There is, however, a third form of the fundamental question which is
less unanswerable than the two forms already mentioned. The plain man
may be excused for his remarkable indifference as to what his labour
and his tedium will gain for him "later on," when "later on" means
beyond the grave or thirty years hence. But we live also in the
present, and if proper existence is a compromise between the claims of
the present and the claims of the future the present must be
considered, and the plain man ought surely to ask himself the
fundamental question in such a form as the following: "I am now--this
morning--engaged in something rather tiresome. What do I stand to gain
by it this evening, to-morrow, this week--next week?" In this form the
fundamental question, once put, can be immediately answered by
experience and by experiment.

But does the plain man put it? I mean--does he put it seriously and
effectively? I think that very often, if not as a general rule, he
does not. He may--in fact he does--gloomily and savagely mutter: "What
pleasure do I get out of life?" But he fails to insist on a clear
answer from himself, and even if he obtains a clear answer--even if he
makes the candid admission, "No pleasure," or "Not enough
pleasure"--even then he usually does not insist on modifying his life
in accordance with the answer. He goes on ignoring all the interesting
towns and oases on the way to his Timbuctoo. Excessively uncertain
about future joy, and too breathlessly preoccupied to think about joy
in the present, he just drives obstinately ahead, rather like a person
in a trance. Singular conduct for a plain man priding himself on
common sense!