It will be apparent farther from this, that just as happiness, unless some distinct positive quality, gains nothing as an end of action, either in value or distinctness, by a mere diffusion in the present--by an extension, as it were, laterally--so will it gain nothing further by giving it another dimension, and by prospectively increasing it in the future. We must know what it is first, before we know whether it is capable of increase. Apart from this knowledge, the conception of progress and the hope of some brighter destiny can add nothing to that required _something_, which, so far as sociology can define it for us, we have seen to be so utterly inadequate. Social conditions, it is true, we may expect will go on improving; we may hope that the social machinery will come gradually to run more smoothly. But unless we know something positive to the contrary, the outcome of all this progress may be nothing but a more undisturbed ennui or a more soulless sensuality. The rose-leaves may be laid more smoothly, and yet the man that lies on them may be wearier or more degraded. _To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow Creeps in this petty pace from day to day; And all our yesterdays have lighted fools The way to dusty death._ This, for all that sociology can inform us to the contrary, may be the lesson really taught us by the positive philosophy of progress. But what the positivists themselves learn from it, is something very different. The following verses are George Eliot's: _Oh may I join the choir invisible Of those immortal dead who live again In lives made better by their presence. So To live is heaven.... To make undying music in the world, Breathing us beauteous order that controls With growing sway the growing life of man. So we inherit that sweet purity For which we struggled, groaned, and agonised With widening retrospect, that bred despair.... That better self shall live till human time Shall fold its eyelids, and the human sky Be gathered like a scroll within the tomb Unread for ever. This is life to come, Which martyred men have made more glorious For us who strive to follow. May I reach That purest heaven, and be to other souls That cup of strength in some great agony, Enkindle generous ardour, feed pure love, Beget the smiles that have no cruelty, Be the sweet presence of a good diffused, And in diffusion ever more intense; So shall I join that choir invisible Whose music is the gladness of the world._