STUDIES OF HAPPINESS.

I.

To say that the things best worth knowing are those least known to us is almost a truism, yet the strangeness of the fact is always striking us afresh, in whichever direction we look. If we are interested in fish or fowl, the habits of the mastodon, or the idiosyncrasies of the Ichthyosaurus, science is ready to supply us with a mass of information; but if we want to understand about ourselves and our place in the world, we find that we are asking riddles, to which answers-like Betsy Trotwood-are "not forthcoming".

Medical science, we are told, is still in the empirical stage, whilst mental science stands on the threshold of inquiry. As for our souls, there are many who do not even yet feel sure whether they have any or not, and for the rest, it is only those who have faith in the unknown, who know!

Just the same uncertainty prevails in the study of our present theme, Happiness.

The desire for happiness must have animated every human breast in every age, yet in spite of the centuries that have passed between the mysterious then of the beginning until now, how little we know about it, or understand how to attain it. The reason is no doubt because the subject is too vast to be viewed comprehensively without effort, and also the desire for it is such an integral part of ourselves and so inextricably knotted up with practical questions of ways and means, expectations, circumstances and persons-with the whole network of life in fact that instead of examining it as a whole, most of us are content to think of it, as we experience it, in scraps and patches. Happiness falls like sunlight here and there upon our chequered lives, sometimes brightening them with the obvious joys of youth and love, health and prosperity; sometimes persistently eluding its most ardent votaries, or tainting the best gifts of life with some subtle flavour of bitterness; and sometimes also appearing in unexpected ways and places, where sorrow and suffering reign.

Altogether 'tis no wonder some people shake their heads dubiously and quote the well-known saying that he who seeks for happiness will never find it, whilst many others regard it as a transient and elusive boon which it is well that we shonld learn to do without.

If we look into the matter a little we perceive that much as people may differ as to the relationship which happiness bears, or ought to bear, to the individual, and as to the best mode of obtaining it, there is not much difference of opinion as to the meaning of the word itself, most people agreeing that happiness is the enjoyment of good; a state of felicity; the whole gamut of delight from ecstasy to simple peace of mind. True, there are a few unreflective persons here and there who insist on identifying it with what they call "mere" pleasure, not wholly disassociated in their minds with Sabbath-breaking; but they are a small minority, and as, according to Nuttal's Dictionary, to be happy means, among other things, "enjoying the presence and favour of God in a future life," it is clear that attempts to restrict the meaning of the word to any kind of temporal or material pleasure are quite out of order. Hence we naturally infer that happiness, the heart's desire, is also the rational and proper object of life. Happiness in the abstract, that is to say, but not necessarily all, or any particular form of it: we have only to look back upon our own lives to see how many things, pleasurable for the moment, end by disagreeing with our mental or physical health, and therefore indulgence in them does not contribute to the sum total of our happiness, and, in a word, we see that it is quite as easy to make mistakes in this matter as in any other. But whatever mistakes we may make, and whatever culpable weakness we may show, by indulging in pleasures which we know to be prejudicial to our welfare, we may still adhere to the belief that happiness is the legitimate object of every life, and ask with every show of reason "how is it possible not to desire felicity, or the enjoyment of good?" Yet we have no sooner placed ourselves in this unassailable position than we hear the answering cry, "There is something better than happiness," to which our hearts respond. Yes, there is something better than happiness, stronger than reason, and higher than felicity; namely, the love of purity, truth and righteousness. But then, we argue, is not this very love and pursuit of goodness just as much a method of seeking happiness as the pursuit of any worldly good-art for instance, or learning, for the sake of which people are often willing to sacrifice other things. The answer to this usually is, that however much people may sacrifice some things to others, in the pursuit of happiness, they never sacrifice themselves (a subtle difference), whereas saints and heroes do. They are made of sterner stuff, and do not stop to consider how much death at the stake, or torture, or dismemberment at the cannon's mouth will increase the sum total of their happiness either here or hereafter. St. Paul, for instance, did not consult his earthly welfare when he became the Apostle to the Gentiles, and if it had been revealed to him that no future bliss, or life even, could be his, would it have made any difference to his actions or his desire to save others. We VOL. 166.-No. 4.

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think not; nor is it probable that "other worldliness" has ever prompted nobler deeds than present worldliness has, though no doubt it has served as a useful curb to evil passions.

If we turn to Spencer's Data of Ethics we shall see the arguments in favour of regarding happiness as the object of life very clearly expressed. He points out that happiness must be our aim if life is to continue to exist, for he says:

"If we substitute for the word Pleasure, the equivalent phrase-a feeling which we seek to bring into consciousness and retain there, and if we substitute for the word Pain, the equivalent phrase a feeling which we seek to get out of consciousness and to keep out; we see at once that, if the states of consciousness which a creature endeavours to maintain are the correlatives of injurious actions, and if the states of consciousness which it endeavours to expel are the correlatives of beneficial actions, it must quickly disappear through persistence in the injurious and avoidance of the beneficial."

But, of course, he does not mean that instinct or impulse should always be obeyed, because, as he further explains, "special and proximate pleasures and pains must be disregarded out of consideration for remote and diffused pleasures and pains." Finally, he tells that as man progresses in the scale of civilisation the conflicting aims of egotism and altruism grow nearer and nearer, less and less antagonistic, until, at last, they become co-essential. In the Appendix, alluding to the apparent difficulty of reconciling egotism and altruism, Mr. Spencer says: "There has from the beginning been arising, and has arisen more and more, to a higher and higher stage, such constitution in each creature as entailed egoistic gratification in performing the altruistic action." He points to family life as an example of this, showing that in the family self-sacrifice becomes pleasurable through affection, and from this he argues : "That which has been in course of achievement in respect of the limited group of beings constituting a family . . . is to a comparatively small extent achieved with those larger groups constituting societies."

