What is genius?

Put Me In, Coach

Hey everyone, Seth here. Welcome to our weekly Scoundrels reflection. Our wrap-up is going to be a little different this week. We didn't have a session on Saturday because I was at the American Philosophical Association's Northwest Philosophy Conference in Portland. Also, Gad wasn't able to make it to our Scoundrels session at Bridge & Tunnel on Wednesday so we're missing her careful and clever notes of that lively conversation. Instead, she asked if I would write up the summary this week, using our audio recording from Wednesday and my memory of what I observed at the time. She's a tough act to follow, but I'll do my best. Put me in, coach!

The topic was "What is Genius?", and it was a pretty lively group. For the most part the 15 of us (or 16 if you count me) were either Wednesday night veterans like Jane and Bob, or veterans-in-training like Jim, Nathan, and Eric. We also had a couple of Saturday Scoundrels regulars - John R and Jenny R - join us at B&T this week.

Seven Follow-Up Questions

I started the conversation off the way that I usually do - asking more questions about the kickoff question, and seeing if anything interested anyone from the get go. The specific questions I followed up with were:

1. Is genius something internal to a person, or is it bestowed on them from without?

2. Is genius a way of perceiving that steps beyond ordinary & self-centered ways of doing that?

3. Is genius a matter of high intelligence, is it perception, is it skill, is it creativity, a combination, or something else entirely?

4. For that matter, can "genius" even be defined at all or is it something that's always a little vague and contextual?

5. How exactly is genius expressed, and how do we know it when we see it?

6. Are there social or ethical obligations for genius to be expressed and shared?

7. What difference does genius make in the greater scheme of things?

As per usual, the group took to some of these follow up questions more than others and ran with them. They also came up with several fascinating questions of their own, and took them in a lot of different directions. And this, in turn "complicated" things. I think that more often than not it's good, at least in the context of a Scoundrels philosophy discussion, when our questions get "complicated" by the group's pursuit and consideration of them. Not everybody agrees with this perspective, and that was made pretty clear towards the end of the conversation. But from my point of view, getting into the complications that philosophical questions can bring up reflects the depth, the diversity, the insight, the wonder, and (dare I say it…) the complexity that is an integral part of these words and concepts that we explore. That certainly seemed to be the case in this conversation.

Ridiculed, Persecuted, Then True

In any case, Ariane was the first Scoundrel to speak. She observed that genius is often understood differently at different points in its exposure to society. Taking a note from Schopenhauer she remarked that genius is at first ridiculed, and then persecuted. It's only when it's been through that gauntlet that it comes to be seen as "truth". She also observed that the thing that usually brings it around to being appreciated as "true" or "beautiful" is it having someplace to work or fit in the broader world.

Pete then jumped in, overcoming his deep reluctance to speak about himself (Pete, you see, is a comedic genius). He observed that genius is in the eye of the beholder. He suggested that, at its base, it is a new kind of perception of things. However, it seems to depend on our capacity as a society to recognize the newness of that perception.

I asked whether that meant genius is, in some sense, dispersed throughout a culture since it would depend on a society's recognition of that new perception. He seemed to think that might be the case, although he recognized that people in the immediate social or cultural vicinity don't always get things that turn out to be genius from a larger/wider perspective.

Patterns Hiding in Plain Sight

Tim spoke next and offered his thoughtful and considered insights. He proposed that we take the dictionary definition of genius and its equating with intelligence. And intelligence, Tim pointed out, has to do with pattern recognition. Therefore "genius" is the capacity to recognize patterns that others don't. This is maybe especially true when someone discovers or renders patterns that have been sitting in front of us all along. It's not that they're new exactly. It's just that the rest of us failed to notice or appreciate them. It's an interesting point that speaks to the subtlety that often accompanies the arrival and work of so many of the things we call "genius".

Tim also noted that when we call someone "a genius" in the nominative sense it's because they are capable of recognizing these new patterns repeatedly. This was interesting he said because it means that someone like Albert Einstein or Isaac Newton would be considered a genius, whereas someone like Charles Darwin would not. After all, as important as Darwin's discoveries were, they weren't entirely new (the idea of evolution as a principle had been around and observed for a while). Also, Darwin was sort of a "one trick pony" as far as the kind of work he did in science generally, and even biology specifically.

