The Atlantic Monthly, Volume 14, No. 84, October, 1864: A Magazine of Literature, Art, and PoliticsVarious
History
The Atlantic Monthly, Volume 14, No. 84, October, 1864: A Magazine of Literature, Art, and Politics
Various
American periodicals
Nevertheless, history throbs with the mystery of this influence. A
little girl slumping by her mother's side awoke in a severe
thunder-storm, and, nestling in terror near to the mother, and shrinking
into the smallest possible space, said, trembling, "Mother, are you
afraid?" "No, my dear," answered the lady, calmly. "Oh, well," said the
child, assuming her full proportions, and again disposing herself for
sleep, "if you're not afraid, I'm not afraid," and was soon slumbering
quietly. What volumes of gravest human history in that little incident!
So infinitely easy are daring and magnanimity, so easy is transcendent
height of thought and will, when exalted spiritually, when imperial
valor and purpose breathe and blow upon our souls from the lips of a
living fellow! Not, it may be, that anything new is said. That is not
required. What another now thrills, inspires, transfigures us by saying,
we probably knew before, only dared not let ourselves think that we knew
it. The universe, perhaps, had not a nook so hidden that therein we
could have been solitary enough to whisper that divine suggestion to our
own hearts. But now some childlike man stands up and speaks it to the
common air, in serenest unconsciousness of doing anything singular. He
has said it,--and lo, he lives! By the help of God, then, we too, by
word and deed, will utter our souls.
Get one hero, and you may have a thousand. Create a grand impulse in
history, and no fear but it will be reinforced. Obtain your champion in
the cause of Right, and you shall have indomitable armies that charge
for social justice.
More of the highest life is suppressed in every one of us than ever gets
vent; and it is this inward suppression, after making due account of all
outward oppressions and injuries, which constitutes the chief tragedy of
history. Daily men cast to the ground the proffered beakers of heaven,
from mere fear to drink. Daily they rebuke the divine, inarticulate
murmur that arises from the deeps of their being,--inarticulate only
because denied and reproved. And he is greatest who can meet with a
certain pure intrepidity those suggestions which haunt forever the
hearts of men.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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