whole of "me," or the total organism speaks; for usually only a small portion is involved. When ordinarily a certain need is aroused, then only what is required for its satisfaction is implicated in the "I," and that because the quantity of attention is limited, and because, therefore, the satisfying of one need often absorbs it. If we were to look from all possible sides at every demand made on us,—an impossible task,—we should never decide on anything. Thus the greater part of our nature lies low and says nothing when an appeal is made to any one fraction. Were we living as solitaries, words such as "I" might be dispensed with, though the organised nature of our being makes a general term reasonable. We could say "This shall be done," "The imagination has been active to-day," "The feet are tired," "The judgment was faulty," "That is satisfactory." We could readily class ourselves with the surrounding objects. Since, however, we live with others, some mark of distinction is desirable, and the use of “I” indicates no more than that. The phrase "I will" is an amplification of a usually limited organic consent or determination, and no more.

We sometimes assert that we perform an action against our will (sec. 156). Such an action is as much ours as any other action. We have no desire for it from one point of view; but desires from other points of view, compel us to act. To say that "I do not choose to act thus," is only a colloquial manner of stating such a fact. In a similar fashion we regard abnormal aspects of the self as if they were unrelated to us, e.g., when we are unable to control our thoughts.

Often, again, the "I" is identified with our ideal. The spirit says one thing; the flesh another. While we wish to think of some worthy aspect, a loathsome thought obtrudes itself. In such instances, it is allowable metaphorically to attach the first personal pronoun to what we consider rationally the higher; but only metaphorically, for otherwise the whole of psychology would be thrown into confusion. Psychologically there is nothing to distinguish the appetitive stimuli from the spiritual ones; or the recently acquired ideal from the deeply rooted objectionable dispositions. The war between desirable and undesirable needs, the constant struggle betwixt the lower and the higher, is a matter of indifference to the psychologist, qua psychologist; for he is only concerned to see whether what happens stands on the same plane as regards fact or not.

Psychologically, all needs are equal. An acquired and obstinate aptitude to act in opposition, for the purpose of asserting one's individuality,— one's independence of matter,—is the expression of a need on a level with others. The imagination may enthrone, and has thus enthroned, innumerable notions.*

Every object whatsoever is continually changed by its necessary interaction with its environment, and this is especiaily so with animal organisms of a high type. The more important adventures of such an organism modify it considerably, and fit it out with its specific individuality. When, therefore, we think of a fellow human being whom we know,

* The question of the "I" requires to be thoroughly re-examined. (See sec. 176a.)

we consider his physical appearance and the environment in which he is placed, and we take note of the peculiar way his thought flows and the particular things that most attract him. The manner of the development of secondary complications, especially of those which are most far-reaching and recur oftenest, thus offers a full explanation of the development of an individuality. If, again, we wish to distinguish the "immaterial" from the "material" self, then we omit the peculiar exhausted complexes of touch, resistance and sight, called body, and think of what we have spoken of in this work as the "feelings," especially those connected with the stream of thought, e.g., combination feelings, emotions, etc. We also include the train of memories and the way in which these are most generally compounded to serve as a basis of new developments. As we shall see, however, in the next chapter, the so-called outer world is strictly one with the inner, and is built up gradually as is the so-called individual ego. Hence circumscribed differentiation alone distinguishes the various complexes of which our world consists.

All

Such phrases as "I see," ," "I feel," "I am conscious," should not mislead us, they involve are complications: certain articulate sounds, certain combination feelings, and a certain history which accounts for the utterance of those words at that particular time. So when I say that I am conscious that I see a book before me, it is merely a case of observation of the book and observation that I observe two systems connectedly.

It has been said that psychology, unlike the physical sciences, is individualistic, and deals with the individual rather than with the universal. There are two answers to that, If by it be meant that psychology does not deal with facts true of all minds, then the statement is scarcely defensible; and if it be urged that it is indispensable in psychology to attach what happens to some some-thing, then the reply is that that is equally true in physics where we have to deal with particular masses as they exist. If it be still contended that physical science deals ultimately with atoms rather than with the fortunes of particular masses, then I claim that psychology ultimately constructs the total universe out of world-atoms, i.e., simplified touch feelings. It is only the backward state of our science which compels a more individualistic treatment than would otherwise be necessary. As the science advances, the whole psychological terminology is sure to be purged of its individualistic character. At worst, however, psychology should be classed among the biological sciences.

