If in the early fifties of the last century a vote had been taken on the two men in America who ten years later would stand head and shoulders above their countrymen in position and recognized ability, it is probable that not one single vote would have been cast for a slouchy Missouri farmer or a shabby Illinois lawyer, certainly not for the former. Grant and Lincoln themselves would not have expected a vote. Yet their powers existed then, unrealized by their owners, and only needing the proper stimulus to bring them out. That stimulus was responsibility; and, great as their achievements were under this stimulus, neither man appears to have reached his limit; each apparently had still a fund of reserve power to be expended on yet greater occasions had they arisen. This is not to say that all men have an equal fund of unrecognized ability. The experiences of the great struggle out of which Lincoln and Grant came supreme are alone sufficient to show how unequal are men's endowments. A McClellan proves himself an unsurpassed organizer, but no fighter; a Burnside displays marked ability in leading fifteen or twenty thousand men, but beyond this number he fails disastrously. Neither Foresight nor any other device can _create_ ability. A gallon can will hold only a gallon, no matter how carefully its sides are rounded. But in the case of any given man no one knows his capacity until he has had a chance to show it. His nature may hold only a pint, or, as with the men who have mastered great occasions with still unexhausted powers, it may seem like the horn which the god Thor tried to drain but could not, for its base was connected with the ocean itself. Not every man can hope to be called to a responsibility that shall bring out his latent powers; most of us, if we are ever to get the call, will first have to show the ability.
How can a man tap the unknown resources, be they great or small, of his unconscious self? The method here to be suggested has at least the merit of great simplicity. I have called it Forethought; it might perhaps as exactly be called Forewilling. The point is that this unconscious part of a man's nature is not out of his control; he can send word to it and direct it, even if he has to do so by a kind of wireless telegraphy. However mysterious this may sound, there is nothing mystical about it, neither is it something vague and indefinite, but a practice to be applied to actual cases in hand. Suppose a business man is trying to get an important contract, and is to have an interview on the morrow that will decide the question. Let him, before he falls asleep at night, go over the whole ground in his mind, set before himself clearly the thing to be done with the particular difficulties to be met, and let him _will_ himself to meet those difficulties, to carry his case. Let him will that at that time he shall be cheerful and vigorous; and, having given these instructions to his unconscious self--which has perhaps been waiting years for just this chance to do its part in the common endeavor--let him dismiss the whole matter from his conscious thought and go to sleep. On awaking in the morning let him review the matter and again dismiss it from his mind until the occasion arrives. If he will do this faithfully, he may not succeed the first time in carrying his point, but he will certainly feel a great increase of power, and ultimately, if he persists in making his unconscious self an active partner in his life, he will find himself far more successful than he could have been while depending on a single side of his nature. The same principle will hold, of course, in a myriad cases; if we have to-morrow, or even at a later date, to plead a cause, to make an after-dinner speech, to write a report or an article, to learn a lesson, to entertain guests, to handle a difficult case of discipline, we have only to take this counsel of our pillow, to reënforce it with our first morning thought, and we shall find ourselves making a new record of success.