THE WORK DISCUSSED in Chapter One presented genius generally, and Shakespeare's genius specifically, as a heightened version of universal human traits—attention to detail and empathy chief among them. The direct opposite view defines genius not as more of something, but as less, not a heightened awareness of the world, but a withdrawal from it, either a withdrawal from the mundane aspects of life that cloud or distract from creativity, or a general withdrawal which manifests as a disconnection from people and events. The effect this withdrawal has ranges from simple isolation to outright mental illness and is especially offered as an explanation for artistic genius in particular. William Niederland, in his article on artistic creativity, assumed that creativity “is a solitary activity. It is usually accompanied by a withdrawal from complex emotional involvements.” Again, in a more recent piece, he claims “a great portion of our brain's function is normally allocated for social intercourse…. The absence or deficiency of the social algorithms in brain function frees enormous power.” Scholars of the early modern theatre know that it is highly unlikely that the plays of the period—including Shakespeare’s—were conceived in solitude, or that the playwrights lacked the ability to engage socially, but the idea that artistic genius at least requires and often creates isolation is a powerful one.

Genius is always a fuzzy concept, but creative or artistic genius is especially hard to pin down. Whereas scientific or inventive genius can be directly, if somewhat simplistically, linked to a new understanding or reinvention of a particular field, creative genius is inextricably tied to taste—to the reception, understanding, and appreciation of the art by others. Einstein completely changed the field of physics and our understanding of the world; of his genius there can be no doubt. With music, painting, or writing, there cannot be this kind of certainty. Someone as widely recognized as Shakespeare can have his genius called into question—both Shaw and Tolstoy do so. Innovations can be problematic in creative fields—they are often judged as failures rather than advances. The regularity with which innovations in art are at first rejected leads, in turn, to the cliché of the genius ahead of their time—in its more absolute form only those who are unappreciated during their lifetimes may be granted genius status.