only value of the feeling is as an impulse to it. If you can have the right action without any feeling, you just save yourself so much chance of becoming silly." NOTES BY THE EDITOR. In this chapter three topics are discussed: 3. Their usefulness in human life. Professor James is the authority for their conclusions about the first topic, and the editor thinks Mr. Henshaw's opinion about (2), as given on page 123, and Miss Atwell's about (3), as given on page 125, are as satisfactory as any equally brief statements of his own would be. James's "Briefer Course," pp. 374-390, may well be read in connection with the chapter. CHAPTER XI PURPOSIVE ACTION "It strikes me," said Mr. Elkin, "that we haven't yet touched on the most important aspect of human nature at all-the will. It doesn't make much odds what a man knows or how he feels, provided he chooses the right line of conduct, provided his wil is healthy and leads him in the right direction. I'd like to know what makes the difference between a good and bad will, a strong or weak will. I've been on the lookout to see, but I have no observations worth reporting." "What do you mean by a person's 'will'?" asked Miss Atwell. "I mean whatever makes him do things." "But we have touched on that. We found that a man did a great many things just because his nervecells were so connected that a certain situation led to a certain act. We breathe, cry, weep, laugh, etc., just because we inherit as nature's gift to us certain connections between nerve-cells and muscles. also do things from imitation."' We "I suppose I really mean the things that we do when we foresee and control our acts; when, for instance, we murder a man, or write a letter or buy a suit of clothes, all the really complex acts that we perform.' "But," said Arthur, "we can perform very com plex acts without really 'willing' to do them. You know you and I were talking about this thing the other day. Well, I decided to see how many things I really willed in a day. I found they were very few. As I got out of bed, I thought, 'Did I will to do that?' and observed that I hadn't. The mere sight of the clock gave me the idea of getting up, and up I got, without 'willing' anything. The mere sight of my clothes led me to put them on, and amongst all the numerous operations that I went through before I reached my seat at the breakfast-table, there was only one case of willing. I did deliberately decide to put on a certain necktie, because I wanted to wear the thing out. In that one case I felt that I really willed to do something. In all the other cases I either acted automatically or else the mere idea of doing a certain thing or the sight of some object connected with the act led me to do it without any decision or act of will of my own. So on through the day. The thought, 'What time is it?' suffices to make me open my watch without there being any exertion of will power or any feeling of 'Lo, verily, I will do so and so.' An idea calls up a movement just as an idea calls up an idea.' "You can see that rather well in some cases we doctors have to deal with," added Dr. Leighton. "Some people do things just when they will not to. A man came to me once who said, 'Doctor, either I'm the biggest fool on earth or there's something the matter with my brain. Every night I have to go down to lock the door a dozen times. I'll lock it and go to bed, and then up will bob the idea, "Go down and lock the door," and I'll find myself walking down. stairs like an idiot. I will to stay in bed, but somehow the idea of looking after that door possesses me, and I have to work the idea out in action. The worst of it is that this absurd thing will happen ten, sometimes twenty, times in a single night.' It's evident that in such cases the mere idea of doing a thing suffices to bring the act to pass, apart from any act of will. We all, I think, have experiences which border on such morbid activity. Who, for instance, has not stepped over a crack in the sidewalk, or touched a lamp-post, or counted the globes in a chandelier just because the idea struck him. Our minds as a whole are healthy, and we don't follow out in action ideas that are too absurd, but we do tend to act out all the ideas we have unless we are prevented by some other idea. I well remember how once, when a boy, I saw a haystack, and was struck by the idea of setting fire to it. I had all I could do for a minute or two to withhold from the act. So I feel sure that we must agree with Arthur that we do all sorts of things, complex as well as simple, without willing or deciding about them at all. As he says, any idea that has gone with an act tends to bring about that act, just as an idea that has gone with another idea tends to call it up in the mind." "That would go to show that the ‘as a man thinketh in his heart, so is he,' was a good account of human nature, wouldn't it? A man with good thoughts would do good deeds, if, as you say, every idea tends to realize itself in action?" said Mrs. Ralston. "Yes; provided that he had customarily done good deeds in connection with those thoughts. If, for example, a man in a car thinks, "That lady should have a seat,' and then gets up and if he repeatedly makes the connection between that thought and that act, after a while the mere presence of the idea, ‘Give up my seat', will bring about the act without his willing it at all. But suppose he repeatedly has the idea, but on all occasions sits still. Then the presence of that good idea won't imply any good action. "You could say, couldn't you," said Mr. Tasker, "that he had not only the good idea, but also another bad idea-namely, 'But I won't give it to her,' or 'But I'll sit still.' What were you going to say, Miss Atwell?" "Nothing now. I was intending to say that people could be chock full of fine thoughts and never put any of them into action, but you and Mr. Henshaw have explained that by showing that they've never connected these thoughts with the corresponding acts and may have in mind also ideas of not doing the good things they talk about. To turn back to our main question, I'd like to ask what happens when we really do intend or decide or will to do a thing. We all agree that in some cases this occurs, that we aren't always doing things just because an idea comes up in our mind that tends to work itself out in a certain act, or because of imitation, or because of inherited tendencies. We sometimes act deliberately as a result of choice. Now what happens in us in such cases?" "Yes," said Mrs. Elkin; "take a concrete case and explain what happened in my mind when yesterday I deliberated whether to take Helen to Springfield to the dentist's or to stay at home and rest. I thought |