"Every man of genius is considerably helped by being dead"

Recognition of genius often arrives too late for the person who possessed it. Praise seeks out the deceased with a certain eagerness not always afforded to the living. Once a great thinker, artist, or innovator has died, their work seems to step away from the shadow of controversy, personal failings, or dissent that might have clouded their reputation in life. Death fixes a person’s legacy, making it easier for society to distill their contributions, ignore their flaws, and elevate their status. The living must contend with detractors, misunderstandings, and the shifting tides of taste or politics; the dead, on the other hand, are insulated from new scandals or opposition and often seem, retrospectively, to have anticipated truths their contemporaries could not grasp.

There is an inclination among societies to romanticize and mythologize their deceased heroes. The passage of time allows people to reinterpret accomplishments with nostalgia or reverence, smoothing over opposition and conflict. Challenges and discomforts their work may have provoked in their own time lose their sting, and only the resonance of their achievements remains. Paradoxically, it is absence that brings presence: only in departing do these figures achieve the clarity and veneration sometimes denied to them in life.

Furthermore, the death of a genius prompts a more objective evaluation of their work, unencumbered by personal disagreements, rivalries, or political circumstances. Scholarly analysis, critical reassessment, and popular attitudes are all transformed. The body of work left behind stands alone, no longer competing with the personality or personal story of its creator.

To be dead is, then, to gain a certain immunity and a halo that almost never exists for the living. What was once ridiculed or ignored becomes worthy of study, admiration, and imitation. Genius becomes more manageable in absence, and ultimately, the world is more ready to recognize, claim, and celebrate it precisely because the person is no longer there to complicate the narrative.