True genius is vanishingly rare – thank the Lord for that
To be sure, there’s lots to be learnt from the case of financier Randy Work, not least the importance of getting a sensible name. Yesterday, Mr Work (who sounds like a character in a moralising Victorian self-help tract) lost his appeal against an earlier judgment that his $225 million (£180 million) fortune should be equally divided between him and his ex.
An equal division is the custom of British divorce courts, but Mr Work’s ethic was different. He wanted more, claiming his “genius” at accumulating money disqualified him from conventional arrangements. He argued for 66 per cent.
Perhaps intuiting that self-diagnosed genius was no more than the happy knack of riding a moneymarket boom, the appeal judge disagreed. If perhaps the notion of genius was once lightly contaminated with doubt, it is now toxic with opprobrium.
One of the great deceptions in contemporary culture is that genius is to be admired and, where possible, cultivated. Why? Since Aristotle the wise have known that genius lies next to madness. Sure, true “genius” has many standout features, but almost all of them are bad.
In the Diagnostic and
Statistical Manual used by US psychiatrists there is a helpful definition of “Narcissistic Personality Disorder”. This comes close to the popular understanding of genius characteristics: selfmythologising, grandiosity, a lack of empathy and a competitiveness that often seeks advantage by doing others down.
The Work case has two interesting celebrity precedents. In the 1997 Conran divorce, Sir Terence argued, somewhat inelegantly, that Caroline provided only “active home support” and had a negligible influence on the success of his business. The judge found differently, correctly commenting on Lady C’s own high reputation in matters of food and design, and marked her “outstanding contribution” with a generous settlement. By contrast, in his 2005 divorce, Martin Sorrell’s contribution to family funds was held to be “exceptional” and the settlement was divided 60:40.
It is often complained that the English educational system cannot recognise genius. But that’s not true. Schools are finely attuned to the presence of genius. When it’s discovered, it is expelled. Thus Conran and, for instance, Richard Branson. In this reading, the genius is a headstrong loner, an individual possessed of a penetrating vision, sod-it personality and very moderate social skills. As Schopenhauer said: talent can hit the target, but genius can see a target invisible to others.
Maybe, but your genius always lacks a collegiate mentality and suffers for it. As Anthony Storr explained in The Schools of Genius, all too often the genius creates great works of art and/or large piles of money in embittered solitude. For genius is not to be confused with intelligence. The latter is behaviour that’s adaptively variable; genius is committed to repetitive anti-social acts.
Apple’s Steve Jobs was no one’s idea of a well-balanced person. He would do inflexible carrot diets, had eccentric views on personal hygiene and wore a costume of unvarying deadbeat style. True, the dunces were in confederacy against him, but what’s also true is what they whisper in the Bay Area computer community: “It’s hard to be a disrupter and not to be an a---hole”. Take comfort, Mr Work, that you have been denied membership of this club.