or FELICITY, absolutely considered, denotes the durable possession of perfect good without any admixture of evil; or the enjoyment of pure pleasure unalloyed with pain; or a state in which all the wishes are satisfied. In these senses happiness is known only by name upon the earth. The epithet happy, when applied to any state or condition of human life, admits of no positive definition, but is merely a relative term; in other words, when we call a man happy, we mean that he is happier than some others with whom we compare him, than the generality of others, or than he himself was in some other situation.

This subject has been treated by many eminent writers, and in a great variety of ways; but by none does it appear to have been set in a clearer and more definite point of view than by Archdeacon Paley in the sixth chapter of his Principles of Moral and Political Philosophy. In strictness, says he, any condition may be denominated happy in which the amount or aggregate of pleasure exceeds that of pain; and the degree of happiness depends upon the quantity of this excess. And the greatest quantity of it, ordinarily attainable in human life, is what we mean by happiness, when we inquire or pronounce what human happiness consists in.

If any positive signification, distinct from what we mean by pleasure, can be affixed to the term happiness, it may be taken to denote a certain state of the nervous system in that part of the human frame in which we feel joy and grief, passions and affections. Whether this part be the heart, which the turn of most languages would lead us to believe; or the diaphragm, as Buffon imagined; or the upper orifice of the stomach, as Van Helmont thought; or rather a kind of fine net-work, lining the whole region of the pericardia, as others have imagined: it is possible not only that every painful sensation may violently shake and disturb the fibres at the time, but that a series of such may at length so derange the very texture of the system, as to produce a perpetual irritation, which will show itself by fretfulness, restlessness, and impatience. It is possible also, on the other hand, that a succession of pleasurable sensations may have such an effect upon this subtle organisation, as to cause the fibres to relax, and return into their place and order; and thereby to recover, or, if not lost, to preserve, that harmonious conformation which gives to the mind its sense of complacency and satisfaction. This state may be denominated happiness; and is so far distinguishable from pleasure, that it does not refer to any particular object of enjoyment, or consist, like pleasure, in the gratification of one or more of the senses; but is rather the secondary effect which such objects and gratifications produce upon the nervous system, or the state in which they leave it. The comparative sense, however, in which we have explained the term happiness, is more popular; and in prosecuting the subject, we may consider, first, what human happiness does not consist in; and, secondly, what it does consist in.

1. First, then, happiness does not consist in the pleasures of sense, in whatever profusion or variety they may be enjoyed. By the pleasures of sense are meant the animal gratifications of eating, drinking, and that by which the species is continued, as well as the more refined pleasures of music, painting, architecture, gardening, splendid shows, theatrical exhibitions, and, lastly, the pleasures of active sports, as of hunting, shooting, fishing, &c. For, 1. These pleasures continue but for a little while at a time. This is true of them all, especially of the grosser sort. Laying aside the preparation and the expectation, and computing strictly the actual sensation, we shall be surprised to find how inconsiderable a portion of our time they occupy, how few hours in the four and twenty they are able to fill up. 2. By repetition they lose their relish. It is a property of the machine, for which we know no remedy, that the organs by which we perceive pleasure are blunted and numbed by being frequently exercised in the same way. There is hardly any one who has not found the difference between a gratification when new and when familiar, or any pleasure which does not become indifferent as it grows habitual. 3. The eagerness for high and intense delights takes away the relish from all others; and as such delights fall rarely in our way, the greater part of our time becomes from this cause empty and uneasy. There is hardly any delusion by which men are greater sufferers in their happiness, than by their expecting too much from what is called pleasure; that is, from those intense delights which vulgarly engross the name of pleasure. The very expectation spoils them. When they do come, we are often engaged in taking pains to persuade ourselves how much we are pleased, rather than in enjoying any pleasure which springs naturally out of the object; and whenever we depend upon being vastly delighted, we always go home secretly grieved at missing our aim. Likewise, as has been just now observed, when this humour of being prodigiously delighted has once taken hold of the imagination, it hinders us from providing for or acquiescing in those gently soothing engagements, the due variety and succession of which are the only things that supply a continued stream of happiness.

