opposite. This way of thinking is to some extent a downright illusion, but it comes inevitably.

In our experience we pass frequently from pleasure to pain and from pain to pleasure-and, where this happens, the circumstance is usually one to which we attend. Beside other reasons for this which we noticed above, we must remember that, if pleasure removed survives in idea, this produces discord, and that in desire satisfied pleasure often comes after sharp pain. From all this comes a tendency to place pleasure and pain on one scale. Further it is familiar that, in passing from one sensation to another, the first is used in idea to interpret the second, so that our standard may be nothing but our last experience. Hence, judging by the difference which separates two sensations, and not remarking that the former was far removed from the average, we constantly exaggerate. And so the relief from pain which really in itself is still painful, is, because so far from what we suffered, figured as the opposite of that, and not as its mere absence. It seems the other extreme, and that in our experience has been pleasure. Taking this into consideration, I hope the reader will agree that our ideas become comparative, though our bare sensations of pain and of pleasure are not so.

But if the idea of relief is the idea of a pleasure, and if the idea is also fact, we can solve the problem of a painful condition which is pleasant. The idea of past pain is painful, but its degree, as a fact, is here inconsiderable. On the other hand, in passing from what it represents to our actual painful condition, the divergence is so great that our present state is judged to be something opposite. It thus (apart from hope) is thought pleasant, and the idea or thought, as we saw, is an actual pleasure. Now this idea at once works both in proportion to its detail and also its degree.1 It not only in itself is an ingredient of pleasure and tends to neutralise pain, but it acts positively in setting free what pain was suppressing, and again in intensifying the sensations which agree with its content. In this sphere what seems, is. And it is idle to object that to mistake a pain for a pleasure is impossible. For the question is not of a simple pleasure or pain, the question is as to the balance in a mixed state; and there an error is both easy, and in addition goes on to make itself a truth. We need not appeal to cases of

1 Lotze (Mikrokosmus, i. 231), is, I think, wrong here.

2 The idea creates its reality by blending with a basis in sensation, and then forcing the rest (MIND, xii. 379).

enthusiasm or mental weakness. We may see every day persons who feel well and happy when they are led so to think themselves, and who feel the opposite as soon as the opposite is suggested.1 And it is, I think, clear that in the lower animals, where ideas can act less, the relief from pain affords also less pleasure. In short, our opinions may be relative when the facts are not so. And I venture to offer this with the foregoing as a solution of our problem, and in defence of the doctrine that pleasure is positive.

Finally, if the extreme doctrine of "relativity" is brought in, and I am told that all sensation must depend on change and contrast, and that what is not relative (or even a relation?) is nothing, in that case I still refuse to allow, apart from special evidence, that pleasure is dependent on pain. But I shall admit that its conditions involve an opposite, in this sense that they contain a reassertion or even an expansion. But mere expansion will still not be pleasant per se. It will still be a principle that is subordinate to harmony. And harmony will be taken, not as simple position with the absence of discord, but as the positive unity which contains and overpowers opposites. I venture, however, to think that our former view explains facts with less setting up of our ignorance in the place of knowledge.

If we pass now from the conditions to the results of pleasure and pain, the first doubt which meets us is whether they exist. Just as it may be denied that pain or pleasure is ever produced by sensations or their relations, so it may be maintained that what at first seemed to be their effects is really due to other causes, and that the connexion is indirect. I do not think that in either case a disproof is possible, but probability is on the side of the doctrine that pains and pleasures can be produced, and also do react. But how they react, and what is the character of their influence in general, is open to doubt. I shall first state the opinion which seems to me most true, and shall then try to defend it. Mr. Leslie Stephen's view2 is that pleasure represents equilibrium, a state in which there is a tendency to persist, and pain tension, a state from which there is a tendency to change. That is, I believe, substantially the view to which I had before been independently led, and which

1

Preyer (Seele des Kindes, p. 76) has verified the fact that children can be made through suggestion to take a disagreeable taste for an agreeable one. He very properly illustrates from hypnotic states in the adult. There is of course error here, but so far as the idea has altered the sensation, there will not be a mistake about the sensation itself.

* Science of Ethics, p. 51.