Annie picked up on Tim's observation about patterns and intelligence with regard to genius. She noted that there are lots of different forms of intelligence, and this might be why there are so many different kinds of geniuses. She also proposed going further than just speaking about genius in terms of art and science, and suggested it could extend to all sorts of other areas - sports, for instance. This is why she said you can have someone who is a genius in one area (say, as a football or basketball player) while being entirely unremarkable in some other areas. Intelligence in one facet of life or perception doesn't necessarily transfer over to another.

Another thing Annie wanted to add on to our discussion of genius was the importance of creativity. Whatever the patterns are that the genius is working in, it seems to be something that they can bring a kind of novel generativity to. This is why, Annie noted, so many geniuses seem to regard the work they do as a bit of a game - something to be played and innovated upon.

Fish Probably Think We're Dumb

Jim spoke up about how strangely circumstantial so much of what we think of as genius is. Something that's genius from one point of view isn't necessarily so from another. He gave a specifically Ichthyotic kickoff example - "fish probably think we're dumb as hell", presumably because of our relative limits of aquatic centered self expression. Moving beyond that, though, he mentioned how asbestos was seen as a brilliant innovation when it was first discovered and developed. It was only later that its flaws and problems became apparent. Jim wondered if this meant that the original "genius" attached to its development had been compromised. Perhaps, he wondered, our sense of what qualifies something as "genius" shifts over time and can be affected by all sorts of things that don't seem to have much to do with it directly at first - moral or practical considerations for instance.

A fellow fish guy followed (say that 10 times fast). Nathan wondered whether or not AIs might be considered geniuses by virtue of the novelty of their innovations and productions. He pointed out that after all, they are coming up with new and seemingly creative patterns. On the face of it, he admitted, it would seem strange to call this genius. Then again, if our positions on the matter of what constitutes genius changes over time, then perhaps we might come to see them as geniuses in the future even if we don't currently.

Tim said even if AI mimicked certain aspects of genius, he didn't think this particular pattern making constituted "genius", at least not yet. It's still too derivative and not intuitive. He also made a point of emphasizing the term "yet".

Genius Begets

Bob had arrived to Scoundrels on "Bob time", which is to say about 15 minutes late, so he had missed the beginning of our conversation. He asked if we had come up with an agreed upon definition of "genius". We responded that we had some definitions on the table that we were playing with, but we hadn't settled on anything to stick with, at least as of yet. To this Bob said that he had a couple of things he wanted to offer. First, he wanted to point out that he thinks that intelligence and genius are entirely different things. Intelligence, it seems, has more to do with knowing, while genius centers on creating, imagining, perceiving and generating. They seem, at the very least, to be different kinds of movements of mind. In fact, genius may not even have to do with mind at all.

This brought us to the second point that Bob wanted to bring up. He felt that genius might not even involve humanity, at least not directly. With a nod to the absent Gad and her animistic sensibilities, Bob proposed that perhaps nature itself might be genius simply through being what it is and its creation of new things in perpetuity.

One of our visiting Saturday Scoundrels jumped in at this point. John R offered the observation that no one person can be a genius, and that this is contained in the etymology of the word itself. "Genius" is ultimately derived from the Proto-Indo European root prefix "gene": to give birth, to beget. This John R suggested, illustrated through analogy that "genius" is never just about the individual that expressed it any more than the birth of a child is just about the mother that birthed it. The pregnancy, John R suggested, is about all the events, circumstances, and relationships that went into both creating the pregnancy, as well as the life that comes forth from it. And, just the same, genius is about what came before to bring it out, and after to where it goes.

Repeating something similar to what I had raised with Ariane a little bit earlier, I asked where then might we say that genius is located? It would seem to be something larger than we usually imagine (namely, an individual mind or vision), but precisely where and how much larger genius is located isn't entirely clear, at least to me. John R didn't have an immediate answer to it, but he did think it was probably larger as well.

