And this,
I believe, is one of the reasons why belles-lettres in the more
precise sense tend to be deserted in favour of fiction. Sympathetic
and imaginative criticism is so apt to be stamped upon by the
erudite, who cry out so lamentably over errors and minute slips,
that the novel seems to be the only safe vantage-ground in which
the amateur may disport himself.
But if the specialist is to the amateur what the hawk is to the
dove, let us go further, and in a spirit of love, like Mr.
Chadband, inquire what is the effect of specialism on the mind of
the specialist. I have had the opportunity of meeting many
specialists, and I say unhesitatingly that the effect largely
depends upon the natural temperament of the individual. As a
general rule, the great specialist is a wise, kindly, humble,
delightful man. He perceives that though he has spent his whole
life upon a subject or a fraction of a subject, he knows hardly
anything about it compared to what there is to know. The track of
knowledge glimmers far ahead of him, rising and falling like a road
over solitary downs.
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