In the Eye of the Beholder

Has anybody ever considered intelligence to be a form of beauty? I mean--intellect is relevant, right? Or rather being smart is all relevant. For instance, a political expert will seem endlessly smarter than I am--I don't dabble too much in politics, I don't claim to be learned, knowledgeable or well-read in that field. A debate against one of these people would render me speechless, dumb.

But on the same token--I can discuss literature until the sun goes black. I love literature, and I love to look into the intricacies of writing. I love to read a book and explain the allusions, to dwell upon the hidden theme, to pick out the meta messages. Compared to others, I would seem smart, I would seem to be an expert.

This is the true beauty of intelligence, right? That everybody has their own intelligence in a certain area.

I for instance am book smart--I nestle perfectly into a classroom, raise my hand, and regurgitate text book information, with a few of my own inferences and opinions, and smile as the rest of the students take notes on what I've said. I've been told I'm a good "explainer," that I'm good at breaking down text book information and saying in a way that makes people understand.

My mom's brand of smarts, however, falls outside of the world of Academia. She is people smart--she's good at reading people in a way that even I can't. She's also very "of the world." If she were put out in the wild and forced to survive on her own, she could. She'd be able to hunt and cook and barter when the need arose. She'd be able to survive. I admire that--because as important as it is for me to know that Haydn was born in Austria, it would never help me in survival. I could never impress a bear into not eating me; I could never help a fisherman study so that he would give me a free fish. I'd be lost. I admire her for being smart of the world.

My dad--the furthest of all my family from fitting into a classroom, has an odd sense of intuition. And he's a great cook. Both intelligence that I lack. I've come to find that the more you rely on teachers and textbooks to teach you, the less you remember how to read what your gut is telling you. I am not intuitive--if my stomach says "don't continue" in whatever I'm doing, I don't hear it. I'm too analytical. I pass that off as indigestion, heat exhaustion, and any number of other things. I often don't realize that I've rationalized my way out of intuition until it's far too late to do anything about it. Also--while I'm a decent enough baker, I'd never be able to cook like my dad does. He has the ability to look at a recipe and know exactly what kind of tweaking it needs to be perfect. He's efficient and knowledgeable in the kitchen--it's something I wish I had.

It's funny: even I am guilty of going about and judging people who are not as smart as me. "She failed the history test." or "He's never read My Sister's Keeper." or "He's never heard of Locke." And yet, they have every right to look at me and say "He can't hunt." or "He'll never be able to rebuild a car." and be just as smug. The only issue is that I would be angry--I would be hurt. It's not my fault that I have low aptitudes for kinesthetics and tactile objectives. But according to not only me, but many others as well--it is your fault if you're not literary minded, if you're bad at math, if you're not good in a classroom.

What a poor double standard we all set for one another.

Clearly, beauty is in the eye of the beholder. And intelligence is more beautiful than anything else we have to offer this world.