The bee and ant? Yes, of course, they too are social animals, of very high intelligence. And they, be it noted, have not this shameful fallacy that no one will exert himself “unless he has to,” unless he “wants” something. With much of the same collectivism, though sharply limited as we have seen by the predominant femininity, with much of the same specialisation, with a better developed sense of common interest than we have, the ant and bee are types of contented and ceaseless industry. Yet they have to do it all “by hand,” they have no extra-personal tools and machinery, they have no horse-power, wind- or water-power, steam power, or electric power. They have no great reservoir of energy in Literature and Art. And they have no wider scheme of life than a sublimated ultra-organised motherhood—everything else is subsidiary to that function. If humanity were perfectly healthy; if our mechanical efficiency were rightly placed and fully used; if our social energy were accessible to all, and our social instincts freely developed, we should see each young human being coming eagerly forward to do his share of the world’s work, not under the action of personal desire—or fear of penalty—but simply _to relieve the pressure_! So irresistible is our growth in this direction that even under all our artificial hindrances, against the combined resistance of religion, tradition, superstition, habit, custom, education, and condition, still the normal child does want to work, tries to work, and in some cases bursts through the whole cordon of opposition and does the work he is made for, though it cost him his life. We see this conspicuously in the latest and most highly specialised forms of work, as the arts, sciences, and most developed professions. Naturally the more delicately special an organ is the more imperative is its doing its own kind of work, and no other. So we have seen again and again the people we call “great,” they having more social energy at command than others, pushing forward over all obstacles to do their particular kind of work, not only without regard to the pay, which they did not get, but without regard to the punishment, which they did get. We have tried to account for this by assuming that the “desire” which actuated them was a desire for fame. We are so sure that it must be a desire of some sort! Why is it so difficult to admit the presence of radiating energy in a live creature? We can see it plainly enough in “mere matter.” Radium does not necessarily want something because it so continually does something. To feel a lack—to see a desired supply—to exert one’s energy to obtain the supply and so cease to lack, is a natural process of action, but not the only one. Organic action differs here from individual action.