I wrote about the Dunning-Kruger effect a while back. If anyone is interested, they can search the 'back catalogue'. In essence, folk with limited cognitive abilities overestimate their competence (there is a caveat). Not only that, but they are also blithely ignorant of their own shortcomings. There is more to the effect than, a little knowledge is a dangerous thing. What many people don't realise is that there is a flip side to the phenomenon. There is a tendency for highly competent people to downplay their own skills, especially in comparison to their professional peers. It is often misunderstood by 'lay folk' that those afflicted with the condition are necessarily stupid and unintelligent. However, misconceptions about their skills may be restricted to a specific area of knowledge. In other regards, they may actually possess expertise. That said, I suspect there are more dullards than wise men within the Dunning-Kruger community- tis a very large assemblage.
Most of us have encountered an individual afflicted with classical Dunning-Kruger at some point in our corporeal existence. The typical pub boor who will painfully berate anyone within earshot of how incredible they are at any given task or subject. Usually, these folk are self-confessed polymaths. Any topic you mention will garner a quick and confidential reply about how skilled and knowledgeable they are concerning said task/topic. A typical pub boor is forever lost in his inconsequential world, never comprehending.
I remember quite distinctly when I was 16 and studying for my O'levels, feeling I had grasped everything I needed to know about physics, chemistry, and biology. What else did I need to comprehend? I confess that, at 16, I was a foolish proto-man. I was angry and reactive, responding to the chaotic swirl of the hormonal deluge. Luckily, this was just a stage in my natural maturity, physically, emotionally, and intellectually.
I'm curious about many things and have a particular and abiding interest in a few subjects. With one exception, I do not consider myself an expert in the interests I follow. There is only one subject where my knowledge base borders on the expert: Human Clinical Diagnostic Cytogenetics. I confess that my genetic knowledge extends to other areas of human genetics, but I know enough to know that I'm not an expert in these subjects. This is not false modesty but a cold, hard reality. Expert status in any endeavour can only be achieved through hard study and application over many years. And then the student must admit that further hard work is ahead. Regardless of the subject matter, any expert knows that the quest for ultimate knowledge is folly as it can never be attained. We are all perpetual students lost in the chase. When we think we are close, we are far away.
There are a few, very few, intellectual souls that come close to the sublime when it comes to knowledge acquisition. We are oft to use the word 'genius' rather glibly, and the term is loosely applied, daft buggers that we are. True folk of genius are rare eggs indeed. For instance, John Lennon is often cited as a genius; he was not. He was a mediocre poet and an average guitarist with a poor taste in women. The rest is just media hype. Isaac Newton was a genius, as was his contemporary Leibnitz. Other folk of this ilk include the mostly forgotten Spinoza and the sadly tortured and probably mad Wittgenstein. Obviously, Einstein and the mobility-impaired Stephen Hawking enter this exclusive arena. There are others (don't forget Darwin), but I won't turn this post into a list. A gaggle of ancient philosophers also enter this restrictive club. Perhaps Plato comes to mind, but I'll place his derivative student, Aristotle, in the enclave instead. Paradoxically, the vast majority of Aristotles' work, excluding his ethics, logic and political musings, is complete and utter bollocks. Sadly, his 'scientific' work would stifle the advance of Western thought for nearly two thousand years; such was the man's authority, especially with the Catholic Church.
I'd like to finish my disjointed discourse with a brief consideration of a vastly underrated man of genius, Bertrand Russell. Some books leave a distinct imprint on the intellect. This is the case with Russell's 'History of Western Philosophy'. My paperback copy is falling apart—I should have bought the hardback edition. The breadth and depth of knowledge within this hefty tome is impressive enough. However, this, combined with Russell's astute analysis of the subject matter, elevates the book into the monumentally profound category. Not only are we participants in a work of astonishing erudition, but we are also privileged to be part of Russell's brand (sorry, I couldn't resist) of breathtaking, if audacious, synthesis. Anyway, I recommend that my readers purchase a copy. But be advised, it is best to own the hardback edition. Enjoy.
