It is nothing against a definition of an entity{44} which cannot be fully5 defined to say that such definition is “new.” It was objected against an interpretation6 by St. Augustine of some Old Testament7 history or parable8, that other authorities had given other interpretations9. “The more interpretations the better,” was the saint’s reply. In such cases various definitions and interpretations are merely apprehensions10 of various sides of a matter not wholly to be embraced or comprehended by any single definition or interpretation. In recent times genius and imagination have come to be widely regarded as one and the same thing. They are not so, however, though they are perhaps indissolubly connected. The most peculiar11 and characteristic mark of genius is insight into subjects which are dark to ordinary vision and for which ordinary language has no adequate expression. Imagination is rather the language of genius: the power which traverses at a single glance the whole external universe, and seizes on the likenesses and images, and their combinations, which are best able to embody13 ideas and feelings which are otherwise inexpressible; so that the “things which are unseen are known by the things which are seen.” Imagination, in its higher developments, is so quick and subtle a power that the most delicate analysis can scarcely follow its shortest flights. Coleridge said that it would{45} take a whole volume to analyse the effect of a certain passage of only a few syllables14 in length. In dealing15 with such a work as The Tempest criticism is absolutely helpless, and its noblest function is to declare its own helplessness by directing attention to beauty beyond beauty which defies analysis. The Tempest, like all very great works of art, is the shortest and simplest, and indeed the only possible expression of its “idea.” The idea is the product of genius proper; the expression is the work of imagination. There are cases, however, in which it is hard to distinguish at all between these inseparable qualities. The initiation16 of a scientific theory seems often to have been due to the action of the imagination working independently of any peculiar direct insight; the analogy-discovering faculty17—that is, the imagination—finding a law for a whole sphere of unexplained phenomena18 in the likeness12 of such phenomena to others of a different sphere of which the law is known. Hence the real discoverers of such theories are scarcely ever those who have obtained the credit of them; for nothing is usually more abhorrent19 to men of extraordinary imagination than “fact-grinding.” Such men, after having flung out their discoveries to the contempt or neglect of their contemporaries, leave the future proof of them to mental mechanics; religiously{46} avoiding such work themselves, lest, as Goethe said of himself, they should find themselves imprisoned20 in “the charnel-house of science.” Genius and imagination of a very high kind are not at all uncommon21 in children under twelve years of age, especially when their education has been “neglected.” The writer can guarantee the following facts from personal witness: A clever child of seven, who could not read, and had certainly never heard of the Newtonian theory of gravitation, said to his mother suddenly, “What makes this ball drop when I leave hold of it?—Oh, I know: the ground pulls it.” Another child, a year or two older, lay stretched on a gravel22 path, staring intently on the pebbles23. “They are alive,” he cried, in the writer’s hearing; “they are always wanting to burst, but something draws them in.” This infantine rediscovery of the doctrine24 of the coinherence of attraction and repulsion in matter seems to have been an effort of direct insight. The repetition of the Newtonian apple revelation seems rather to have been the work of the imagination, tracking likeness in difference; but to discern such likeness is, again, an effort of direct insight, and justifies25 Aristotle’s saying that this power of finding similitude in things diverse is a proof of the highest human faculty, and that thence poetry is worthier26 than{47} history. The poet’s eye glances from heaven to earth, from earth to heaven; and his faculty of discerning likeness in difference enables him to express the unknown in the terms of the known, so as to confer upon the former a sensible credibility, and to give the latter a truly sacramental dignity. The soul contains world upon world of the most real of realities of which it has no consciousness until it is awakened27 to their existence by some parable or metaphor28, some strain of rhythm or music, some combination of form or colour, some scene of beauty or sublimity29, which suddenly expresses the inexpressible by a lower likeness. The vulgar cynic, blessing30 when he only means to bray31, declares that love between the sexes is “all imagination.” What can be truer? What baser thing is there than such love, when it is not of imagination all compact? or what more nearly divine when it is? Why? Because the imagination deals with the spiritual realities to which the material realities correspond, and of which they are only, as it were, the ultimate and sensible expressions. And here it may be noted32, by the way, that Nature supplies the ultimate analogue33 of every divine mystery with some vulgar use or circumstance, in order, as it would seem, to enable the stupid and the gross to deny the divine without actual blasphemy34.{48}
Profligacy35 and “fact-grinding” destroy the imagination by habitually36 dwelling37 in ultimate expressions while denying or forgetting the primary realities of which they are properly only the vessels38. Purity ends by finding a goddess where impurity39 concludes by confessing carrion40. Which of these is the reality let each man judge according to his taste. “Fact-grinding”—which Darwin confessed and lamented41 had destroyed his imagination and caused him to “nauseate Shakespeare”—commonly ends in destroying the religious faculty, as profligacy destroys the faculty of love; for neither love nor religion can survive without imagination, which Shelley, in one of his prefaces, identifying genius with imagination, declares to be the power of discerning spiritual facts. Those who have no imagination regard it as all one with “fancy,” which is only a playful mockery of imagination, bringing together things in which there is nothing but an accidental similarity in externals.
