ve the man in the street suddenly,
by some miracle, invested with political power, and, of course, under
the obligation to use it. He would be so upset, worried, wearied, and
exasperated at the end of a week that he would be ready to give the
eyes out of his head in order to get rid of it. As for success in
science or in art, the average person's interest in such matters is so
slight, compared with that of the man of science or the artist, that
he cannot be said to have an interest in them. And supposing that
distinction in them were thrust upon him he would rapidly lose that
distinction by simple indifference and neglect. The average person
certainly wants some money, and the average person does not usually
rest until he has got as much as is needed for the satisfaction of his
instinctive needs. He will move the heaven and earth of his
environment to earn sufficient money for marriage in the "station" to
which he has been accustomed; and precisely at that point his genuine
desire for money will cease to be active. The average man has this in
common with the most exceptional genius, that his career in its main
contours is governed by his instincts. The average man flourishes and
finds his ease in an atmosphere of peaceful routine. Men destined for
success flourish and find their ease in an atmosphere of collision and
disturbance. The two temperaments are diverse. Naturally the average
man dreams vaguely, upon occasion; he dreams how nice it would be to
be famous and rich. We all dream vaguely upon such things. But to
dream vaguely is not to desire. I often tell myself that I would give
anything to be the equal of Cinquevalli, the juggler, or to be the
captain of the largest Atlantic liner. But the reflective part of me
tells me that my yearning to emulate these astonishing personages is
not a genuine desire, and that its realization would not increase my
happiness.

To obtain a passably true notion of what happens to the mass of
mankind in its progress from the cradle to the grave, one must not
attempt to survey a whole nation, nor even a great metropolis, nor
even a very big city like Manchester or Liverpool. These panoramas are
so immense and confusing that they defeat the observing eye. It is
better to take a small town of, say, twenty or thirty thousand
inhabitants--such a town as most of us know, more or less intimately.
The extremely few individuals whose instincts mark them out to take
part in the struggle for s