and, more faintly, from one group to another: I felt it with\nan intensity at once of pain and of rapture, such as I cannot now even\nimagine, much less describe; and most of all did I feel it within\nthe limits of my own group, of which some of those now present\nwere members. But within this group in particular I was aware of an\nextraordinary resistance. One of its members, I thought, (I mention no\nnames,) steadily refused either to form a closer union with the rest\nof us, or to enter into more intimate relations with other groups.\nThis resistance I felt in the form of an indescribable tension, a\ntension which grew more and more acute, till suddenly the whole system\nseemed to collapse, and I found myself in darkness and alone, being\ndragged down, down, by the cord which attached me to my body. At the\nsame time there was a roaring in my ears, and I saw my body, as I\nthought, like a fearful wild beast with open jaws; it swallowed me\ndown, and I awoke with a shock to find myself in the operator's room,\nwith a voice in my ears which somehow sounded like Audubon's, though\nI afterwards ascertained it was really that of the assistant, uttering\nthe rather ridiculous words, 'I don't see why!'\n\n\"That, then, was the end of my dream, and I have never since been able\nto continue it, and to discover what was written over the other doors\nof the third tower, or what lay within the towers I did not enter.\nSo that I have had to go on ever since with the knowledge I then\nacquired, that whatever Reality may ultimately be, it is in the life\nof the affections, with all its confused tangle of loves and hates,\nattractions, repulsions, and, worst of all, indifferences, it is\nin this intricate commerce of souls that we may come nearest to\napprehending what perhaps we shall never wholly apprehend, but the\nquest of which alone, as I believe, gives any significance to life,\nand makes it a thing which a wise and brave man will be able to\npersuade himself it is right to endure.\"\n\nWith that I ended; and Wilson was just beginning to explain to me\nthat my dream had no real significance, but was just a confused\nreproduction of what I must have been thinking about before I took\nthe \u00e6ther, when we were interrupted by the arrival of tea. In the\nconfusion that ensued Audubon came over to me and said: \"It was\ncurious your dreaming that about me, for it is exactly the way I\nshould behave.\"\n\n\"Of course it is,\" I replied, \"and that, no doubt, is why I dreamt\nit.\"\n\n\"Well,\" he said, \"you can say what you like, but I really do _not_ see\nwhy!\" And with that the conversation I had to report closed.","title":"The Meaning of Good\u2014A Dialogue","tradition":"philosophy-ethics","translated_text":null,"word_count":63585}