(3) A part of Carlyle's ammunition consists in the slurring connotations which have grown up about the word "pleasure," and even the word "happiness." Because of the practical need of opposing immediate in the interests of remoter good, the various words that designate intrinsic and immediate value have come to have a less worthy sound in our ears than those words which indicate control for the sake of more widespread or lasting interests-such as "prudence," "duty," and "virtue." Moreover, the word "pleasures" commonly connotes the minor goods of life in contrast with the great joys, such as the accomplishment of some worthy task or the service of those we love. Again, it commonly connotes things passively enjoyed, rather than the active joys of life, which are practically more important. So that to condemn "pleasure" as an end arouses our instinctive sympathy. A "pleasure" is any bit of immediate good, however involved with pain, however transitory, and dangerous in its effects. "Happiness" generally refers to a more permanent state of satisfaction, including comparative freedom from pain; a stable and assured state of intrinsic worth, good to reflection as well as to sense. Pleasures are easy enough to get, but this safe state of happiness, full of rich positive worth, and immune from pain both in action and in moments of retrospect, is far from easy. Hence it is better to use the word "happiness" for our goal than the word "pleasure." Carlyle, however, takes "happiness" in the lower sense and rejects it in favor of what he calls "blessedness." This gives him the advantage of seeming to have a new and superior theory. But when we ask what "blessedness" is, it is apparent that it can be nothing but what we call "happiness" or the living of life in such a way as to lead to happiness. (4) There is another important practical insight underlying the protests of Carlyle and those of his ilk, namely, that it pays to disregard the minor ills and discomforts of life and keep our thoughts fixed on the big things. These minor ills do not matter much as they pass; they are transient, and usually leave little pain for reflection. It is the fear of them, the complaining about them, the shrinking from them, the attending to them, that constitutes the greater part of their badness. Carlyle has the same practical common sense that the Christian Scientists show; but, as in their case, he lets his practical wisdom confuse his theoretical insight.