The truth seems to be, that there is a limit at which these pleasures soon arrive, and from which they ever afterwards decline. They are by necessity of short duration, as the organs cannot hold on their emotions beyond a certain length of time; and if you endeavour to compensate for this imperfection in their nature by the frequency with which you repeat them, you lose more than you gain by the fatigue of the faculties and the diminution of sensibility. We have in this account said nothing of the loss of opportunities or the decay of faculties, which, whenever they happen, leave the voluntary destitute and desperate; teased by desires that can never be gratified, and the memory of pleasures which must return no more. It will also be allowed by those who have experienced it, and perhaps by those alone, that pleasure which is purchased by the encumbrance of our fortune is purchased too dear; the pleasure never compensating for the perpetual irritation of embarrassed circumstances. These pleasures, after all, have their value; and as the young are always too eager in the pursuit of them, the old are sometimes too remiss; that is, too studious of their ease to be at the pains which they really deserve.

Secondly. Neither does happiness consist in an exemption from pain, labour, care, business, suspense, molestation, and "those evils which are without;" such a state being usually attended, not with ease, but with depression of spirits, a tastelessness in all our ideas, imaginary anxieties, and the whole train of hypochondriacal affections. For this reason it seldom answers the expectations of those who retire from their shops and counting-houses to enjoy the remainder of their days in leisure and tranquillity; much less of such as in a fit of chagrin shut themselves up in cloisters and hermitages, or quit the world and their stations in it, for solitude and repose.

Where there exists a known external cause of uneasiness, the cause may be removed, and the uneasiness will then cease. But those imaginary distresses which men feel for want of real ones (and which are equally tormenting, and so far equally real), as they depend upon no single or assignable subject of uneasiness, so they admit oftentimes of no application or relief. Hence a moderate pain, upon which the attention may fasten and spend itself, is to many a refreshment; as a fit of the gout will sometimes cure the spleen. And the same may be said of any moderate agitation of the mind, as a literary controversy, a law-suit, a contested election, and, above all, gaming, the passion for which, in men of fortune and liberal minds, is only to be accounted for on this principle.

Thirdly. Neither does happiness consist in greatness, rank, or elevated station.

Were it true that all superiority afforded pleasure, it would follow, that by how much we are the greater, that is, the more persons we are superior to, in the same proportion, as far as depends upon this cause, we should be the happier; but so it is, that no superiority yields any satisfaction, save that which we possess or obtain over those with whom we immediately compare ourselves. The shepherd perceives no pleasure in his superiority over his dog; the farmer in his superiority over the shepherd; the lord in his superiority over the farmer; nor, lastly, the king in his superiority over the lord. Superiority, where there is no competition, is seldom contemplated, and is a thing of which most men are quite unconscious. But if the same shepherd can run, fight, or wrestle, better than the peasants of his village; if the farmer can show better cattle, if he keeps a better horse, or be supposed to have a longer purse, than any farmer in the hundred; if the lord have more interest in an election, greater favour at court, a better house, or larger estate, than any nobleman in the county; if the king possess a more extensive territory, a more powerful fleet or army, a more splendid establishment, more loyal subjects, or more weight and authority in adjusting the affairs of nations, than any prince in Europe; in all these cases the parties feel an actual satisfaction in their superiority. No superiority appears to be of any account but a superiority over a rival. This, it is manifest, may exist wherever rivalships do; and rivalships fall out amongst men of all ranks and degrees. The object of emulation, the dignity or magnitude of this object, makes no difference; as it is not what either possesses that constitutes the pleasure, but what one possesses more than the other. Philosophy smiles at the contempt with which the rich and great speak of the petty strifes and competitions of the poor; not reflecting that these strifes and competitions are just as reasonable as their own, and the pleasure which success affords the same.

