I
It is not unusual to hear the epithet "complex" flung with a too ready
alacrity at any character who evinces eccentricity of disposition. In
olden days, when regularity of conduct, and conformity even in small
particulars were regarded as moral essentials, the eccentric enjoyed
short shrift. The stake, the guillotine, or the dungeons of the
Inquisition speedily put an end to the eccentricities. A slight measure
of nonconformity was quite enough to earn the appellation of witch or
wizard. One stood no chance as an eccentric unless the eccentricity was
coupled with unusual force of character.
Alienists assure us that insanity is on the increase, and it is certain
that modern conditions of life have favoured nervous instabilities of
temperament, which express themselves in eccentricities of conduct. But
nervous instability is one thing, complexity another. The fact that they
may co-exist affords us no excuse for confusing them. We speak of a
man's personality, whereas it would be more correct to speak of his
personalities.
Much has been written of late years about multi-personalities, until the
impression has spread that the possession of a number of differing
personalities is a special form of insanity. This is quite wrong. The
sane, no less than the insane man has a number of personalities, and the
difference between them lies in the power of co-ordination. The sane man
is like a skilful driver who is able to control his team of horses;
whereas the insane man has lost control of his steeds, and allows first
one and then the other to get the mastery of him.
The personalities are no more numerous than before, only we are made
aware of their number.
In a sense, therefore, every human being is complex. Inheritance and
environment have left distinctive characteristics, which, if the power of
co-ordination be weakened, take possession of the individual as
opportunity may determine. We usually apply the term personality to the
resulting blend of the various personalities in his nature. In the case
of sane men and women the personality is a very composite affair. What
we are thinking of frequently when we apply the epithet "complex" is a
certain contradictoriness of temperament, the result of opposing strains
of blood. It is the quality, not the quantities, of the personalities
that affects us. If not altogether happy, the expression may in these
cases pass as a rough indication of the opposing element in their nature.
But when used, as it often is, merely to indicate an eccentricity, the
epithet assumes a restricted significance. A may be far more complex
than B; but his power of co-ordination, what we call his will, is strong,
whereas that of B is weak, so we reserve the term complex for the weaker
individual. But why reserve the term complex for a few literary
decadents who have lost the power of co-ordination, and not apply it to a
mind like Shakespeare's, who was certainly as complex a personality as
ever lived?
Now I do not deny that it is wrong to apply the term complexity to men of
unstable, nervous equilibrium. What I do deny is the right to apply the
term to these men only, thus disseminating the fallacy--too popular
nowadays--that genius and insanity are inseparable.
As a matter of fact, if we turn to Spencer's exposition of the
evolutionary doctrine we shall find an illustration ready at hand to show
that complexity is of two kinds. Evolution, as he tells us, is a change
from homogeneity to heterogeneity, from a simple to a complex. Thus a
dog is more complex than a dog-fish, a man than a dog, a Shakespeare
greater than a Shaw. But complexity, though a law of Evolution, is not
_the_ law of Evolution. Mere complexity is not necessarily a sign of a
higher organism. It may be induced by injury, as, for instance, the
presence of a marked growth such as cancer. Here we have a more complex
state, but complexity of this kind is on the road to dissolution and
disintegration. Cancer, in fact, in the body is like disaffection in an
army. The unity is disturbed and differences are engendered. Thus,
given a measure of nervous instability, a complexity may be induced, a
disintegration of the composite personality into the various separate
personalities, that bespeaks a lower, not a higher organism. {21}
Now all this may seem quite impertinent to our subject, but I have
discussed the point at length because complexity is certainly one of the
marks of the Vagabond, and it is important to make quite clear what is
connoted by that term.
Recognizing, then, the two types of complexity, the type of complexity
with which I am concerned especially in these papers is the higher type.
I have not selected these writers merely on account of their
eccentricities or deviations from the normal. Mere eccentricity has a
legitimate interest for the scientist, but for the psychologist it is of
no particular moment. Hazlitt is not interesting _because_ he was
afflicted with a morbid egotism; or Borrow _because_ he suffered from
fits of melancholia; or De Quincey _because_ he imagined he was in debt
when he had plenty of money. It was because these neurotic signs were
associated with powerful intellects and exceptional imaginations, and
therefore gave a peculiar and distinctive character to their writings--in
short, because they happened to be men of genius, men of higher complex
organisms than the average individual--that they interest so strongly.
It seems to me a kind of inverted admiration that is attracted to what is
bizarre and out of the way, and confounds peculiarity with cleverness and
eccentricity with genius.
The real claim that individuals have upon our appreciation and sympathy
is mental and moral greatness; and the sentimental weakness with the
"oddity" is no more rational, no more to be respected, than a sympathy
which extends to physical monstrosities and sees nothing to admire in a
normal, healthy body.
It may be urged, of course, by some that I have admitted to a neurotic
strain affecting more or less all the Vagabonds treated of in this
volume, and this being so, it is clear that the morbid tendencies in
their temperament must have conditioned the distinctive character of
their genius.
Now it is quite true that the soil whence the flower of their genius
sprung was in several cases not without a taint; but it does not follow
that the flower itself is tainted. And here we come upon the fallacy
that seems to me to lie at the basis of the doctrine which makes genius
itself a kind of disease. The soil of the rose garden may be manured
with refuse that Nature uses in bringing forth the lovely bloom of the
rose. But the poisonous character of the refuse has been chemically
transformed in giving vitality to the roses. And so from unhealthy
stock, from temperaments affected by disease, have sprung the roses of
genius--transformed by the mysterious alchemy of the imagination into
pure and lovely things. There are, of course, poisonous flowers, just as
there is a type of genius--not the highest type--that is morbid. But
this does not affect my contention that genius is not necessarily morbid
because it may have sprung from a morbid soil. Hazlitt is a case in
point. His temperament was certainly not free from morbidity, and this
morbidity may be traced in his writings. The most signal instance is the
_Liber Amoris_--an unfortunate chapter of sentimental autobiography which
did irreparable mischief to his reputation. But there is nothing morbid
in Hazlitt at his best; and let it be added that the bulk of Hazlitt's
writings displays a noble sanity.
Much has been written about his less pleasing idiosyncrasies, and no
writer has been called more frequently to account for deficiencies. It
is time surely that we should recall once more the tribute of Lamb: "I
think William Hazlitt to be in his natural and healthy state one of the
wisest and finest spirits breathing."