Standing on the Brink of Genius

The poet Kahlil Gibran once said that “perplexity is the beginning of knowledge”. If this is true, then I am standing on the brink of genius, because the older I get, the more I have come to realize how many things I don’t know.  And many of the things I thought I knew, the stark “black and white” views that I was so sure of when I was younger, have mellowed over time into gentler shades of gray. It turns out that life contains far more variables, fallibility, and misinterpretation of data than it does absolutes and certainties. As life extends, so does its mystery.  At least, it does for those who are paying attention.

I think what Gibran was trying to say is this: You can’t know what you need to know until you know that you don’t know it. Or, to put it a little more clearly, a “know-it-all” DOESN’T. And won’t. They’ve lost their ability to be perplexed. 

Just as good physical health is marked by certain signs such as rosy cheeks, energy, and a healthy appetite, intellectual health has indications as well. Listening as least as much as you talk, associating with those who see things differently than you, and challenging your own opinions are all signs of a healthy intellect. What would happen if you took one of your deeply held beliefs or assumptions and then set out to prove to yourself that you might be wrong? I mean really tried to talk yourself out of your deeply held belief. Could your ego survive if you lost your absolute assurance that you were right?  

Being assured that we know everything – at least everything worth knowing – closes the door to investigation. But as any psychiatrist can tell you, lack of curiosity isn’t a sign of intelligence; it’s a sign of a mental disorder. 

Back in the spring, I began to notice something. My neighbors mowed their yard every day. Each morning, once the sun got high enough in the sky to warm things up, I would hear their mower start. I could only hear it from one particular room in my house, a room from which I couldn’t see their front yard, but I could be assured that when I went to that room I would hear their mower humming off in the distance.  After about a week, this constant mowing started to get on my nerves. Why would anyone mow their yard every single day?? It was very irritating. Eventually, my curiosity got the best of me and I walked around the hedges and into their yard. Oddly, there was no one mowing and the sound had stopped. Hmmm... I went back into the house – and still heard the mower. I went outside again. No mower. Weird.

Eventually, I went into my own back yard, following the sound. As I neared the corner of my house, the sound grew louder. Then I saw it. There was no mower at all! Instead, the sound was coming from a steady stream of carpenter bees busily drilling holes into the side of my house. A lot of them. Thankfully, I had discovered them before any major damage had been done. They were exterminated, the holes patched up, and I was no longer irritated at my innocent neighbors. But I learned a lesson. Be curious. Investigate. Never assume. The truth may not be what you think it is.

I’ve said this before, but it bears repeating. If you want to grow emotionally and intellectually, you have to get curious about your own life. You have to be willing to challenge your assumptions and change your position when warranted. Reality, however harsh or unexpected, is always your friend.

Perhaps Alistair Cooke said it best when he stated:

“Curiosity endows the people who have it with a generosity in argument, and a serenity in their own mode of life, which springs from their cheerful willingness to let life take the form it will.”

The pursuit of absolute truth is noble. The possession of it is highly unlikely. When we accept that, we are infinitely better, and much smarter, people.