The unity of this group or type is spiritual， not necessarily local or temporal， and so may be difficult to trace， but its reality is as sure as the principle that man is a social being and cannot think sanely and steadfastly except in some sort of sympathy with his fellows. There must be others whom we can conceive as sharing， corroborating and enhancing our ideals， and to no one is more necessary than the man of genius.
The group is likely to be more apparent or tangible in some arts than in others： it is generally quite evident in painting， sculpture， architecture and music， where a regular development by the passage of inspiration from one artist to another can almost always be traced. In literature the connections are less obvious， chiefly because this art is in its methods more disengaged from time and place， so that it is easier to draw inspiration from distant sources. It is also partly a matter of temperament， men of somewhat solitary imagination being able to form their group out of remote personalities， and so to be almost independent of time and place. Thus Thoreau (165) lived with the Greek and Hindoo classics， with the old English poets， and with the suggestions of nature； but even he owed much to contemporary influences， and the more he is studied the less solitary he appears. Is not this the case also with Wordsworth， with Dante， with all men who are supposed to have stood alone ？
The most competent of all authorities on this question ？Goethe梬as a full believer in the dependence of genius on influences. "People are always talking about originality，" he says， "but what do they mean？ As soon as we are born the world begins to work upon us， and this goes on to the end. And after all what can we call our own except energy， strength and will？ If I could give an account of all that I owe to great predecessors and contemporaries， there would be but a small balance in my favor." [5] He even held that men of genius are dependent upon their environment than others； for， being thinner-skinned， they are more suggestible， more perturbable， and peculiarly in need of the right sort of surroundings to keep their delicate machinery in fruitful action.
No doubt such questions afford ground for infinite debate， but the underlying principle that the thought of every man is one with that of a group， visible or invisible， is sure， I think， to prove sound； and if so it is indispensable that a great capacity should find access to a group whose ideals and standards are of a sort to make the most of it.
Another reason why the rawness of the modern world is unfavorable to great production is that the ideals themselves which a great art should express share in the gen-(166)-eral incompleteness of things and do not present themselves to the mind clearly defined and incarnate in vivid symbols. Perhaps a certain fragmentariness and pettiness in contemporary art and literature js due more to this cause than to any other梩o the fact that the aspirations of the time， large enough， certainly， are too much obscured in smoke to be clearly and steadily regarded. We may believe， for example， in democracy， but it can hardly be said that we see democracy， as the middle ages， in their art， saw the Christian religion.
From this point of view of groups and organization it is easy to understand why the "individualism" of our epoch does not necessarily produce great individuals. Individuality may easily be aggressive and yet futile， because not based on the training afforded by well-organized types條ike the fruitless valor of an isolated soldier. Mr. Brownell points out that the prevalence of this sort of individuality in our art and life is a point of contrast between us and the French. Paris， compared with New York， has the " organic quality which results from variety of types，" as distinguished from variety of individuals. "We do far better in the production of striking artistic personalities than we do in the general medium of taste and culture. We figure well， invariably， at the Salon.... Comparatively speaking， of course， we have no milieu."*The same conditions underlie that comparative uniformity of American life which wearies the visitor and implants in the native such a passion for Europe. When (167) a populous society springs up rapidly from a few transplanted seeds， its structure， however vast， is necessarily somewhat simple and monotonous. A thousand towns， ten thousand churches， a million houses， are built on the same models， and the people and the social institutions do not altogether escape a similar poverty of types. No doubt this is sometimes exaggerated， and America does present many picturesque variations， but only a reckless enthusiasm will equal them with those of Europe. How unspeakably inferior in exterior aspect and in many inner conditions of culture must any recent civilization be to that， let us say， of Italy， whose accumulated riches represent the deposit of several thousand years.
Such deposits， however， belong to the past； and as regards contemporary accretions the sameness of London or Rome is hardly less than that of Chicago.
It is a matter of the epoch， more conspicuous here chiefly because it has had fuller sweep. A heavy fall of crude commercialism is rapidly obscuring the contours of history.
