CHAPTER XIII. HIDDEN PLEASURE. XIII. It is neces sary now to examine a nected with which have to neglected. O far, in this discussion as to the nature CHAPTER of pleasure, we have followed a beaten path. The road may be rather difficult and not very clear, but at least it stretches through a region where the great landmarks may series of be readily recognised. We have now to break facts connew ground and to direct our steps through an pleasure untravelled country. For Sir William Hamil- been hitherton's definition of pleasure, the most complete which has yet been put forth, does not by any means cover all the facts with which we have to deal. It ignores and denies what is beyond all others the most curious and the most mysterious array of facts relating to pleasure. It tells us of a pleasure growing in pain, and it tells us of a pleasure which is without pain; but it excludes the marvellous phenomenon of hidden CHAPTER pleasure. It tells us of the activity which goes XIII. to produce pleasure, and of the harmony which All pleasure self-forget ful. tends to its perfection; but says not a word of that self-forgetting, which is its crowning grace and its peculiar glory. All pleasure has a tendency to forget itself, and there is no escape from the paradox that a large group of our joys, including some of the highest, scarcely, if ever, come into the range of consciousness. I shall try anon to make this paradox, if not quite clear, at least acceptable; but in the meantime, observe that if the statement, spite of paradox, be correct, it has the merit of at once accounting for an extraordinary fact about pleasure. We should imagine that the Creator intended life to be enjoyable, and had accorded to each of us, in the sum of experience, a balance of happiness. But in point of fact, if our joys on the whole outweigh and outnumber our sorrows, we seem to be little aware of it; and we are better acquainted with the misery than with the happiness of life. The words to express what is good and pleasurable, And as com- are fewer by a great deal than those for the bad pain, diffi- and painful. Dante succeeds in painting hell, described. he fails in painting heaven. Who does not pared with cult to be remember Bacon's fine saying in one of his finest essays "If you listen to David's harp, you shall hear as many hearse-like airs as carols; and the pencil of the Holy Ghost hath laboured more XIII. in describing the afflictions of Job than the CHAPTER felicities of Solomon ?" We have colours to paint every shade of wickedness, and strokes for every stage of woe: let the crime be the blackest, we can give it a name; let the let the cup be the bitterest, we can tell of the very lees. But to tell of the varying lights of pleasure, and all the winning ways of goodness, we are wholly at a loss; and the most we can say of the greatest goodness is, that there is an unknown, indescribable charm about it; the most we can say of the highest bliss, that it is unutterable. What does all this mean, but that we are keenly alive to suffering, and anything disagreeable, but on the other hand, little conscious of our joys, and whatever is pleasant? So likewise it happens that the sense of pleasure more than aught else in human experience, eludes our scrutiny. We know less about it than about any other marvel it passes of our being, and attempt less to understand it. ing. We seek to fathom the mysteries of life, and of knowledge, and of will; but for the exceeding mystery of delight we have only the set phrase, that it passeth understanding. We say that understand ness in pleasure a mis take. No truth is more certain than this, although it Consciousis not always acted on, that there is little pleasure in the conscious pursuit of pleasure. It is because pleasure is naturally unconscious, and we cannot well by a conscious effort, become unconscious. One might as soon expect by looking CHAPTER not to see, and by remembering to forget. It XIII. is a killjoy to think of pleasure and to ask ourselves are we happy? We must, like receivers of stolen goods, accept our pleasures and ask no questions. Pleasure says to every one of us what we say to children, Open your mouth and shut your eyes. She turns from the man that woos her, and to the heedless child flies unbidden. She seldom gives note of her coming; she comes like an angel, unheard, unseen, unknown, and not till she is gone or is parting We become from us, are our eyes opened, to see what we our happi- have enjoyed. In this sense, not only some, but ness when it all of us have "entertained angels unawares.' It was when the Saviour was vanishing from conscious of is passing away. Some further illus the uncon enjoyment. his disciples, that they knew it was he; it was when the blissful vision on Tabor was passing away, that Peter began to feel how good to be there. In other respects, too, the behaviour of the distrations of ciples, to whom was given a foretaste of heaven sciousness of on the Mount of Transfiguration, is suggestive. The bliss was too strong for them, and so blinded their souls that they were overpowered with sleep. When When they had somewhat recovered, they were so bewildered, that of Peter it is told he knew neither what to say nor what he said indeed, what he could have meant by proposing to build three booths it is hard to understand. In like manner, when Saint Paul |