cts. We cannot, by taking thought, add a cubit to our
stature, but we may build up a world without meaning it. Man is as full
of potentiality as he is of impotence. A will that represents many
active forces, and is skilful in divination and augury, may long boast
to be almighty without being contradicted by the event.

[Sidenote: Contemplative essence of action.]

That thought is not self-directive appears best in the most immaterial
processes. In strife against external forces men, being ignorant of
their deeper selves, attribute the obvious effects of their action to
their chance ideas; but when the process is wholly internal the real
factors are more evenly represented in consciousness and the magical,
involuntary nature of life is better perceived. My hand, guided by I
know not what machinery, is at this moment adding syllable to syllable
upon this paper, to the general fulfilment, perhaps, of my felt intent,
yet giving that intent an articulation wholly unforeseen, and often
disappointing. The thoughts to be expressed simmer half-consciously in
my brain. I feel their burden and tendency without seeing their form,
until the mechanical train of impulsive association, started by the
perusal of what precedes or by the accidental emergence of some new
idea, lights the fuse and precipitates the phrases. If this happens in
the most reflective and deliberate of activities, like this of
composition, how much more does it happen in positive action, "The die
is cast," said Caesar, feeling a decision in himself of which he could
neither count nor weigh the multitudinous causes; and so says every
strong and clear intellect, every well-formed character, seizing at the
same moment with comprehensive instinct both its purposes and the means
by which they shall be attained. Only the fool, whose will signifies
nothing, boasts to have created it himself.

We must not seek the function of thought, then, in any supposed power to
discover either ends not suggested by natural impulse or means to the
accomplishment of those irrational ends. Attention is utterly powerless
to change or create its objects in either respect; it rather registers
without surprise--for it expects nothing in particular--and watches
eagerly the images bubbling up in the living mind and the processes
evolving there. These processes are themselves full of potency and
promise; will and reflection are no more inconsequential than any other
processes bound by natural