a genius and those of a person ordinarily called insane, were subjected to a medical scrutiny, then, in all likelihood, no difference would be traceable. In both, the hemispheres, the centres, the convolutions and the rest, are abnormally shaped and formed; both are subject to epilepsy, hallucination and other symptoms of mental ill-health.
Genius, therefore, is a disease; only unlike ordinary diseases, it makes the mind super-active and bestows upon mankind various products which are ordinarily very much appreciated. But even as to the value of the products of genius, opinion is not undivided. Max Nordeau, for instance, would not stop short of calling the entire range of production attributed to genius, an unmistakeable sign of ‘degeneration.’ According to him, genius is, of course, a degeneration; but, whatever it produces, is no less so. All works of art—all music and poetry—nay, probably all display of scientific imagination and consequent discovery—must henceforth be branded as ‘degenerate.’ It is a morbid, diseased mind—a hypochondriac, that produces music; poetry is an acute form of sentimentality and diseased imagination. And the same is of course true of all other manifestations of genius.
So, not only is genius a disease, but whatever it produces is also degenerate. If no special value is attached to the ravings of a mad man, why should we applaud poetry to the seventh sky? Why should prophecy be regarded as divine? If delirium tremens is placed under careful medical treatment, why should music enjoy the place of honour in society?
Shall we not go farther and hold that, not only is genius and its product a disease and a degeneration, but even the appreciation of genius, of which all of us are probably guilty, is a sign of impending degeneration? To listen to and to appreciate music, for instance, is to have an affinity for something which is degenerate, and cannot escape the brand.
Genius and the products of genius have been thus publicly arraigned. We may not accept the view that genius is a disease
