Leonardo da Vinci. The very name is suffused with a revered brilliance, one that has survived the test of time with few equals. It is an evocation of the Mona Lisa, the "Vitruvian Man", and myriad sketches of ornithopters, helicopters, and countless beautifully strange devices with few purposes save the satisfaction of an insatiable curiosity. Da Vinci’s renown stretches into the realm of children’s books and television shows, where his name mingles with Einstein and The Little Engine that Could as pioneers who pushed the boundaries of the possible. For most of my life, I, perhaps with a little help from my parents, who pushed me to explore as many different activities as possible, have unconsciously pursued the DaVincian ideal of multiple excellences. When I was five and a enterprising Lego architect, I knew I would be an inventor. In elementary school I won math and music awards alike even as I became known as the fastest kid on the playground. High school brought me to my first professional theater production (The King and I), captaincy of an intramural soccer team, and eventually, a senior project in breakdancing. I tuned my modesty to the exclamation of, “Bryan, why are you good at everything?” and held the unshakable belief that I could live as what I now know as the Renaissance human.
University shook it.
The idea of the Renaissance human, or polymath, speaks of excellence in a variety of fields. It was comparably easy in high school to be “good” at a lot of things. Now, even though the University of Washington Honors Program explicitly promotes an interdisciplinary education, what I came to realize is that the whisper of focus pervades college. From explicit requirements of professional paths that demand certain numbers of volunteer, internship or shadowing hours to more subtle hints like credit limits and career fairs, the American post-secondary education drives a would-be Renaissance human to specialize in order to remain competitive. It’s not complete specialization – after all, many of my friends maintain vibrant extracurricular schedules – but excellence preys on time. Unless you're leagues ahead of your peers in mental agility, it's nearly impossible to excel to the same degree in a particular pursuit at the university level as a friend that spends an order of magnitude of time more on it than you. An article by Edward Carr in a 2009 release of The Economist’s "Intelligent Life" publication echoes my sentiment that the age of the classic polymath is coming to an end. As empirical fields deepen with every new research publication, the polymath’s endeavor for mastery with depth and breadth intact becomes more of a Sisyphus-ian task, as the boulder of accumulated knowledge bears further and further down on our modern kings of knowledge.
So how does an aspiring polymath hope to carry the mantle in this day, an age of depth instead of breadth? I still don't have a good answer. Perhaps, since our world is so large, it is enough to be known as "that guy that can do everything" in your larger social circles, earning you the admiration of your peers and, with luck, potential romantic partners. Perhaps it's impossible to attain the same sort of ascendancy that Leonardo did, at least post-mortem. Perhaps the definition of the polymath must be an agile one and adapt to the epoch in which it resides. At this moment, for myself and me alone, I believe the most impactful aspect of maintaining a diverse portfolio of strengths and talents is the maintenance of an open mind. When you believe you can learn anything, everything becomes the next step forward into a better understanding of our reality.
University shook it.
The idea of the Renaissance human, or polymath, speaks of excellence in a variety of fields. It was comparably easy in high school to be “good” at a lot of things. Now, even though the University of Washington Honors Program explicitly promotes an interdisciplinary education, what I came to realize is that the whisper of focus pervades college. From explicit requirements of professional paths that demand certain numbers of volunteer, internship or shadowing hours to more subtle hints like credit limits and career fairs, the American post-secondary education drives a would-be Renaissance human to specialize in order to remain competitive. It’s not complete specialization – after all, many of my friends maintain vibrant extracurricular schedules – but excellence preys on time. Unless you're leagues ahead of your peers in mental agility, it's nearly impossible to excel to the same degree in a particular pursuit at the university level as a friend that spends an order of magnitude of time more on it than you. An article by Edward Carr in a 2009 release of The Economist’s "Intelligent Life" publication echoes my sentiment that the age of the classic polymath is coming to an end. As empirical fields deepen with every new research publication, the polymath’s endeavor for mastery with depth and breadth intact becomes more of a Sisyphus-ian task, as the boulder of accumulated knowledge bears further and further down on our modern kings of knowledge.
So how does an aspiring polymath hope to carry the mantle in this day, an age of depth instead of breadth? I still don't have a good answer. Perhaps, since our world is so large, it is enough to be known as "that guy that can do everything" in your larger social circles, earning you the admiration of your peers and, with luck, potential romantic partners. Perhaps it's impossible to attain the same sort of ascendancy that Leonardo did, at least post-mortem. Perhaps the definition of the polymath must be an agile one and adapt to the epoch in which it resides. At this moment, for myself and me alone, I believe the most impactful aspect of maintaining a diverse portfolio of strengths and talents is the maintenance of an open mind. When you believe you can learn anything, everything becomes the next step forward into a better understanding of our reality.