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I don’t really know how it happens. All I know is that, at some point in our lives, we decided to admire a certain kind of intelligence over others. And, without us realizing it, our whole life becomes a consequence of this choice over which we have no control. You, please forgive me, but I’m going to abuse the right to the first person singular here and use myself as an example.
A long, long time ago, and under absolutely inexplicable influences, I began to admire the intelligence that is expressed through language. He liked being among adults and listening to conversations he didn’t understand. And seeing people making seemingly accurate comments, the kind that make the speaker laugh or angry. Once I gained some courage and vocabulary, I instinctively began to repeat this pattern. If I got a compliment for my supposed (and unlikely) acumen, oh, it was the glory.
This admiration for a specific type of intelligence became more sophisticated. And, always within a limit that I don’t have the intelligence to explain, it also changed. There were times when I admired those who could rhyme. In others, I admired the use of difficult words. If I remember correctly, there was a time when I admired tales of despair. And I spent a good few years admiring the venom that dripped from the fangs of those who mastered the diabolical art of sarcasm.
On the other hand, I never wanted to flaunt other types of intelligence. Intelligences that are still strange to me today, if not uncomfortable. People who are too analytical, for example, do not appeal to me. They tell me how they arrived at the solution x to problem y or z and all I can think about is the tedious obviousness of arithmetic. The organization’s intelligence is another one that escapes me. Just like the intelligence of power – what fun is it to sit in a chair that gives you the right to push a button and destroy the world?
I mean, I know that these intelligences all exist and are necessary and in many cases admirable. But, for me, the power game or the ability to solve complex equations or even to organize an intercontinental logistics operation are unattainable and unambitious talents (do you like it? I just invented it). Who knows, in the other life – the one I don’t believe in.
Today up to date…
In recent times, the The kind of intelligence I admire has been undergoing a significant shift. It remains almost restricted to the I use language skillfully, but for some reason, perhaps because of my gray hair or the natural tiredness of a precocious old man, I have lately been more demanding with the intelligence I admire. It’s no use being intelligent and amoral, for example. It doesn’t do any good to be smart and wicked. It’s no use being smart to show yourself to others.
By the way, it doesn’t do any good to be too smart and abstract. That is why it is urgent to fill this text with some examples. In literature, to give you an idea, I have already admired the perverse intelligence of a Michel Houellebecq. In the movies, I admired the scathing criticism and enlightened humor of a Woody Allen. In humor, I admired the aggression of a George Carlin. In journalism, I admired the combative and antagonistic spirit of a few names. In everyday conversations, I admired interlocutors capable of the most caustic comments, without caring much for perfidy. Nowadays…
Nowadays the only really admirable intelligence for me it is the one that comes to me with a very clear transcendent purpose. In literature, I admire the intelligence of writers who were stupid enough to crave immortality. In cinema, I admire the intelligence of screenwriters and directors who make simple films, but “with their feelings in the right places”. In humor, I admire the extraordinary banality of a Demitri Martin. In journalism, I admire the pathetic ambition of permanence. And in everyday conversations I admire the subtle presence of charity – of genuine concern for the other.
I especially admire the discreet and serene intelligence of those who are sure, but not very sure, of their own intelligence. And that they don’t need to rub it in the face of others just to, in a hypothetical future, say “I was right”. I am referring to an intelligence without a MEC certificate and without the intention of changing the world. A strange, inconstant, perhaps even incoherent intelligence, but guided by an obsessive honesty. Finally, intelligence that perceives itself limited and finite, and that is courageous precisely because it knows itself to be flawed and perishable.