(in MS. only) I had expressed thus: "The generalisation nearest the facts would seem to be, (1) Pleasure is conservative—of rest or motion, (2) Pain alterative". I should now prefer to put it thus: The action of pleasure is to make the pleasant both dominant and steady, while the action of pain is to excite change away from what is painful —a statement which will require considerable explanation. I must call attention at once to an important distinction. In the action of the pleasant, and again of the painful, we have to separate the specific from the non-specific influence. Every incoming mental state can first act as a shock, and produce mainly a suppression of our existing state of mind and a lowering of all functions. Again, it may act as a stimulus, and call forth indirectly a current of new sensations and ideas. And, lastly, intensity or duration may lead to exhaustion, either local or general. None of these effects, to say the least, is always specific. They need arise neither from pain nor from pleasure as such; and I will go on to point out what in my opinion does so arise and really is essential. If we take a psychical state and then suppose it to become pleasant, we observe that this state seems to usurp more mental space. It drives other states out, and lowers the relative intensity of those which remain. It weakens again the attack of fresh incoming states. tainly to say that pleasure is intensity would be to me a mere paradox, and to say that all their effects are identical would be little better. But, so far as causing both persistence and dominance, pleasure seems to work like strength. And for this reason pleasure causes both motion and rest. Where the sensations or ideas are those which would produce motion, if sufficiently strong, pleasure takes the place of intensity and effects its result (see below). It does not move at all per se; it moves, or it prevents movement, on one and the same principle and merely per accidens. Once more, pleasure seems to produce movement by raising the whole tone, and by thus rendering the subject, so to speak, explosive; in such a state, that is, that on a stimulus movement follows with ease and plentifully. But this again involves no new principle. For in the first place the pleasure is to some extent a symptom, and is itself the effect of the general bodily condition. And, where it is the cause, it acts merely as intensity might act. It supports first of all the suggestions or the actual beginnings of change. In the next place, by adding strength without bringing collision, it causes an expansion of our general area which by itself is excitement. To this point I would direct the reader's

Cer

special attention. The ordinary effect of any strong incoming psychical state is to produce a movement, and this tendency is not dependent on the pleasantness or painfulness of the state. What is true of the infant is true of every living creature, that every strong feeling tends to bring on a motor discharge. Hence, where pleasure produces movement, its action is indirect. For, where the states which it emphasises are connected with repose, by the same action it supports them against suggestions of movement, and its indirect effect is rest. Finally, where the pleasant exhausts and so decreases change, the same principle holds good. Either its action is not specific and it works simply as an intense and enduring state of mind, or else once more its specific action produces a particular effect the same as that which would result from mere quantity of a particular suggestion.

If now we turn to pain, we must be careful still to discount those results which are not specific. Avoiding these we find its effect to be change and restlessness. It appears to move us per se, whatever may be its quantity. To the apparent exceptions I will return, and must attempt first of all to get clear on the principle. I said that pain excited change away from what is painful, and I must try to state this accurately. What seems most probable is that pain, coming from discord and conflict, reacts to make that more intense. The restless movements, in which the elements (physical or psychical), press and struggle against each other, become more violent, and that which reacts is stimulated to movements stronger and more extended in range. Hence a change which may result in the suppression of the source of disturbance. The line taken by this change will be either, so to speak, mechanical, or furnished by remedial associated movements. I see no good cause to suppose that pain has a direct negative action upon its source. The point to keep in mind is this, that, if the changes fail to remove the pain, the disturbance is continued and extended and intensified; while, if the stimulation. is removed, the movements die away, and the resulting condition is stable. Pain may on the other hand indirectly increase its cause and itself. For, if the reactive movements are unsuccessful, the tension grows as they are strengthened and by consequence the pain. Our domination by these movements forces attention upon that which is directly connected with them, and this, together with contrast, makes the pain more intense. That the general action of pain is to increase the conflict that occasions it, is a view that works satisfactorily;

the objection to it is that it seems to go beyond our knowledge in making pain arise always and everywhere from discord. But, if for this reason we cannot accept it without some reserve, we may modify it thus. We may say simply that the general action of pain is to set up disturbance about the seat of its origin, a disturbance which continues and heightens itself, until a result has been produced which removes its source. Pain on this view will not always cause tension and reaction; but it will cause local agitation, and continue that and widen it, until some change has brought relief. Upon neither view, so far, has pain a direct negative action; but if we choose to add that pain works directly towards lowering that which pains, so that change in the other direction has more chance of domination-that would be a tenable doctrine, but one I think quite uncalled for by facts. If, on the other hand, we can adopt the view that both the cause and the effect of pain is discord, that gives a unity to our doctrine, and is confirmed by the positive reaction of pleasure on its positive source.

And, so far as I know, all the facts would harmonise with this conclusion; while, on the contrary, that pleasure promotes and pain essentially checks action, seems quite contrary to experience. Pain checks action when its continuance produces exhaustion,-that is certain, and I do not doubt that its wearing effects are specific; while pleasures probably exhaust us not because pleasant but because intense. But the direct action of pain here is still to excite change, and its opposite influence through exhaustion is indirect and accidental. And it prevents motion again indirectly by suppressing those feelings which would otherwise produce it, and indirectly once more when by experience we have learnt that to move is to increase pain. But restlessness here takes other forms, or is diverted into some kind of restraining effort. Nor does fear paralyse because painful, but mainly because it otherwise prevents the feelings and ideas which are necessary for activity; and, when the dreaded evil turns to real pain, the creature struggles all too late. Restlessness, bodily and mental, is the chief effect of pain; the remainder comes accidentally. But as to the action both of pain and pleasure, we shall be clearer when we have got some light on Desire.

II.

Pleasure and pain are not desire, nor does either of them necessarily involve it, either originally or even at our stage of development. "If" (as Mr. Spencer recommends, Psych. i.