Socrates and His Daimōn

Malachi wondered about whether Socrates was, or could be called a "genius". "Isn't 'genius' the name Socrates used for his spirit guide?" he asked. I pointed out that "Genius" is the Latin translation for the specific Greek term Socrates used, the term "daimōn". Socrates seems to have thought of his "daimōn" as a kind of tutelary moral force that accompanied him and informed him of the direction he should aim his actions and thoughts towards. In this sense, his daimōn is perhaps a kind of "genius" in our way of using the term, at least in the sense that it is a sort of moral inspiration. It would fit with a number of the ways we had been talking about genius so far - a formerly ridiculed and persecuted vision of truth, a pattern that others don't always observe, a generative force of meaning and value, and something that could be interpreted in a variety of ways, depending on the circumstances and perspectives that one comes to it with. Still, if what Socrates said about himself was true - the one thing he knows is that he doesn't know anything - then it would be a peculiar kind of genius we're talking about here.

Stars We Can't See

Dale brought up the idea that maybe genius is something that's far more common than we realize. Speaking in a vein that was similar to ones brought up by Pete, Jim, and Nathan earlier, Dale wondered if perhaps calling someone or something "genius" was simply a matter of being brought up at the right place and time. He thought that some things would almost inevitably be recognized as genius, if not immediately then eventually. There are other things though that only get recognized because the conditions are correct for them to be recognized as genius. And, Dale pointed out, there are probably multitudes of thoughts, minds, creations, intuitions, and achievements that would have been considered genius had they been noticed in the right context. Sadly, they fade into the background of their circumstances and disappear.

I was reminded of an observation I heard once about looking at evening stars. While it's true that a clear night sky produces multitudes of stars for us to see, within the scope of our view there are billions of times more stars that we could see if only our eyes were sensitive enough to pick them up. So it is, perhaps, with genius as well.

Pete jumped in here and pointed out that a central part of what makes it possible to recognize genius is its usefulness. Without that, many potential geniuses disappear into obscurity with their ideas and creations. I asked Pete why "usefulness" in particular was so important. He responded succinctly. "Otherwise, you're nuts" he said. Good point, Pete.

At this point, a few people chimed in with the observation that sometimes works of genius are done by several people at once, or else in very close succession to one another. The example of the invention of calculus by Newton, Leibniz, and Pascal was mentioned. Whether one of them lifted the ideas from the other was briefly up for debate. The larger point, though, was something that had been alluded to a little earlier - often the ideas are out there waiting to be discovered or created, and sometimes it's more than one person who gets there first.

Genius as a Verb

Jon L spoke up next. He talked about the way there seems to be a "higher power" at work in the wonder and beauty of the world. He recalled seeing wildflowers for the first time after having cataract surgery and marveled at their loveliness. Jon L reflected on whether or not this might be called genius, somewhat in the way that Bob had spoken about the genius of nature earlier. They weren't saying exactly the same thing. Jon L seemed to be more drawn towards the aesthetic wonders of nature, whereas Bob was more focused on nature's physical wonders. Also, Bob never mentioned the term "higher power". Still, it was the wondrousness itself, and the sublime sense of mystery that it seems to have left us with, that struck both of them as a possible expression of genius.

Annie added that genius was not just in the brain, but in the gut too. There has, of course, been a lot of scientific work done recently with regard to the role that our digestive system plays in our neurological operations. I'm not sure that's what she was talking about though. I took it to be more a matter of pointing out the salience of intuition (as in a "gut feeling") in accounting for genius. Annie mentioned that even Arnold Schwarzenegger could be considered a genius in his ability to create the characters and genres that he has in his action movies.

Annie also offered another feature to what makes genius possible, at least in some circumstances, namely "passion". Passion, she said, is often what drives genius from the background of our awareness, or our quiet musings, or our rough considerations, into reality and the world around us. If we had no passions we would in all likelihood have far less genius in the world.

Ariane added still another significant feature to the idea of genius in suggesting the importance of "originality" in its makeup. She gave examples of people who put their "best selves forward" in doing something that is, at least on the face of it, quite mundane - tying some string, folding cloth or paper, arranging a table, and the like. All of these examples, and many others like them, would seem to be insignificant. What sets them apart is the care and attention that is brought to doing them. It's not the result itself that's genius, but the act of doing it. In this way genius is more of a verb - something that is done uniquely - and in so being, awakens both the performer and the sensitive observer to a new way of perceiving in the world.

