d waste no more time in pursuit of
it. But that it is not an illusion is the great positivist claim for it.
Heaven and the love of God, we are told, were illusions. This 'highest
good' we are offered, stands out in clear contradistinction to these. It
is an actual attainable thing, a thing for flesh and blood creatures; it
is to be won and enjoyed by them in their common daily life. It is, as
its prophets distinctly and unanimously tell us, some form of happiness
that results in this life to us, from certain conduct; it is a thing
essentially for the present; and '_it is obviously_,' says Professor
Huxley, '_in no way affected by abbreviation or prolongation of our
conscious life_.'

This being the case, it is clearly not unreasonable to demand some
explicit account of it; or if no sound account of it be extant, to
enquire diligently what sort of account of it is possible. And let it be
remembered that to make this demand is in no way to violate the great
rule of Aristotle, and to demand a greater accuracy than the nature of
the subject will admit of. The 'highest good,' it is quite possible, may
be a vague thing; not capable, like a figure in Euclid, of being defined
exactly. But many vague things can be described exactly enough for all
practical purposes. They can be described so that we at once know what
is meant, and so that we can at once find and recognise them. Feelings,
characters, and personal appearance are things of this sort; so too is
the taste of food, the style of furniture, or the general tone and
tenour of our life, under various circumstances. And the 'good' we are
now considering can surely be not less describable than these. When
therefore our exact thinkers speak to us about the highest happiness, we
want to know what meaning they attach to the words. Has Professor
Huxley, for instance, ever enjoyed it himself, or does he ever hope to
do so? If so, when, where, and how? What must be done to get it, and
what must be left undone? And when it is got, what will it be like? Is
it something brief, rapturous, and intermittent, as the language often
used about it might seem to suggest to one? Is it known only in brief
moments of Neoplatonic ecstasy, to which all the acts of life should be
stepping stones? It certainly cannot be that. Our exact thinkers are
essentially no mystics, and the highest happiness must be something far
more solid than transcendental ecstasies. Surely, therefore, if it
exists at all