It appears evident, then, that happiness does not consist in greatness, since what are supposed to be the peculiar advantages of greatness, the pleasures of ambition and superiority, are in reality common to all conditions. But whether the pursuits of ambition be ever wise, whether they contribute more to the happiness or misery of the pursuers, is a different question, and a question concerning which we may be allowed to entertain great doubt. The pleasure of success is exquisite; so also is the anxiety of the pursuit, and the pain of disappointment; but, what is the worst part of the account, the pleasure is short-lived. We soon cease to look back upon those whom we have left behind; new contests are engaged in, new prospects unfold themselves; a succession of struggles is kept up, whilst there is a rival left within the compass of our views and profession; and when there is none, the pleasure terminates with the pursuit.

II. We have seen what happiness does not consist in. We are next to consider in what it does consist. In the conduct of life, the great matter is to know beforehand what will please us, and what pleasures will hold out. So far as we know this, our choice will be justified by the event. And this knowledge is more rare and difficult than at first sight it may seem to be; for sometimes pleasures, which are wonderfully alluring and flattering in the prospect, are found in the possession to be extremely insipid, or do not hold out as we expected. At other times pleasures start up which never entered into our calculation, and which we might have missed by not foreseeing; and hence we have reason to believe that we actually do miss many pleasures from the same cause.

The original diversity of taste, capacity, and constitution, observable in the human species, and the still greater variety which habit and fashion have introduced, render it altogether impossible to propose any plan of happiness which will succeed to all, or any method of life which is universally eligible or practicable. All that can be said is, that there remains a presumption in favour of those conditions of life in which men generally appear most cheerful and contented; for though the apparent happiness of mankind be not always a true measure of their real happiness, it is the best measure we have.

Upon this principle, then, happiness appears to consist in the exercise of the social affections. Those persons commonly possess good spirits who have about them many objects of affection and endearment, as wife, children, kindred, friends; and to the want of these may be imputed the perverseness of monks and of such as lead a monastic life. Of the same nature with the indulgence of our domestic affections, and equally refreshing to the spirits, is the pleasure which results from acts of bounty and benevolence, exercised either in giving money, or in imparting to those who want it the assistance of our skill and profession.

Another main article of human happiness is, the exercise of our faculties, either of body or mind, in the pursuit of some engaging end. It seems to be true that no plentitude of present gratification can make the possessor happy for a continuance, unless he have something in reserve, something to hope for and look forward to. This may be inferred from comparing the alacrity and spirits of men who are engaged in any pursuit which interests them, with the dejection and ennui of almost all who are either born to so much that they want nothing more, or who have used up their satisfactions too soon, and drained the sources of enjoyment. It is this intolerable vacancy of mind which carries the rich and great to the race-course and the gaming table, and often engages them in contests and pursuits, of which the success bears no proportion to the solicitude and expense with which it is sought.

The question now occurs, how we are to provide ourselves with a succession of pleasurable engagements. This requires two things; judgment in the choice of ends adapted to our opportunities; and a command of imagina- Happiness, so as to be able, when the judgment has made choice of an end, to transfer a pleasure to the means; after which the end may be forgotten as soon as we will. Hence those pleasures are most valuable, not which are most exquisite in the fruition, but most productive of engagement and activity in the pursuit.

A man who is in earnest in his endeavours after the happiness of a future state, has in this respect an advantage over all the world; for he has constantly before his eyes an object of supreme importance, productive of perpetual engagement and activity, and of which the pursuit (and this can be said of no pursuit besides) lasts him to the end of his life. Yet even he must have many ends beside the far end; but then they will conduct to that, be subordinate, and in some way or other capable of being referred to that, and derive their satisfaction, or an addition of satisfaction, from that.

Engagement is every thing. The more significant, however, our engagements are, the better; such as the planning of laws, institutions, manufactures, charities, improvements, public works, and the endeavouring by our interest, address, solicitations, and activity, to carry them into effect; or, upon a smaller scale, the procuring of a maintenance and fortune for our families, by a course of industry and application to our callings, which forms and gives motion to the common occupations of life; training up a child; prosecuting a scheme for his future establishment; making ourselves masters of a language or a science; improving or managing an estate; labouring after a piece of preferment; and, lastly, any engagement which is innocent is better than none, as writing a book, building a house, laying out a garden, digging a fish-pond, even raising a cucumber or a tulip. Whilst the mind is occupied with the objects or business before it, we are commonly happy, whatever the objects or business be; when the mind is absent, and the thoughts are wandering to something else besides what is passing in the place in which we are, we are often miserable.

