than the opinions really believed by them. But if few men are perfectly
and persistently sincere, Sincerity is nevertheless the only enduring
strength.

The principle is universal, stretching from the highest purposes of
Literature down to its smallest details. It underlies the labour of the
philosopher, the investigator, the moralist, the poet, the novelist,
the critic, the historian, and the compiler. It is visible in the
publication of opinions, in the structure of sentences, and in the
fidelity of citations. Men utter insincere thoughts, they express
themselves in echoes and affectations, and they are careless or
dishonest in their use of the labours of others, all the time believing
in the virtue of sincerity, all the time trying to make others believe
honesty to be the best policy.

Let us glance for a moment at the most important applications of the
principle. A man must be himself convinced if he is to convince others.
The prophet must be his own disciple, or he will make none. Enthusiasm
is contagious: belief creates belief. There is no influence issuing
from unbelief or from languid acquiescence. This is peculiarly
noticeable in Art, because Art depends on sympathy for its influence,
and unless the artist has felt the emotions he depicts we remain
unmoved: in proportion to the depth of his feeling is our sympathetic
response; in proportion to the shallowness or falsehood of his
presentation is our coldness or indifference. Many writers who have
been fond of quoting the SI VIS ME FLERE of Horace have written as if
they did not believe a word of it; for they have been silent on their
own convictions, suppressed their own experience, and falsified their
own feelings to repeat the convictions and fine phrases of another. I
am sorry that my experience assures me that many of those who will read