The Hesitation of Geniuses
A shroud of mystery surrounds history's famous geniuses like Einstein, Newton, