acme of ease and success in any one direction; great results are obtained with the minimum of hard mental labour; briefly, genius is the least-action principle operating in the world of mind. But in what sense? In this: that all illumination is the outcome of the combined working of the conscious and subconscious spheres, and that, however long we may search for it the illumination always comes suddenly at the last-it flashes in upon us. A genius, therefore, is one who never agonises to enter the strait gate; the methods of observation and experiment of deep concentration, and slow and laborious reasoning1 are dispensed with wherever possible, for they represent the principle of the greatest effort, and all his instincts lead him in the opposite direction. His belief that a spirit inspires him is pure fancy, but it is good descriptive psychology nevertheless. It means that intuitions those fine leaps of the mind that reach the truth at a bound-are the very perfection of intellectual effort because they are so effortless. Now effort, as expressed in work and concentration spread over long periods, is the sign of a difficult communication between the subconscious and the conscious, just as the flash of intuition is a sign of the utmost readiness for transfer from one to the other. May we not then conclude that the nature of genius is found in some special relationship between the two spheres? Fundamentally, this is the theory of Myers, but Myers had an almost complete topography of the unconscious world, and with his subdivisions we have nothing to do. But his notion of intercommunion is essentially reasonable and highly probable; and, in our simpler form, is free from the objections which critics have urged against it.' Take the case of

1 "Logic," says Mr A. J. Balfour, "has never shaken itself free from a certain pretentious futility: it always seems to be telling us, in language quite unnecessarily technical, what we understand much better before it was explained. It never helps to discover, though it may guarantee discovery; it never persuades though it may show that persuasion has been legitimate; it never aids the work of thought, it only acts as its auditor and accountant general."Theism and Humanism, p. 175.

"The Interpretation of Genius," a chapter in Prof. H. L. Stewart's Questions of the Day in Philosophy and Psychology, p. 97.

readiness in repartee. Are there not scores of us who know exactly what we could have said if only we had thought of it at the time? What killing things we think of all too late! But why do we not think of them when they are wanted? Because the connection between the conscious and the subconscious is not as facile as it might be. The connection is set up eventually, and the crushing reply, or the witty rejoinder, comes forth, apologetically, showing that we had ability to say the right thing but not at the right time. May not the right thing be the consciously reasoned thing? No; because there is no such fact as a consciously reasoned thing without subconscious help. Every moment there is a wireless between the two spheres, and a man or woman who is smart at repartee is one who can get a wireless from the subconscious almost before the conscious has Morsed the primary message. He or she employs the least action: we who failed worked the hardest and took the longest time.

VIII

To recapitulate. We began by defining the mind of unusual powers as one that is marked by a greater range of consciousness than is found in conventional minds, a suggestion of this truth being discovered in the use of spatial terms like deep, lofty, breadth, penetration and compass when applied to intelligence, and supported by the manner in which consciousness exists in various stages of animal and human life. Our analysis of consciousness, as a word and a fact, revealed an inability to fathom it; and in spite of experiments and introspection the solution is as far off as it was two thousand years ago. We know the mind is a unity, functioning as Thought, Feeling, and Will, but even these modes of consciousness are, finally, found to be inscrutable. Hence Plato's use of fewpia and Newman's doctrine of the Illative Sense approximate the truth as instances of consciousness working, not sectionally, but as a whole. The attempt to discover the secret of genius in an excess of any one mental function is a mistake: we cannot isolate one function and make it act out of union with the other two.

Range means reach-the utmost possible limit of knowledge and appreciation. But we saw that whilst range of consciousness was increased by adding, say, a knowledge of Spanish to a knowedge of Italian, the range we speak of is more spiritual than that-like the difference between tears as a chemical product and as a representation of feelings beyond expression; indeed this is the sort of difference that constitutes inequalities in mental ability. One man has "reach" in a direction to which other men are strangers. All men have consciousness, but ability means the extent of mental vision in some particular sphere, and ability is triune in form, as Galton pointed out; there is first the motive power, then the discerning power, finally the power to act or work.

That we can only apprehend phenomena, not comprehend them, arises out of the complexity of consciousness itself: even the science of mathematics has to yield itself to life. The mystical nature of experience stands revealed: beauty is undefinable, indeed our efforts to define most things are only partly successful. And if psychologists cannot account for the chemistry of thought, they are not likely to be able to account for phenomena in a manner that is conclusive. This attitude we found to be necessary, however sceptical.

But our mental range is not complete without the subconscious sphere; and after investigating this we saw that its activity was in many ways superior to that of the conscious sphere, being able to accomplish work impossible to the mind in its wakeful moments. The sum total of our reflections, thus far, may be expressed in these words: that the unusual mental ability which manifests itself in originality is not so much a super-development of Feeling, or Thought, or Will, but the work of consciousness as a whole, and as modified or increased by its range of action. This plea is supported by the essentially unknowable nature of all experience.

As further evidence of our contention we showed that mind was best conceived as a form of energy, especially as the methods of introspection and experiment had apparently

reached their limits of success. The stream of consciousness is more than a figure of speech: it is mental activity as we know it. We did not originate the stream and our control over it is partial. Freud's services to psychology are important because he has dealt with mind as energy, and demonstrated some of his statements by successful experiments. His work brings out the continuity of mental history in a remarkable manner: no experience is lost. Herein we see how genius is indebted for its inspirations not to external agencies but to the working of internal mental laws, especially that law which has to do with the interaction between the conscious and subconscious spheres.

The question now arises as to what causes consciousness to increase its range in such a manner as to eventuate in originality. The initial impulse is undoubtedly inborn, and yet it does not depend on heredity. This is the real problem of genius. But the working of the mind of genius is not so difficult to understand. Its distinguishing characteristic is ease of action: whatever the effort, intense or otherwise, the brilliant idea always comes swiftly-it “flashes” in upon the consciousness. We found an analogy in the principle of least action-i.e. genius is the apex of success in the working of the mind because it represents achievement on the most economical basis, and therefore with the best æsthetic associations.

SECTION II

THE ORIGIN OF NEW IDEAS

CHAPTER I

INSPIRATION AS A NATURAL PROCESS

I

It is highly probable that we shall never dispense with the word inspiration, but, speaking psychologically, it is used quite inaccurately. A new idea is not breathed into the mind from without by a Force, a Person, or an Influence; it is an origination within the boundaries of the human mental frontier, and a better word, though one less magical, would be cerebration. An inspiration, considered in its historical associations, presupposes an agent who, or which, uses the human brain as a musician uses an instrument./ Wherein, then, lies the merit of such inspirations? It lies in the honour (we are told) of being chosen for this purpose, and there would seem to be an additional merit in having no individuality, also in cultivating the spirit of self-abnegation.1 With this kind of inspiration we have nothing to do in these pages: it belongs to a sphere of its own/ Our function is to discover, if we can, some of the origins of new ideas and to trace them through the elementary stages of their career. There are three factors involved: the physical, the mental, and the social. No one factor can be clearly separated from the others; we can only discuss them as the psychologist would the threefold unity of the mind. The physical factor has to do with all those organs which in the interaction

1 Plato states the old view thus: "For the authors of those great poems which we admire do not attain to excellence through the rules of any art, but . . . in a state of inspiration, and as it were possessed by a spirit not their own."-Ion, p. 6.