The problem of this section is fully discussed in ch. 8. The question of the self is dealt with, among others, by Bradley, Appearance and Reality, 1897; Dumont, De la Sensibilité, 1875, pp. 89-92; James, Psychology, 1890, ch. 10; Lipps, Grundtatsachen, 1883, ch. 19; Paulhan, L'Activité Mentale, 1889, p. 165; Sully, Human Mind, 1892, i, pp. 235, 264, 475-83, and ii, pp. 223-4; and Wundt, Grundriss, 1896, p. 261.

164.-WILL AS ASSERTION.

Our interest in dramatic action is great. The impressive scenes of life engrave themselves sharply on our character-so much so that everything else is either ignored or interpreted by their light. The activity implied in imagination and that involved in common habits, are looked upon by us as if they lacked reality. Even the portions which make up a complicated act are only considered as results of one effort of will, because interest fastens on what is most striking. When the nature of action is thought of, a telling incident is re-developed and that stands for activity in general. For a like reason, the will has allotted to it a prominent position in primary and secondary processes. An imposing will, a capacity surpassing that of the average man, challenges our dramatic faculty. It appeals to the eye and to the stronger emotions. Yet, psychologically, there is no justification for placing the will on a pedestal and doing homage to it.

Not what is soul-stirring, but what is general, interests the man of science; and as, from a broad standpoint, willing is a casual event, it must be ranged with other events of a like nature.

Volition is a particular instance of assertion. Some one makes a statement in my presence, and appeals to me for support. I say, "Yes; it is true." Such assertions as to reality must in the nature of things be rare, and, in truth, no one pretends that we endorse separately every proposition that we hear made. We might as well claim that when listening to an ordinary discourse, we study, from the point of view of historical grammar, every word and phrase. There is a time for saying Yea and a time for saying Nay; we are not constantly saying Yea and Nay, affirming and denying. What is true of assertions when truth is in question, holds good generally. "It is good," "it is beautiful,” “it is clever," "it is humorous," "it is practical," "it is real," "it pleases me," these belong to the same category. Ideally speaking, we might be asserting continuously; but as a matter of fact, verbal assertion is incidental and accidental. [Test this.] Every moment of our waking lives we are modified in some way; but we generally stop short of commenting upon the fact. Were it not so, every pebble, every tree, every blade of grass I see, would be followed by a little speech, as "I see a pebble" or "I see a blade of grass." Now in "willing" there is present a need which is waiting for an opportunity to realise itself. Willing is hence a kind of self-assertion. Just as a dog is determined to obtain a certain bone, and keep it when once procured, so a human being shows determination and expresses it verbally by such phrases as "I will." In such instances there is present a need which will realise itself when occasion offers, and our "I will" merely expresses that fact prophetically. Perhaps a time is approaching when strong wills shall be common; and then "willing," like anything which abounds, is certain to be considered as of little importance, while keen insight may perhaps occupy its place. Science, therefore, must not be swayed by practical and temporal considerations; for it belongs to eternity rather than to particular ages and aptitudes. The incidental "I will act," must be classed with the incidental "I will see" or "I will appreciate;" or with “I shall act,” “I shall see," "I shall appreciate."

The fictitious machinery which is brought forward to initiate a "willed" act may be introduced to explain all forms of assertion. Thus, how comes it that I see a tree? It is, it may be argued, because it gives me pleasure; because the strongest motive has prevailed; because I willed to see it. Why do I consider the inkstand before me real? Because pleasure bids me to; because I am moved to it by such and such considerations. Deliberation, hesitancy, weighing, doubting, believing, resolving, deciding, acting, each find their fit place in every kind of human event, and all are on an equality. If the need is of one class the peculiar question is, What shall I think? or, What shall the verdict be? rather than, What shall I do? We cannot, therefore, be too much on our guard against the

abuse of scientific progress by practical interests. A popular psychology, elaborated in accordance with the notions which prevail in common life, is apt to classify facts according to their importance among those who have built it up. A theoretical psychology has to satisfy theoretical requirements, and these are often outside the pale of the startling phases which mark the social advance of the race.

