The Ultimate Truth
When you wake up tomorrow, you will be the most intelligent person on Earth.
I stared at this curious pop-up in the center of my computer screen. Not being exceptionally intelligent— it was, after all, still the night before—I had no idea what had caused this message to appear. I yawned, powered down my laptop, and went to bed.
The next morning, as I fumbled to silence the incessant beep! beep! beep! beep!, I recalled the previous night’s computer message. Tomorrow had arrived. Either I was the most intelligent person on Earth, or—hmmmm. Did I really want to know? I Googled “intelligent, definition”:
being able to easily learn or understand things and to deal with new or
difficult situations;
having the capacity for learning, reasoning, understanding, and similar
forms of mental activity;
having sound thought or good judgement and an aptitude for grasping
truths, relationships, facts, meanings, etc.
Aha! Intelligent indicated ability, capacity, or aptitude—without the slightest hint that I might have exploited even an iota of this potential. So, even if I was the most intelligent person on Earth, I could conceivably be the most ignorant. That I had perceived this paradox reminded me that a trait of intelligent people is that they’re aware of what they don’t know. I chuckled and shut down the computer.
As I got ready for work, my thoughts returned to the computer’s message. If I was superintelligent, my off-the-charts IQ would have been engendered either by my fairy godmother or by my wicked stepmother. Unknown forces would be using me to facilitate their agenda for good or evil. I had to admit that I was impressed at having such insight before my morning coffee. Thank you, Fairy Godmother?
With my Keurig machine humming like a hive of honeybees, I searched the cupboard for cinnamon. Impulsively I rearranged the rows of spices alphabetically and then, while waiting for the drip to finish, scanned the front page of the Democrat Gazette. I was about to turn to the sports section when I stopped. I had total recall of all the front page articles. Whoa! This is too weird.
Quickly I scanned the sports page and then dropped the newspaper. All I had to do was think of a team, and immediately I knew its win, loss, tie, and win-loss percentage standings. I could rattle off all the players and their stats. Wow, if this knowledge translates to the office football pool, I’m about to strike it rich. Heck, online betting is more like it!
At the office, I performed my entire week’s tedious tasks with lightning speed and had just Googled “online betting” when my colleague emitted a string of expletives. Clever as I now was, I couldn’t pretend not to have heard. “What’s the matter?”
“I finally managed to pop open my multi-tool to change the flashlight battery, and all these little pieces fell out!”
I went to his desk and observed the tiny screws, a metal ring with a bent wire, clear plastic washers, a metal washer, metal triangle, dead battery, and the new battery. “Hmmm, let’s see.” Deftly I reassembled the components and snapped the tool shut. Then I pressed the flashlight button.
My colleague stared as the beam splayed across his desk. Finally he muttered, “Not bad for someone who couldn’t figure out how to change his windshield wipers yesterday. Thanks.”
Back at my desk, my mind raced through all sorts of possibilities. Now that I was beyond genius, I could learn any language, play any instrument, create music and art, and write literature. I could beat Watson on Jeopardy!, do quantum physics, produce unimagined inventions—and be rich and famous. Then it hit me.
I’d never again enjoy a game of chess with anyone, let alone a passionate discussion about who’d win the Superbowl or MVP. Always knowing the best way to do something would result in a lifetime of frustration if I tried to interact with others. The one thing my intelligence couldn’t figure out, Evil Stepmother, was how to keep me from becoming a pariah.
I understood the ultimate truth: Ignorance is bliss.