338 
The Philosophy of Pain . [June, 
a scarcely audible call if a fire is breaking out, or if a gang 
of burglars are picking the lock of the door. If worthy of 
the name he will also see to it that his danger-signal is not 
in itself an evil as great as, or perhaps greater than, the 
calamity to be warded off. He will not, e.g., set fire to a 
corn-stack by way of making it known that a weasel has 
crept into the hen-roost. Above all, he will not keep silence 
till some mischief has been done, and summon the house- 
hold after the enemy has made good his escape. 
Let us examine in how far Pain, the self-acting watchman, 
answers to these very natural requirements. A man ap- 
proaches his hand to a fire ; he experiences the agreeable 
sensation of warmth. Encouraged by this he advances his 
hand nearer, and the feeling becomes slightly — perhaps very 
slightly — unpleasant. If he disregards the warning and 
approaches still nearer, he experiences decided pain, which 
grows more and more intense, till he reaches the climax of 
torture as he touches the glowing coals or allows the flame 
to play over his hand. If he still persists, the destruction 
of the member and grave peril to the entire system follow. 
Here, therefore, the action of the “watchman ” is, as far 
as we can perceive, perfect. An alarm is given at the very 
faintest approach of danger, and becomes gradually stronger 
and stronger as the peril increases. We must grant that if 
man, whether in consequence of specific creation or of evo- 
lution, were not unpleasantly affected by the near approach 
or actual contact of burning matter, he would be much more 
likely than at present to fall a sacrifice to the use of fire. 
Again : 1 lay my hand quietly upon a hard substance — 
say a stone, or a bar of iron. I feel resistance, but nothing 
to be called pain. I repeat the experiment, bringing down 
my hand upon the object with some appreciable force. I at 
once experience pain, the more severe the heavier has been 
the blow. If I disregard the warning, or if I have no sense 
of pain and thus cannot perceive it, and if I strike still more 
violently, the hand may be bruised or shattered. The case 
is quite similar whenever we come in contact with any hard, 
rough, or sharp object. In all these cases the warning is in 
its nature perfect, never-failing, and strictly proportionate to 
the exigency. We never feel more pain from the gentle 
touch of a hard object than from the violent blow. If we 
were deprived of this susceptibility to pain we should not be 
gainers, but losers. It is highly probable that, should a race 
of men or an animal species spring up who were not un- 
pleasantly affected by contact with fire, with bodies which 
can cut, pierce, or lacerate, their chances of survival and 