I thought this was a very fine point, and one that was, up until now, a little neglected in our conversation. It's very much a part of what makes Japanese aesthetic perspectives, in particular, so distinctive and rich. The extraordinary aesthetic power of many Japanese art forms - "Origami" (paper folding), "Ikebana" (flower arrangement), "Karesansui" (dry stone gardening), and "Sadō" (The Tea Ceremony) - arise as much (or even more) from the act and intention of doing the work, as they do on the outcomes that such work produces. At least from the way that I look at it, this very much has genius to it. And, so much of that in turn comes from the distinctive uniqueness in each and every act itself.

Prophets, IKEA, and Trust

As our conversation continued in this more spiritual and aesthetic direction Jane observed that perhaps we would have taken the ancient spiritual figures in communities - prophets, shamans, witches, etc - as "geniuses" were we to encounter them today. They were people who could "see over the horizon" and "speak of the unknown as a rising possibility."

At the same time, she went out of her way to say that this was not necessarily seen as anything unusual for them. Their ability to do this was, in one sense, no more remarkable than an engineer for IKEA designing a plan for making assembly-ready tables. Jane noted that she's in awe of people who can do this, but it's just a matter of course for them. Perhaps the awe (and maybe skepticism) that one might view these ancient seers with has more to do with the inaccessibility of such insights for us. Perhaps they were geniuses in their own settings because they could do these things that their society relied on them for, but was everyday for them. And, just so, perhaps this genius, like all other forms of genius, is only distinct in that it is not something that we can easily or ordinarily do.

Jane then pointed out that the thing that carries this forward in a society is "trust". That is, part of what makes the particular forms of genius possible within a society is that we grant a certain epistemic trust to those who offer forth these works of genius. This trust certainly seems to be one of the dividing lines between "genius" and "nuts" (to pick up on a point Pete made earlier). It also might speak to why we no longer see such figures as shamans and prophets as "geniuses", if indeed we ever did. If they no longer inspire this epistemic trust in us, it's pretty easy to see how they would slip into the "nuts" category.

Essential and Invisible

All of this inspired Tim to make a few more observations about genius:

First, he wanted to make a distinction between "genius" and "impact". "It is hard", he said, "to imagine a scientist who has had more impact than Darwin." And yet, he pointed out, that according to his criteria for genius, Darwin wouldn't be considered a genius.

Second, Tim gave something of a hierarchy of genius. Not surprisingly, science stood at the top. Sadly, philosophy did not make the list. Perhaps its invitation to the genius party is still in the mail. The hierarchy (and the slighting of philosophy) was admittedly a little tongue-in-cheek. But, Tim went on, one of the things that he observed in his own fields of study is how almost all of the "Geniuses" were white men. Was this because of the inherent genius of white men? Or, was it perhaps because of a bias inside of the way that societies make considerations and attributions of genius, as well as the privileges it affords to certain members to pursue works of genius? Tim suggested that the latter account seems more likely than the former.

Third, Tim expressed that he didn't think genius could easily be considered or appreciated by anyone who was not an expert in the field that the genius presented in. While he felt that he could recognize and elaborate upon the genius of people working in the sciences, he was far less certain about that for areas he knew less about. When it came to the visual arts, Tim remarked "I don't know what to say about that Jason Pollock guy". A fantastic illustration of the point if I do say so myself.

Finally, Tim recognized the importance of intuition in his understanding of genius. While he felt like he could do very good work in physics, all of this depended upon his ability to use and apply mathematics. Without access to his mathematical instruments to consider the study of physics he would be out to sea. Geniuses, on the other hand, just seem to be able to "get it". Einstein applied mathematics to his relativity theories after he had thought of them, not as a matter of arriving at them.

