REASONS
WHY MEN OF GENIUS SELDOM RISE ACCORDING TO THEIR MERIT.
Amid the illusions deceiving mankind, which Hope sighs for, or Pleasure grasps at, none are more fallacious than the dreams of success, which Fancy imprints, from the consciousness of her deserts, on the tablet of imagination. When an author boldly pursues the path of fame, when he strikes out into the mazes of intricate disquisition; however his Genius, prompted by her own powers, might at first promise success, yet from circumstances unknown, he too often fails in his attempt: like the bold adventurer who, searching for the diamond in the bowels of the mine, fell a victim to the blasting vapour of contagion and death.
No one will deny, that merit ought to have it’s reward; and, that every encouragement should be given for advancement in the moral or intellectual world. Habits of virtue would then be acquired from necessity; and ambition, in greatness or goodness, meet with universal admiration and applause: but, before human nature can arrive at such a state of primitive excellence, some of the bad passions must be expelled with rankle in the human heart. A barrier must be raised between envy and admiration; and ingratitude banished, as the pest of moral and intellectual happiness. I might farther analyse, and draw a parallel between the powers of the mind and it’s passions, to shew, that what prompts the one to goodness, stimulates the other to greatness; but it would be unnecessary to mention arguments, or canvass hypotheses, which have already been made the subject of frequent discussion. I shall, therefore, confine myself to the reasons why Genius too often sinks into obscurity, even while her breast expands with benevolence---while virtue and greatness animate her heart.
Ambition, while restrained within certain bounds, is highly commendable; when exceeding those limits, it degenerates, and becomes vicious. I shall, therefore, first point out this delicate barrier, perceptible only by the unprejudiced; to be trodden on by those alone who are innately good, and can bid each “passion move at the command of Virtue.” It is necessary that there should be some incitement to noble actions, to rouze the mind from torpidity, and promote the exertion of her powers. This incentive to greatness is called Ambition; and is equally fought for by the workman who excels in mechanism, the general who leads an army, and the statesman who commands the applause of senates. By a fascinating power, it beguiles mankind; and has but one predominant fault---an unbounded satiety. This gigantic precipice, which hides her head amid the clouds, is only to be climbed by the man of genius; and, when he mounts towards the summit, if he can view the prospect around him without a swimming head, and a dizzy eye, he is truly noble.
In our various gradations through life, if we can view and admire the summit of excellence which we have not reached, or look down with pleasure on that which we have passed, while we enjoy the plaudits of a surrounding world, each of us shall feel the secret praise of our own heart, proud in the consciousness of it’s integrity. Ambition, then, is the guide of Genius; it either raises it to perfection, or hurls it, in an unguarded moment, into obscurity. While, therefore, we can admire abilities greater, or perhaps less than our own, this laudable incentive will elevate and ennoble us; if, on the contrary, we despise or envy these powers, it will soon sink us into shame, and our works into oblivion.
I have made this digression, because a certain kind of ambition—for there are many species belonging to the genus---is the most essential cause why men of letters do not rise so well as they have reason to promise themselves, or even as they deserve.
Modesty is the inseparable attendant on Merit; at least, a certain kind of diffidence is felt by every man of genius, which too often hinders him from intruding himself on public notice. Possessing a mind fraught with the dignity of it’s own powers, he scorns those trammels with which an unfeeling world would too often gall his tender neck, and fetter down his lofty spirit. When, therefore, he explores the depths of science, or with unbounded good-nature skims the surface, for the benefit of mankind; he exults in the hope of that success which he had a right to demand, and looks forward to the promised harvest of the well-earned field. Though he may thus snatch his images, in daring enthusiasm: and, with “a phrenzy-rolling eye,” survey the expanse of nature; yet seldom will a harsh world comprehend---or, comprehending, reward---a dignity of mind, which might do honour to a class of beings higher than ourselves in the scale of existence. Every man who labours for the community, even should he fail, ought to be thanked for the pains he has taken; as every attempt to enforce the practice of those qualities which adorn and dignify the human heart, must necessarily merit applause.
There is certainly one excuse alledged by mankind in general, why they do not reward Genius according to it’s merit; and the reason, I will add, cannot fail, if persisted in, to tear the laurel from the brow of infant worth, and trample it in the dust. They assert, in fact; that authors are the enemies of each other, and will not allow their reciprocal fame to live.
To lay the metaphor aside; men of letters are too seldom men of generosity. It is a harsh expression, and I must beg pardon of the world for using it; but still cannot retract, till they disprove my assertion. Instead of cherishing a young author, or admiring a refined and superior genius; the wits of the age, in the one instance crush, and in the other snarl at and depreciate, his merits.