XVIII.

GENIUS.

DEC. 1863. If there is one thing which, more than any other, might seem to be beyond the sphere of explanation, and above all possible reducing within the bounds of law, it is perhaps the mysterious gift of genius. Almost as well might we seek to explain creation, or trace to secondary sources the soul itself, as hope to find any other origin than the Maker's direct endowment for that transcendent power, apparently the most capricious and the most unfathomable attribute of the mind of man. Questions multiply on us while we think of it. Why does not genius appear oftener than it does? or why so often? What determines it to this or that individual, in whose circumstances there may have been nothing to warrant the expectation of it, or to favour its growth? Why is it so often linked with peculiar weakness? Above all, how is it to be defined? What is the difference, felt even by those who might be disposed in theory to deny it, between genius and talent? What is that indescribable power, different from any result of toil, which compels our homage, we cannot say why? Whence comes that strange insight that goes right to the heart of its subject, making all other men appear mere outside labourers ? And why again are its possessors so unable to give any account of it? Why are they so little aware even of its existence in themselves? Why, for instance, did Newton say that he thought there was no difference between himself and common men, except that he could fix his attention more continuously

P

and patiently than they? And how is it that so many other men of unquestionable genius have disclaimed all special power? Were they utterly mistaken in this? and if so, what is that strange capacity which its possessors are not conscious of possessing, and become aware of only by a comparison of themselves with others?

However often this question may have been asked in vain, it is worth asking again. For if only it could be answered, and thus the empire of law could be extended over this uncultivated region in which imagination yet runs riot; and if this could be done without the sacrifice of freedom; if order here might supersede mere chaos to our thought, and yet only add a subtler charm and higher grace to its wild beauty-then what fact is there in human life we might not aspire to bring in turn within the intellect's domain? What part of our experience, loftiest or deepest, might we not hope to see clothed with new glory by a truer vision?

And how deeply, too, the answer to this question would open to us the springs of man's mental history, and reveal the conditions of his progress. The secret of the life of human thought lies in it; for thought lives a life looking back upon its history, we see that it does. It grows, develops, passes through successive forms vitally dependent on each other. The development theory, failing in its hold upon man's body, might well take refuge in his mind, and claim its antitype in thought. Had not this its obscure beginnings, half-conscious glimmerings, like the first misshapen organisms of the animated world?-rising through brilliant insect-forms of fancy, or sluggish gropings after sensuous good; through creeping reptile-forms of superstition, loving the dark and hiding from the day, fearful, and cruel in their fear; through floating bird-forms of fleet speculation, gifted

with wings indeed, but dwelling in the air; up into the substantial mammal-form of earth-subduing Science? Waits it not yet to rise into Humanity and claim its soul? In the long process of development shall not the breath of life be breathed into the fair strong body of our Science; knowledge becoming manlike, erect, with kingly sway, with queenly grace? Is not the thoughtcreation yet to have its crown?

We will not discuss the question. Let those of us who feel that our modern modes of thinking might be pitched in a little loftier key, be pardoned the gentle heresy of hoping so. Our work now is not with the future, but with the past, and with the light which we can find there respecting the nature and origin of genius. But in attempting this subject it is necessary to claim the privilege of confining ourselves to narrow limits. The achievements of genius are too vast to be displayed, too numerous to be counted up, too diverse to come within the scope of the most universal information. All that we can do is to select one special sphere of mental activity, and to see how far we can penetrate into the characteristic properties of genius as there displayed, and thus obtain a key to them as exhibited on other platforms. For this purpose, the subject best to choose appears to be rather that of intellectual discovery than poetic or artistic imagination. The mental processes in the former, if not simpler, are at least more definite, and if not easier to trace, may be more within the power of words to

express.

It is not difficult to see in the very nature of our minds, and the relations in which we stand to the world we have to study and interpret, a necessity for our taking two kinds of steps in our advance towards knowledge. If we had perfect apprehensions of things to start with,

if we derived from our senses complete and therefore accurate impressions of the objects which we have to investigate, of course we might go on in a direct line from less knowledge to more. We need never be in error, though we might be ignorant. That which we knew might be divided off by a definite line from that which we did not know; the former being right so far as it went, and being gradually increased by additions from without, each of which would at once, and without difficulty, take its proper relative position. But seeing that this is not our case, but that the impressions we derive from Nature are almost always partial, and very often exceedingly confused, our knowledge cannot, as in fact it does not, advance in any such direct way. We want not only additions to its circumference, but often corrections at its centre. The fundamental notions and primary ideas on which all our thoughts are based need to be made more perfect or more true.

Now, this can be effected only in one way. To think more rightly we must first think more falsely. Error must precede truth. We have not forgotten the old form of demonstration we studied in our Euclids, when we were boys-the reductio ad absurdum; in which a false supposition being made, it is proved false by the consequences which follow from it. We are continually carrying on this kind of reasoning within ourselves, and guiding our lives by its results. Inadequate ideas, or false suppositions, would often escape detection by themselves; but when we trace them to their consequences we perceive directly that they cannot be true. The pre

mises are unsound, because the conclusions are inadmissible. This is the appointed method of correcting false ideas or rising above untrue assumptions, and it is hard to see how there could be any other.

Now, it is plain that in this course of thought our progress consists of two distinct, two even opposite, portions. There is a building up and a pulling down; the piling up of the conclusions or results, and the overthrowing of the premises or starting-point. By no possibility can these portions be confounded, nor can their order be reversed. They are mutual opposites, and exist for, and by virtue of, each other. The construction of the false scheme of consequences is but a means for the revelation of the truth; that revelation is possible only through that construction. The one is a more or less elaborate effort, the other is an instantaneous insight.

This is a process which takes place within each of us many times every day, and in respect to every variety of circumstances with which we have to do. It is applied to the least and most trivial subjects; but it is also the method appointed for man in dealing with the greatest. It must be so. For where are men's native suppositions and natural assumptions more inadequate and deceiving than in reference to the great questions with which Philosophy and Science deal? Where is a correction of the starting-point more necessary? Now in this necessity, in this law of our knowing, I venture to suggest, lies the basis of the distinction between talent and genius; as from it are deducible the leading characters of each.

Ever there need to be taken, for each fresh achievement in our intellectual progress, two distinct steps: the first an accumulation of results, either by observation and experiment, or by reasoning, a more or less lengthy, often a tedious process; the second a rapid, often an instan⚫taneous one; the use and interpretation of these materials, the sudden vision of their true significance, raising our