Bob had been listening closely to Tim, and at this point picked up on several of the ideas he had just discussed. Bob observed that perhaps genius is the ability to lift up "an unrecognized property of a system". Leaning a bit into Bob's great love of "complexity" he wondered whether the great strength of a genius had to do with their appreciation of neglected or emergent properties that occur dynamically within a system. On the one hand, these are qualities that are required in order for the system to work, and yet on the other, aren't recognized as such (or even present) until after the system is already understood to be doing what it's doing. In an interesting sort of way, this means that genius is that rare gift for finding what is both essential and invisible at once to something being what it is.

Thom's List

It was pretty clear at this point that we had found a lot of ways to think about genius. Some of these played into each other, some went in different directions from one another, and some seemed almost to contradict one another at certain junctures. In any case, we had a lot on the table. It was here that Thom stepped in and read back to us a number of the varied ways that we had thought about genius so far.

Amongst the ideas that Thom had observed in connection to genius were…

• perfection

• originality

• courage

• imagination

• intuition

• truth

• exceptionality

• talent

• creativity

• inspiration

• "spark" or "fire"

• eccentricity

• unconventionality

• pattern

• nature

• new frontier

• unexplored territories

• voyages of discovery

• heroism in dark places

• moving forward

Also, on a tangential note, Thom wanted to point out that while Freddie Mercury was talented, it was the musicians and music of Queen itself that was genius.

When I heard Thom's list, I was struck by a couple of things. First, and most obviously, it was a pretty damn long list. We hadn't been talking for quite an hour at that point, and Thom had already come up with this. Second, I was even more struck by the fact that I thought perhaps I could even add more to this list if I were asked to. "Passion", "uniqueness", "circumstance", and "luck" were terms I had heard used, but not mentioned on Thom's list (although, admittedly some of them run pretty close to some of the words he did mention).

Unclogged

At this point, Eric, who has been coming to our Scoundrels sessions, but hadn't yet spoken at any of them offered his two cents. Eric wondered whether the idea of genius had to do with being "unclogged". What he meant by this was that it's quite difficult to be aware of everything that's happening inside of yourself - your instincts, intuitions, perceptions, and imaginings. Most of the time we either block it out, fumble haplessly with it, or end up being confused or distracted by it. We are, in other words, clogged by our own thoughts, perceptions and intentions in the world.

It's exceedingly difficult to effectively attend to all of these potentially creative dimensions of ourselves. And, to be able to work with it in a truly creative and constructive way - a way in which we bring all these forces coherently, constructively, and creatively together - is well nigh impossible. But if you are able to effectively and creatively tap into this dimension of yourself, you are unlocking a deeper part of what there is out there. It is when we "unclog" this dimension of ourselves, and flow with our own possibilities, that Eric proposes that we achieve genius.

An interesting implication of this is that it means anyone is potentially a genius. This is because genius is not so much a matter of having something unique to oneself, nor is it a gift from the more sublime dimensions of the universe. Instead, it's a kind of self-harmony. And, in a sense, tapping into a catalyzing complexity that exists within the operations of our general organic structures.

I didn't mention this at the time, but Eric's account of genius reminds me a great deal of Ralph Waldo Emerson's ideas on the subject. For Emerson genius involves being yourself (e.g. "imitation is suicide"), and setting aside so much of the social, cultural and intellectual clutter that gets in the way of us expressing the more "transcendent" dimensions of our nature. I could go on with the parallels I saw, but I'll save that for later. If you really want to see what I mean, read Emerson's essays Self-Reliance and The Over Soul (also, a pro tip, read them aloud. Emerson's essays really do come across differently when you do that). Suffice to say that Eric is in good company.

Nathan made a shrewd observation here. He noticed that if everyone is a "potential genius", then what exactly is significant about genius? Is genius just a term that we apply in retrospect when someone was able to get their act together creatively or insightfully? How is it that we've spent all this time and energy talking about genius if it is, at least at its base, as common as having a metabolism?

The Connoisseur

John R returned to the social and contextual themes we had investigated earlier, and suggested that maybe another aspect of someone or something being a "genius" was marketing. He mentioned how there had been extraordinary art being produced in the Pacific Northwest in the mid 20th century, but that it was largely ignored in favor of "the scene" in New York.