With such reasoning as this it is hard to disagree, but at the same time we feel that it does not cover all the ground. For one thing, it deals with conduct itself rather than motive, and to admit that under certain circumstances egotism and altruism coalesce is not an admission that laudable conduct is necessarily occasioned by that consideration; on the contrary, it seems to us that those in whom the coalition is most complete are precisely those most willing to sacrifice self if it were not so.

Now let us glance at what has been written on the other side. In The Emotions and the Will Dr. Bain says: "So far as I am able to judge of our disinterested impulses, they are wholly distinct from the attainment of pleasure and the avoidance of pain. They

lead us, as I believe, to sacrifice pleasures and incur pains without any compensation; they positively detract from our happiness."

In The Map of Life Mr. Lecky says something very similar. "The conscience of mankind," he writes, "has ever recognised self-sacrifice as the supreme element of virtue, and self-sacrifice is never real when it is only the exchange of a less happiness for a greater.

Thus the matter stands, and it is no easy task to reconcile these conflicting opinions; philosophy will not help us, it seems, and if we are determined to solve the riddle we must turn for help to popular opinion and that oft-quoted person, "the Man in the Street." Here we find no formulas and no theories; nothing but the passive assumption that man has two selves, a higher and a lower, or, as it is more frequently expressed, two sides, a good one and a bad one. True, this dual self has only a metaphorical existence, and popular sentiment cannot explain its own notion; but, for all that, most of us believe that there is in each one of us a nebulous something beyond the every-day, obvious, egotistical and self-interested self. Consequently a great many phrases which sound ambiguous and contradictory are perfectly well understood ; thus we hear of "disinterested labour," "unselfish enthusiasm," "the joy of self-sacrifice," and other cryptic or paradoxical sayings which, nevertheless, the wayfaring man understands, because he experiences within himself many a conflict, many a victory, and many a loyal surrender. If we permit ourselves to adopt this assumption, at all events provisionally, we shall see that it supplies a key to our present difficulty.

Let us begin again with the verdict of philosophy that happiness is the only rational object of life, since anything preferable to happiness must be something which affords greater happiness than happiness, which is absurd.

Be it so! But when we have admitted this fact without reserve it still remains for us to ask, "Whose happiness are we considering?" If our mental nature is dual, our objects of desire will be dual, and sometimes so directly in opposition that the satisfaction of the one side will necessitate the sacrifice of the other; therefore it is of importance to decide whether to regard the happiness of the higher or lower self as the rational object of life. Our choice, we perceive, is not one of degree, but of kind. That which offers a preponderance of pleasure overpaying to the lower self may be absolutely abhorrent to the higher, and vice versa, consequently the standard set by the higher nature will yield very different results from the one set by the lower. For instance, there are many cases in which the positive pleasure of some wrongful act quite outweighs the faint protests of conscience; therefore it is for the happiness of the lower self to act wrongfully, especially as the

protests of conscience are sure to grow fainter each time they are resisted. But if the happiness of the higher self is the object of life, then it is more comfortable to obey the dictates of conscience, and, in a word, matters of taste and matters of morality cannot be estimated by the same measure or weighed against each other.

Moreover, as Mr. Lecky says, "Self-sacrifice is never real when it is only the exchange of a less happiness for a greater one," and on the same ground common sense never regards the price which we pay for a thing as a sacrifice of self, because we obviously desire to possess the purchase more than the money. Therefore real self-sacrifice, or self-denial, only exists when it involves the sacrifice or the denial of the lower self without compensation to the demands and desires of the higher self. From this point of view two things become increasingly clear to us; first of all, we see why so many people will not admit that happiness is the proper object of life. It is because they jump to the conclusion that it is the happiness of the lower self that is meant the mundane satisfaction of the possibly prudent and virtuous, but selfish personality. Therefore they declare that there is something more desirable than happiness, something which Carlyle called blessedness and which we call the happiness of the higher self.

The second thing which becomes clearer to us is the reason why the Epicureans necessarily degenerated whilst the Stoics did not, for if virtue (to sum up the higher qualities in one word) is recommended only because it conduces to the happiness of man as a whole, it stands to reason that many people will question whether so much virtue is agreeable to them on the whole, and incline to the belief the self-indulgence suits their tastes better.

On the other hand the Stoics and Ascetics generally, whilst we count them in error in supposing that serenity of mind or spiritual exaltation were not forms of happiness, were nevertheless fortunate in this, that they put their label so to speak on to the forms of happiness which appeal to the high self, and therefore succeeded in maintaining a lofty standard.

Hence the essential difference between the two schools of thought appears to be that in the one case the individual is left to choose what seems best to him, and in the other the choice is made for him. True, the enlightened Epicurean or Hedonist advises the practice of virtue, but he has no authority to enforce his personal opinions, and his pupils may always reply "that is true for you, but for me, a short life and a merry." But in the schools of austerity the teachers speak authoritatively, they claim to know what is best for their pupils; they do not tell them to consult their preferences but to strive after high things, and to acquire such tastes and virtues as are not inherent in them, assuring them that whether they like it or no, such conduct is for their welfare