It is a truism to say that the influence we have upon each other by our mere contact one with another is well-nigh infinite. So true is it that modern philosophers are found to build upon it an entirely new theory of life; they see in it so great an interference with free-will as to render it entirely negligible; they deem our lives so inextricably intertwined that we must all of necessity be judged, and stand or fall, together. Darwinism, Altruism, Eugenism — what are they all but subtle applications of this theory? Even Pantheism, Hegelianism, and their latest progeny, Modernism, are all fashioned of the same material. This, at least, they have in common with one another, and in common with universal truth; whether we like it or not we are, to a very great extent, the victims of our surroundings, and especially of those with whom we come in contact.
In our ordinary life this is emphasized at every turn. It is true that underneath, away below the waters that the gale can stir, there is the independent "I," which can, and must, make itself; nevertheless, the character of the man, the colour of his mind, and heart, and soul, the prejudices and the sympathies, the limitations and the possibilities, the greatnesses and the littlenesses, the ideas and opinions he adopts and defends, even the religious beliefs and the spiritual impressions which he has made his own, depend much more than he is always willing to allow on circumstances outside himself — circumstance of birth, circumstance of education, most of all, perhaps, the apparently chance circumstance of some individual having crossed his path. In the case of others we see it very plainly, even if we do not always see it very plainly in ourselves. If we have any care at all for our children, we are solicitous as to the companions with whom their lives are cast. We pick and choose their instructors so far as we are able; we keep a watch on the making of their friendships; we are restless when we find them going their own way; we know very well that to leave them entirely to themselves to develop as they may is an act of cowardice on our part, an act of infidelity to them. It is in vain for us to shirk this responsibility. We may say that our children must go through the fire like the rest; that they must not be brought up in a hot-house; that in the end greater experience means greater strength; when the end does come, and the son has become the victim of evil habits, the daughter has shaken off all parental control, then we may learn how much of the misfortune is to be laid at our own door. The fallacy of modern education — every one of us sees it — is not that of curriculum, of subjects to be taught, or of the qualification of those who are to teach them; it is to suppose that teaching and learning will make a good man, will save him from evil influences, will compensate for any lack of care on the part of those who should be his protectors. "Let our children, let our poor, be taught, and they will become good citizens." Never was a fallacy more patent, more belied by facts, and yet more blindly accepted as the cure of the evils of men.
And there is the other side, the counter-truth to all this. If we are ourselves much more the product of our surroundings than we always realize, if others enter into our lives, and affect us for time and for eternity, much more deeply than they can imagine, no less true is it that we in our turn have our effect upon others. No man can so shut himself in as to be able to make his own world without consideration of his fellow-men. We owe as much as we receive. We may resent it; we may cry with Cain: "Am I my brother's keeper?" We may close our eyes to our surroundings; we may shut ourselves up in our castles, and defend ourselves with moat and drawbridge. The fact will still remain that a man cannot be a good man with- out making other men better; a man cannot be bad without other men being the worse for it. Indeed, one sometimes asks oneself whether this is not one of the reasons why God is so angry with sin. If He so loved the world as to give His only Son for its redemption, what must He not think of him whose influence has tended to undo His work? "It were better for him that a mill-stone were tied about his neck, and that he were cast into the depths of the sea," is the wording of the curse pronounced on those who scandalized the little ones of Christ, quite regardless of the offence committed against God Himself; and it helps us to understand why He declared the Second Commandment, "Thou shalt love thy neighbour," to be like unto the First, "Thou shalt love the Lord thy God."
There is no need to work this point. We know how far it leads. When we reckon up the worth of our lives, how often do we measure them by the influence for good or for evil that they may have had upon those around us! How often do we find even the conscious sinner plead in his defence that "he has done no harm to others"! Nay, more, much as a man may demand to be left alone, much as he may resent the tax that is made on his moral nature for the benefit of his fellow-men, there is nothing in another he will more contemn than this deliberate shirking of duty. "Am I my brother's keeper?" is an appeal that betrays a hardened heart, against which a brother's blood cries out to Heaven for vengeance. But it is not for such that these words are written. They are written for those to whom the good of others is an interest and a care; who, even in the moments when their own pending doom will not keep them from evil-doing, yet will be deterred by the thought of the injury they may do to others. They have themselves been so defended in the past — often enough to their knowledge, still more often when they have not known it; now comes the occasion for them to give freely what they have freely received.
And not only that. There is something more in this truth which should be no small consolation and encouragement to anyone who will think of it; the consoling certainty of the untold good we may do without even being aware that we are doing it. For example is not a conscious thing; it does not submit to weight and measure; it works its effect on whoever will touch the hem of its garment as it passes by. The more conscious, the more reflex it is, the less is its influence; the more natural, the more spontaneous, the more unconscious, whether in its nature or in its actions, so much the more is it part of the man in whom it lives, and therefore is the more far-reaching. Hence it is far removed from mere formalism, still more from anything that savours of hypocrisy. It has nothing to conceal, it has no secret ends to gain; it just is what it is, and does right because it is, and gives because it cannot keep it. So spontaneous, so single-minded, is true example; and when it is that it produces its effect, even when faults are many. The Angel that watches over good example is very sensitive and shy. He will not have us look aside to see what effect we are producing; he resents our peeping over his shoulder to see what good deeds he records; he shuns and disdains the least self-congratulation that prides itself even a very little on the model to others that it affords. He would have us go straight on, looking neither to left nor to right, except it be to warn ourselves of the vast responsibility of merely being, and of the vast consequences for good or evil that may attend every good or evil step that we take.
When I think of myself alone, evil-doing is a shameful thing. When I think of God it is accursed. When I think of others it is criminal.