In probing the nature of "willing," we have seen that whether distinct or not, it is equally organised. Naturally this is true of assertion in general. Instead of saying "I see," I can say "Hm," or observe in varying degrees the feeling of awareness or connection, or there is present in me a feeling of recognition not understood as such; or there is nothing to mark off the event-by far the most common case. The proper place for the discussion of "willing" should be in the chapter on Systems as Need-satisfying, where the general modes of satisfying needs are dwelt upon. There it would be grouped with occasional states such as doubt, belief or assertion.

165.-THE ABSOLUTE VALUE OF FELT EFFort.

The greatness of an effort, as felt, is not directly related to the greatness of its effect. [Lift a heavy object, experiment with it, and observe the consequences.] By itself the former is an illusive measure of results, and nothing can be deduced when we only know its warmth or intensity. In practice this works out in various ways. As a child of five I make a prodigious effort to lift a heavy object and fail; grown to maturity I raise the weight without feeling any strain. It is not the more strenuous attempt, but the state of the organism which accounts here for the divergent results. As the physical structure grows in capacity, so the felt effort is followed by more striking effects. A powerfully built man performs tasks without any appreciable strain which weaker mortals can only accomplish by exhausting efforts.

What is true of motor action generally, holds good of every department of activity. Though I try to keep my eyelids open in order to remove a speck from the eye, they remain tightly closed. [Test this.] My deliberate aim is frustrated by rooted organised aptitudes; but what effort cannot do, training accomplishes. If I return again and again to the attack, the organised effect will be such that I shall probably be able to place an object between my eyelids without any opposing tendency asserting itself. [Acquire this trend, recording your progress.] Not effort, as such, but organisation is usually decisive; the former only supplies us with a notion. of the limits of the organism at any time.

Having finished their day's work, many persons are only fit for light recreation. It is out of the question for them to pursue private studies: they can neither grasp what they read nor re-develop the contents. They try repeatedly, but in vain; and at last they become resigned to their limitations. Others, again, are never tired; they can always add to the work which they have in hand.

The same holds good with regard to the guidance of thought. Am acute reasoner can start upon the solution of a problem when and at what point he likes. He proceeds with it at his leisure, dismissing it when he thinks fit. Irrelevant issues do not arise; accidental suggestions do not annoy him. [Is that so with you?] Just as a bat goes at full speed and yet without apparently a moment's delay changes its direction, so the competent thinker is free to leave his subject or pursue it to its conclusion. Likewise prejudices, likings and irrelevant considerations do not detract from the quality of his work. With a thoroughly trained intellect of this character clockwork regularity and accuracy is normal. With those who are untrained it is otherwise, for they appear to have no control over their thoughts. Problems come uninvited and vanish in the same fashion, and any side issue throws them off the track. They can neither start nor finish when they like. Wishing to think of one thing, they are bound to think of some other instead. Desirous of solving a problem, they make no progress. Impertinent issues, prejudices and foregone conclusions deprive their attempts of all value. Highly trained or untrained individuals do not differ from each other in the quantity of effort put forth, but in their native or acquired capacity. That I will at all, is determined organically, and that my will shall realise itself is in each instance decided neurally.

Exertion itself is an organised quality. One man with a highly unstable nervous system breaks down under the least trial, while another with a robust constitution continues to make strenuous efforts without overtaxing himself. Strictly speaking, we must regard the capacity for strenuousness as varying indefinitely from zero upwards. The lives of two persons, on a certain occasion, depend on their presence of mind, and life is dear to both of them. Yet one shows self-control, and the other does not. Varying experimentally-in imagination-the exertion capacity of an organism, we now see it go down to naught, and now reach unprecedented heights. Thus the man of great will-power is an organised product. If we were at liberty to experiment with his physical constitution, we should find that the will-power is no extraneous factor, and that organisms analogous to his would exhibit the same characteristics that he does. Besides, a strong will is often only an effective will, one that is readily and without effort followed by the desired actions: being practised, for instance, in dismissing undesirable reflections, we are in that direction all-powerful. [Practise dismissing one particular class of thought.] In fact, before a thought has fully emerged, it is without the slightest difficulty thrust into the background. By a similar exercise of will we freely turn away from anything we are dwelling on. On the other hand, we may be in such a condition that we desire, but are unable to make an effort or produce the effect we are bent on (sec. 23). In analysing a difficult problem, our will is frequently defeated. Hence effort and willing are meaningless unless we think of them in connection with an organism.

It has been argued that we are responsible for our habits, since we might have prevented them from arising. There is no occasion to refute