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THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY.— SUPPLEMENT. 



would mould the thoughts of the time, though 

 they would be less sharply impressed and less ob- 

 vious to their successors. And, in the next place, 

 a man's influence upon his own contemporaries 

 is that which is incomparably the most important. 

 We are what we are because Shakespeare's con- 

 temporaries were what they were : and, doubt- 

 less, Shakespeare's influence in forming them must 

 count for something. But we are not what we are 

 because we read Shakespeare's plays. Of course, 

 we derive a good deal of pleasure from them. 

 They influence our literature — very often for evil 

 — and they supply us with innumerable quota- 

 tions and imaginative symbols. But their effect 

 upon the race is almost a vanishing quantity. 

 For, first, not one man in a hundred reads them ; 

 secondly, of those who read, few understand ; and, 

 finally, of those who understand, few can count 

 the influence of any particular author as among 

 the forces which have really moulded their lives. 

 Do half a dozen men in a generation really trace 

 any great spiritual change to the power of any one 

 writer — especially of a distant period ? This is 

 indeed a point upon which we willfully deceive 

 ourselves, and, doubtless, the implied assertion 

 may at first sight be denied. But let any man 

 examine frankly what are the forces which have 

 really moulded his nature. He has been pro- 

 foundly affected by his family, by his school, by 

 his profession ; by the religious faith in which he 

 has been educated ; by the moral standard ac- 

 cepted around him ; and sometimes by the ar- 

 tistic tastes and intellectual biases which are 

 prevalent in his day. But how many men can 

 say frankly, after real self-examination, that their 

 characters have been altered or their views of 

 life materially modified by reading any author, 

 whatever his fame, who died even a century ago ? 

 So far as he affected the development of the 

 thoughts and history of his race, he has, of 

 course, affected the development of all subsequent 

 time. But I speak of the direct influence — of the 

 difference between our character as it actually is, 

 and that which it would have been if we had not 

 read a particular book of a past century. A few 

 literary persons will, of course, attribute great 

 weight to such readings, and literary people gen- 

 erally speak as if they were the whole world. 

 They are really, I fancy, a superficial ornament, 

 counting almost for zero in the great forces which 

 really move mankind. But, of course, this is a 

 sentiment not to be indulged even in private. 



If, however, there be any share of truth in 

 these statements, they naturally limit our estimate 

 of the value even of the greatest works. Every 



man has an influence, powerful in proportion to 

 his character, upon his own circle. That will be 

 exerted, whether he wishes it or not, and whether 

 he puts his thoughts in print or expresses them 

 in life. His influence as a writer reaches and 

 affects — often very deeply — a wide circle of con- 

 genial minds, who are prepared to receive his 

 teaching. Beyond that circle, again, he has a 

 vague influence upon people who may hear his 

 name and think it becoming to have some opinion 

 about him. But this last influence, if it deserves 

 the name, is one which no wise man should desire, 

 and which has but a small and uncertain effect. 

 Why should I care whether a number of ignorant 

 people clatter about my name or not, when of me, 

 as I really am, they are radically incapable of 

 knowing anything whatever ? Yet the knowledge 

 which an indifferent contemporary has of a Shake- 

 speare is probably as vivid and as influential as 

 the knowledge of any but the very finest critics 

 in the later generations, when the writer's lan- 

 guage is already growing dim, and his thoughts are 

 embodied in unfamiliar images. Even of great 

 men it may be true that their influence either 

 upon their children, their friends, or their depend- 

 ents, is far more important than that which they 

 exercise by direct communication with distant 

 ages. The most powerful voice becomes faint as 

 it spreads into ever-widening spheres. It then 

 becomes but the ghost of a real utterance — a faint 

 murmur of half forgotten meaning, loud enough 

 to be heard in the study, but not to guide men 

 amid the rough shocks of vivid present experience. 

 My relations to my butcher and baker belong to 

 the inner sphere, where my influence is still po- 

 tent, and my dealings with them may be more 

 effectual than my dealings with posterity, though 

 bearing upon smaller matters. 



But you cannot be certain that you are a 

 Shakespeare, or even distantly akin to Shake- 

 speare. The difficulty of judging ourselves, which 

 makes error venial, makes dogmatism madness. 

 Nobody has a right to say positively that he has 

 drawn the one prize out of the many million 

 blanks. The English writers of past centuries, 

 whose books are still alive for any but professed 

 students, may be counted on the fingers. Grant- 

 ing that you have talents, and even genius, the 

 probability that you will be added to the sacred 

 band, instead of perishing with the unknown rank 

 and file, is almost infinitesimal. The lad who 

 runs away to sea, in hopes of becoming an ad- 

 miral or a Captain Cook, is scarcely making a 

 less judicious venture. Genius is rare enough, 

 and it is the rare exception when even genius 



