“Yes.  But of course the point is that quantity of pleasure is not equal.”

“You mean,” interposed Ellis, “that there is more pleasure in scratching?”

“No, of course not.”

“But at least you will admit that there is more pleasure in some physical experiences?  Plato, for example, takes the case of a catamite.”

“I admit nothing of the kind.  In the first place, these gross physical pleasures do not last.”

“But suppose they did?  Imagine an eternal, never-changing bliss of scratching, or of—­”

“I don’t see the use of discussing the matter in this kind of way.  It seems to me to deserve serious treatment”

“But I am perfectly serious.  I do genuinely believe that a heaven of scratching, or at any rate of some analogous but intenser experience, would involve an indefinitely greater sum of pleasure than a heaven of scientific research.”

“Well, all I can say is, I don’t agree with you.”

“But why not?” cried Leslie.  “If you were candid I believe you would.  The fact is that you have predetermined that scientific research is a better thing than such physical pleasure, and then you bring out your calculation of pleasure so as to agree with that foregone conclusion.  And that is what the Utilitarians always do.  Being ordinary decent people they accept the same values as the rest of the world, and on the same grounds as the rest of the world.  And then they pretend, and no doubt believe themselves, that they have been led to their conclusions by the hedonistic calculus.  But really, if they made an impartial attempt to apply the calculus fairly, they would arrive at quite different results, results which would surprise and shock themselves, and destroy the whole plausibility of their theory.”

“That is your view of the matter.”

“But isn’t it yours?”

“No, certainly not.”

“At any rate,” I interposed, “it seems to be clear that this utilitarian doctrine has nothing absolute or final or self-evident about it.  All we can say is that among the many opinions about what things are good, there is also this opinion, very widely held, that all pleasurable things are good, and that nothing is good that is not pleasurable.  But that, like any other opinion, can be and is disputed.  So that we return pretty much to the point we left, that there are a number of conflicting opinions about what things are good, that to these opinions some validity must be attached, but that it is difficult to see how we are to reconcile them or to choose between them.  Only, somehow or other, as it seems to me, the truth about Good must be adumbrated in these opinions, and by interrogating the actual experience of men in their judgments about good things, we may perhaps be able to get at least some, shadowy notion of the object of our quest”

“And so,” said Ellis, getting up and stretching himself, “even by your own confession we end where we began.”