diverse impulses and no principle of unity. The different tendencies assert themselves, regardless of the others, as opportunity arises. If left to themselves, they are in perpetual opposition to one another. Self-assertion, if unrestrained, will conflict with the impulses of fellow-feeling, and will frequently be at variance with the desire to avoid pain and seek pleasure. It may also conflict with the tendency to realise those functions which do not produce immediate and striking results. The hedonic impulse can obviously be in opposition to the tendency to function in certain ways, to avenge injury, or to aid the distressed. These conflicts may occur at the moment or make themselves felt after the action is over. The mere presence of cognition does not produce harmony. On the contrary, it precipitates strife before action takes place, for it enables the cognitive being to foresee conflicts and thus bring all the contending forces into the field. Consequently, if man were endowed only with the tendencies already mentioned, no system of conduct would be possible. Each individual would be resolved into a multiplicity of warring elements. Every tendency would assert itself as far as possible, and the limit to its range would be decided by the arbitrament of battle. System is impossible unless there is an allinclusive end with which all the particular forces of the organism can be harmonised, and by reference to which their proper scope can be determined. This ultimate end or object, which includes all proximate ends, must have intrinsic worth; otherwise the tendencies to particular objects could not be regu

lated in accordance with it. Regulation implies limitation or subordination, and is possible only if there is a distinction between better and worse. If one tendency is as good as another, there is no reason for subordinating one to another. There must also be an impulse to realise this supreme end, else all subordination would remain purely theoretical. Now all our judgments in regard to human conduct imply that the regulation of natural impulses is possible. We shall proceed therefore to test the validity of this presupposition. A separate chapter, however, must be devoted to this investigation.

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CHAPTER VI.

THE IDEAL OF WORTH AS REGULATIVE PRINCIPLE.

SINCE all regulation of natural tendencies would be impossible without an ideal of worth, we must first ascertain whether there is any such ideal. The examination of the primary emotions has already thrown light on this subject. Admiration and scorn are emotions excited by worth as realised by others. A person is admired because he is intrinsically better in some respect than his fellows. A rival, or even an enemy, may receive the tribute of involuntary admiration. This implies not only that an ideal of worth exists, but also that it influences action. If we had no tendency to act according to our standards of worth, no desire to strive for the better and avoid the worse, we should have no vivid interest in the realisation of worth on the part of others. It is true that our admiration of our fellows has an influence on our own actions and arouses a desire to imitate what others have done, but this is due to the fact that it quickens our sense of what is worthy of ourselves, by suggesting higher possibilities or by reminding us of ideals which had

been neglected. It is also true that we are much more careful to avoid a course of action if its adoption by others has called forth scorn in us, but this likewise presupposes the existence of a tendency to do what seems worthy and to avoid the opposite.

Evidence of a more direct nature is indicated by Mill in that striking passage where he emphasises the influence of the sense of personal dignity. "Few human creatures would consent to be changed into any of the lower animals, for a promise of the fullest allowance of a beast's pleasures; no intelligent human being would consent to be a fool, no instructed person would be an ignoramus, no person of feeling and conscience would be selfish and base, even though they should be persuaded that the fool, the dunce, or the rascal is better satisfied with his lot than they are with theirs. They would not resign what they possess more than he, for the most complete satisfaction of all the desires which they have in common with him. . . A being of higher faculties requires more to make him happy, is capable probably of more acute suffering, and is certainly accessible to it at more points, than one of an inferior type; but in spite of these liabilities, he can never really wish to sink into what he feels to be a lower grade of existence. We may give what explanation we please of this unwillingness, . . . but its most appropriate appellation is a sense of dignity which all human beings possess in one form or other, and in some, though by no means in exact, proportion to their higher faculties, and

which is so essential a part of the happiness of those in whom it is strong, that nothing which conflicts with it could be, otherwise than momentarily, an object of desire to them." 1

This implies that the individual feels there is a mode of life which alone is worthy of him, an ideal whose realisation is something he owes to himself. The sense of personal dignity is therefore the basal fact on which the emotions of worth depend. It is evidently distinct from any estimate of actual personal merit; it is the presence in consciousness of an ideal of worth which is felt as binding on the individual. It is expressed in the feeling that there is something owing to ourselves since we are what we are. It thus bears within itself the sense of worth and the feeling of obligation. The two aspects are indeed inseparable. That which has intrinsic worth for an individual and that which he feels internally obliged to realise, are one and the same thing.

No elaborate proof of the existence of this basal principle is necessary, for without it the facts of life would not be explicable. The agent who feels that there is a mode of conduct which he owes it to himself to adopt, necessarily recognises that he has a definite part to play in the universe. He cannot contentedly remain at the mercy of natural impulses, or direct his energies to any object indifferently. There is an end for him to strive for, whether momentary inclination points in that direction or not. He has duties as opposed to inclina

1 Utilitarianism, ch. ii.