The art in which the secret of human happiness in a great measure consists, is to set the habits in such a manner that every change may be a change for the better. The habits themselves are much the same; for whatever is made habitual becomes smooth, and easy, and indifferent. The return to an old habit is likewise easy, whatever the habit be. Therefore the advantage is with those habits which allow of indulgence in the deviation from them. The luxurious receive no greater pleasure from their dainties than the peasant does from his bread and cheese; but the peasant whenever he goes abroad finds a feast, whereas the epicure must be well entertained to escape disgust. Those who spend every day at cards, and those who go every day to plough, pass their time much alike; intent upon what they are about, wanting nothing, regretting nothing, they are both in a state of ease. But then, whatever suspends the occupation of the card-player distresses him, whereas to the labourer every interruption is a refreshment; and this appears in the different effect which the Sabbath produces upon the two, proving a day of recreation to the one, but a lamentable burden to the other. The man who has learned to live alone, feels his spirits enlivened whenever he enters into company, yet takes his leave of it without regret. Another, who has long been accustomed to a crowd or continual succession of company, experiences in company no elevation of spirits, nor any greater satisfaction than what the man of a retired life finds in his chimney-corner. So far their conditions are equal; but let a change of place, fortune, or situation, separate the companion from his circle, his visitors, his club, common-room, or coffee-house, and the difference of advantage in the choice and constitution of the two habits will show itself. Solitude comes to the one clothed with melancholy; to the other it brings liberty and repose. You will see the one fretful and restless, at a loss how to dispose of his time, till the hour comes round that he can forget himself in bed; the other easy and satisfied, taking up his book or his pipe as soon as he finds himself alone; ready to admit any little amusement which casts up, or to turn his hands and attention to the first business which presents itself; or content without either to sit still, and let his trains of thought glide indolently through his brain, without much use perhaps or pleasure, but without hankering after any thing better, and without irritation. A reader who has imurred himself to books of science and argumentation, if a novel, a well-written pamphlet, an article of news, a narrative of a curious voyage, or the journal of a traveller, fall in his way, sits down to the past with relish, enjoys his entertainment while it lasts, and can return, when it is over, to his graver reading without distaste. Another, with whom nothing will go down but works of humour and pleasantry, or whose curiosity must be interested by perpetual novelty, will consume a bookseller's window in half a forenoon, during which time he is rather in search of diversion than diverted; and as books to his taste are few and short, and rapidly read over, the stock is soon exhausted, when he is left without resource from this principal supply of innocent amusement.

As far as circumstances of fortune conduce to happiness, it is not the income which any man possesses, but the increase of income, that affords the pleasure. Two persons, of whom one begins with L100, and advances his income to L1000 a year, and the other sets off with L1000 and dwindles down to L100, may, in the course of their time, have the receipt and spending of the same sum of money; yet their satisfaction, as far as fortune is concerned, will be very different; the series and sum total of their incomes being the same, it makes a wide difference which end they begin at.

Happiness consists in health, understanding by health, not only freedom from bodily distempers, but also that tranquillity, firmness, and alacrity of mind, which we call good spirits. For the sake of health, according to this notion of it, no sacrifices can be too great. Whether it requires us to relinquish lucrative situations, to abstain from favourite indulgences, to control intemperate passions, or to undergo tedious regimens; whatever difficulties it lays us under, a man who pursues his happiness rationally and resolutely will be content to submit to. When we are in perfect health and spirits, we feel in ourselves a happiness independent of any particular outward gratification whatever, and of which we can give no account. This is an enjoyment which the Deity has annexed to life, and probably constitutes in a great measure the happiness of infants and brutes, especially of the lower and sedentary orders of animals, as of oysters, periwinkles, and the like.

The above account of human happiness will justify two conclusions, which, although found in most books of morality, have seldom been supported by any sufficient reasons, viz. first, that happiness is pretty equally distributed amongst the different orders of civil society; and, secondly, that vice has no advantage over virtue, even with respect to this world's happiness.