One of the books I read last week, I think for class, mentioned just in passing the observation that to write the sorts of theory that get at the fundamental structures of the universe requires a certain measure of hubris. Even having been an Objectivist for over a decade now, I am still wrestling this part of intellectual life. If I was not handicapped I probably would have moved on to some mainstream job by now and would not be bothered by any of this any more, but as a handicapped person, my very capable brain is easily my best asset, and intellectual pursuits are easily the best, most rewarding part of my life. I almost never fit in with any social group as well as I'd like, and much of what my friends and schoolmates entertain themselves with is difficult or impossible for me to enjoy, but taking the wealth of ideas from all the subjects I've studied and weaving them into something new- that is what makes this life worth living, even during the rough parts.
Unfortunately the joy that comes of stringing my ever more elaborate glass bead games, seeking the perfection of knowledge Herman Hesse alluded to, that pleasure is private. The magic of the full glass bead game is that it was knowledge-made-art, a way of making all these fantastic connections between factoids and dynamics communicable to an audience. In absence of this medium, the beauty of the weavings in my mind are locked there until I can figure out how to articulate each tedious strand and all the loops that draw the web into its complete shape. It can be frustrating enough just trying to explain this image of the glass bead game, even to folks who read Hesse's book. Trying to communicate any of those incompletely articulated bits of ideas is almost pointless. The game becomes instead trying to design mini-weavings that can be contained in a single discipline, so that in this world I can somehow make myself fit in, to finish enough school, earn a high enough scholarly rank, and find a suitable job, where I can continue to develop the words to enclose and describe my particular Game.
How did I get to grumbling and whining about all this anyway? Well, to any reasonable person, the way all this translates seems to be that I am insufferably arrogant, a know-it-all who isn't at all as good as I think I am. The fact is that while everyone else was getting jobs, learning to drive, playing sports, dating and having an active social life, I was reading and thinking about stuff. I was very fortunate to have been born with a brain capable of genius functioning, because it gave me something to offset everything else, but in any social group none of this context matters much. Nobody likes arrogant people, and very few like people who know too much. Right now, actually, I don't know 'too much,' at least relative to years past. I have ideas as to how to expand models of ecosystems and societies using differential equations and matrix algebra, but I haven't done calculus in so long I don't remember the very basic integrals any longer. And, in every place I have been so far, that loss of knowledge has been somewhat beneficial, allowing people to consider me approachable.
Lately, though I am in school with many brilliant people now, in an environment where I am hardly the only active, creative mind, I am once again growing frustrated. Maybe it is just our culture, but whatever the reasons, I find myself feeling the need to apologize again for what I know, or trying to temper what I say so as to not intimidate other people with my 'brilliance.' I really do not know anyone yet with whom I could discuss my ideas fully, and every time I move into a new discipline the chances of my meeting such people decreases a bit. Surely there are people around my department, perhaps even people I am acquainted with already- there is almost certainly a disconnect between the reality of my surroundings and my perception of it, and knowing other people is so much harder than knowing about inanimate stuff.
In the meantime, though, I am still weaving away at the fabric of the universe in isolation, feeling all too keenly all those popular observations about the loneliness of true genius. It doesn't, after all, make you rich, or even wealthy enough to be safe from homelessness; it doesn't win you friends, or attract more people to love you, and in fact, it tends to make life more solitary and alone, even when people are all around. Being a genius doesn't mean you automatically get great grades in grad school, because there is always a canon of accepted ideas, even in such diffuse fields as political science, and the more you weave together ideas from outside that canon, the harder it is to fit your own world-view into the context of that one discipline. 'Isms' and other such groupings of ideas, especially, tend to weaken, and become fuzzy, as the many other possible orderings of information already in your head make those seemingly obvious disciplinary tools seem more arbitrary.
I suppose maybe the most valuable take-home message I could glean from all this is that while there are, no doubt, coping mechanisms that geniuses have adopted to make it easier to live in society, and enjoy that life, I have obviously not found them yet. I have been reading and digesting all sorts of ideas about my extrinsic universe, and perhaps when I have time to do so, I should be reading biographies and especially autobiographies from some of the geniuses who succeeded, so that, since I am almost resolved that I will in fact continue living past this upcoming birthday, I might have more of a chance at having a truly happy, fulfilling life.
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