John R also gave the example of Jackson (aka in some circles as "Jason") Pollock, and the reactions that he provoked in other artists in the 1940s, 50s & 60s. Pollock was both revered and reviled at once for the work he was producing. Certainly people were struck by the pioneer work he was doing in abstract expressionism, but no one seemed to be entirely sure where it was going or what to do with it. John R observed that one of the artists making sense out of this was none other than Norman Rockwell. In 1962 Rockwell painted The Connoisseur - a realist painting of an older, well-dressed man contemplating a work of abstract expressionism (a painting very much reminiscent of Pollock). We can't see the man's face, and the man's body language is ambiguous - is he astounded? Aghast? Awed? Amused? We don't know, but in our not knowing Rockwell seems to be making a point. And, John R points out, perhaps that is where the genius is.

A few people were immediately inspired by John R's observation.

Ariane wondered whether genius exists on one level societally and another level individually. While people as a group may take something as "genius" and ensconce it in culture as such canonically, there could be many things that are genius only to one person and from a particular perspective. An echo of her earlier insights regarding genius and "uniqueness".

She also raised the question of whether or not genius could come from diving deeply into a tradition itself. For instance, is there genius in the work of Tibetan lamas forming mandalas from colored sand, and then participating in the impermanence that they represent by brushing them aside after a period of meditation? This was not something that was easily answered, but it did lend itself to some contemplation about genius emerging from things that we already know and expect.

Tim reiterated the point that genius is best observed and assessed by experts within the field. This perhaps gives even more depth to a painting called "the connoisseur" - an expert offering an image of another expert judging a supposed work of genius that the jury may still be out on.

Pete considered whether genius was an "a-ha!" moment - a "getting it" for both the geniuses themselves, and for those observing the achievement. Amongst other things, this could help explain why works produced in moments of genius can sometimes seem so strangely irreducible.

I See Things Differently

And then there was Jenny's comment that this discussion itself seemed to be a work of genius. As she listened to it unfold, she felt inspired, moved, and perplexed. It seemed, she said, "to begin to offer answers to questions she didn't even know she had". This Jenny said, seemed very much a part of what so many of the many ideas of genius we had discussed seemed to have been offering.

Thanks, Jenny. It is, of course, deeply gratifying to hear a sentiment like this. Some of this is just because it's nice to know that the work Gad and I are doing can strike people this way. Beyond that, though, it also shows that the dynamic and creative dimensions of genius, whatever else they may be, emerge deeply from the art and practice of careful and considered conversations. I, for one, find it inspiring how much good we can do by talking and listening carefully with one another.

I'm also grateful to Tim for bringing us back down to Earth at this point. Tim shared that he finds conversations like this "frustrating". They are frustrating, Tim said, because conversations are supposed to be about communication - i.e. using language to come to a common understanding of the different ideas that each of us hold and have offered to share. When we discuss an idea like "genius" that has "a pretty clear definition", and then use language to go in 50 different directions, some of which are completely at odds with one another, it seems as though we are doing the opposite of "communicating".

Tim added that if the purpose of us throwing these words and ideas out for one another is to "foster discussion" that's great. We certainly did that, and people seem to enjoy it. If, however, we would actually like to "communicate", either about the idea of "genius" or the other sundry topics we address, he feels we would be wise to proceed differently. Otherwise, we're left with a situation where the term we've been investigating (in this case, "genius") is meaningless.

We were running out of time, but I felt like there might be an opportunity here to close out by addressing some of the source of Tim's frustration. And so I remarked that "I see things differently". I said that while one of the purposes of language might be to "communicate" (in the way that Tim was defining it), another might be to express, another might be to consider, another might be to play, and another might be to discover things we don't even know about yet. Indeed, one of the most extraordinary things about language is its extraordinary capacity for radical generativity - something we seem to appreciate almost as much as we are mystified by it. It's true we often end up exploding definitions in our conversations, and going every which way. Then again, it might be precisely the purposelessness of our use of language (and its radical generativity in conversations) that is the purpose, and the source of so many of its rich discoveries.

And, even though Tim continued to be frustrated that we still weren't "communicating", he also acknowledged that he agreed with me on that last point.