Add to this, when it is conſidered with what imperfection the Divine Wiſdom has thought fit to ſtamp every thing human, it will be found, that excellence and infirmity are ſo inſeparably wound up in each other, that a man derives the ſoreneſs of temper, and irritability of nerve, which make him uneaſy to others, and unhappy in himſelf, from thoſe exquiſite feelings, and that elevated pitch of thought, by which, as the apoſtle expreſſes it on a more ſerious occaſion, he is, as it were, out of the body.
It is not aſtoniſhing, therefore, when the ſpirit is carried away by the magnificence of its own ideas,
Not touch'd but rapt, not waken'd but inſpir'd,
that the frail body, which is the natural victim of pain, diſeaſe, and death, ſhould not always be able to follow the mind in its aſpiring flights, but ſhould be as imperfect as if it belonged only to an ordinary ſoul.
Besides, might not Providence intend to humble human pride, by preſenting to our eyes ſo mortifying a view of the weakneſs and infirmity of even his beſt work? Perhaps man, who is already but a little lower than the angels, might, like the revolted ſpirits, totally have ſhaken off obedience and ſubmiſſion to his Creator, had not God wiſely tempered human excellence with a certain conſciouſneſs of its own imperfection. But though this inevitable alloy of weakneſs may frequently be found in the beſt characters, yet how can that be the ſource of triumph and exaltation to any, which, if properly weighed, muſt be the deepeſt motive of humiliation to all? A good-natured man will be ſo far from rejoicing, that he will be ſecretly troubled, whenever he reads that the greateſt Roman moraliſt was tainted with avarice, and the greateſt Britiſh philoſopher with venality.
It is remarked by Pope, in his Eſſay on Criticiſm, that,
Ten cenſure wrong for one who writes amiſs.
But I apprehend it does not therefore follow that to judge, is more difficult than to write. If this were the caſe, the critic would be ſuperior to the poet, whereas it appears to be directly the contrary. "The critic, (ſays the great champion of Shakeſpeare,) but faſhions the body of a work, the poet muſt add the ſoul, which gives force and direction to its actions and geſtures." It ſhould ſeem that the reaſon why ſo many more judge wrong, than write ill, is becauſe the number of readers is beyond all proportion greater than the number of writers. Every man who reads, is in ſome meaſure a critic, and, with very common abilities, may point out real faults and material errors in a very well written book; but it by no means follows that he is able to write any thing comparable to the work which he is capable of cenſuring. And unleſs the numbers of thoſe who write, and of thoſe who judge, were more equal, the calculation ſeems not to be quite fair.
A capacity for reliſhing works of genius is the indubitable ſign of a good taſte. But if a proper diſpoſition and ability to enjoy the compoſitions of others, entitle a man to the claim of reputation, it is ſtill a far inferior degree of merit to his who can invent and produce thoſe compoſitions, the bare diſquiſition of which gives the critic no ſmall ſhare of fame.
The preſident of the royal academy in his admirable Diſcourſe on imitation, has ſet the folly of depending on unaſſiſted genius, in the cleareſt light; and has ſhewn the neceſſity of adding the knowledge of others, to our own native powers, in his uſual ſtriking and maſterly manner. "The mind, ſays he, is a barren ſoil, is a ſoil ſoon exhauſted, and will produce no crop, or only one, unleſs it be continually fertilized, and enriched with foreign matter."