is almost utterly unideal, almost purely emotional,
exactly the same in kind, and only higher in degree, than the glee of
puppies or kittens at play. The question recurs as forcibly as ever,
why--seeing that enjoyment is the one thing desirable, the only thing
either valuable in itself, or that gives value to other things--why is
it that no intelligent man would accept, in lieu of his own, another
mode of existence, in which, although debarred from the joys of thought
and fancy, he nevertheless has reason to believe that the share of
enjoyment falling to his lot would be greater, both in quantity and
sapidity, than it is at present? The following seems to me to be the
explanation of the mystery.

It might be too much to say that nothing can please a person who is not
pleased with himself, but it is at any rate clear that nothing can
greatly please him which interferes with his self-satisfaction. Now
imaginative and intellectual enjoyment, each of them, involves the
exercise of a special and superior faculty, mere consciousness of the
possession of which helps to make the possessor satisfied with himself.
It exalts what Mr. Mill aptly terms his sense of dignity, a sense
possessed in some form or other by every human being, and one so
essential to that self-satisfaction without which all pleasure would be
tasteless, that nothing which conflicts with it can be an object of
serious desire. In virtue of this special faculty, the most wretched of
men holds himself to be superior to the most joyous of larks. To divest
himself of it would be to lower himself towards the level of the bird,
and to commit such an act of self-degradation would occasion to him an
amount of pain which he is not disposed to incur for the sake of any
amount of pleasure obtainable at its expense. It is, then, the fear of
pain which prevents his wishing to be turned into a lark. He is not
ignorant that he would be happier for the metamorphosis, but he dreads
the pain that must precede the increase of happiness, more than he
desires the increase of happiness that would follow the pain.

The force of these considerations will be equally, or more apparent, on
their being applied to analysis of moral pleasures. That these are the
most truly precious of all pleasures, is proved by their being
habitually more highly prized than any others by all who are qualified
to make the comparison. But why are they so prized? Not, as I am
constrained, however reluctantly