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1
possessed
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adj.疯狂的;拥有的,占有的 | |
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2
faculties
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n.能力( faculty的名词复数 );全体教职员;技巧;院 | |
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apprehension
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n.理解,领悟;逮捕,拘捕;忧虑 | |
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inevitably
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adv.不可避免地;必然发生地 | |
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fully
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adv.完全地,全部地,彻底地;充分地 | |
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interpretation
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n.解释,说明,描述;艺术处理 | |
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testament
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n.遗嘱;证明 | |
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parable
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n.寓言,比喻 | |
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interpretations
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n.解释( interpretation的名词复数 );表演;演绎;理解 | |
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10
apprehensions
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疑惧 | |
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11
peculiar
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adj.古怪的,异常的;特殊的,特有的 | |
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12
likeness
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n.相像,相似(之处) | |
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13
embody
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vt.具体表达,使具体化;包含,收录 | |
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14
syllables
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n.音节( syllable的名词复数 ) | |
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15
dealing
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n.经商方法,待人态度 | |
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initiation
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n.开始 | |
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faculty
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n.才能;学院,系;(学院或系的)全体教学人员 | |
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18
phenomena
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n.现象 | |
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19
abhorrent
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adj.可恶的,可恨的,讨厌的 | |
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20
imprisoned
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下狱,监禁( imprison的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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21
uncommon
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adj.罕见的,非凡的,不平常的 | |
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22
gravel
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n.砂跞;砂砾层;结石 | |
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23
pebbles
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[复数]鹅卵石; 沙砾; 卵石,小圆石( pebble的名词复数 ) | |
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24
doctrine
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n.教义;主义;学说 | |
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25
justifies
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证明…有理( justify的第三人称单数 ); 为…辩护; 对…作出解释; 为…辩解(或辩护) | |
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26
worthier
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应得某事物( worthy的比较级 ); 值得做某事; 可尊敬的; 有(某人或事物)的典型特征 | |
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27
awakened
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v.(使)醒( awaken的过去式和过去分词 );(使)觉醒;弄醒;(使)意识到 | |
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28
metaphor
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n.隐喻,暗喻 | |
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29
sublimity
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崇高,庄严,气质高尚 | |
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30
blessing
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n.祈神赐福;祷告;祝福,祝愿 | |
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31
bray
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n.驴叫声, 喇叭声;v.驴叫 | |
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32
noted
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adj.著名的,知名的 | |
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analogue
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n.类似物;同源语 | |
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34
blasphemy
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n.亵渎,渎神 | |
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35
profligacy
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n.放荡,不检点,肆意挥霍 | |
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36
habitually
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ad.习惯地,通常地 | |
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dwelling
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n.住宅,住所,寓所 | |
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vessels
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n.血管( vessel的名词复数 );船;容器;(具有特殊品质或接受特殊品质的)人 | |
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impurity
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n.不洁,不纯,杂质 | |
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40
carrion
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n.腐肉 | |
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41
lamented
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adj.被哀悼的,令人遗憾的v.(为…)哀悼,痛哭,悲伤( lament的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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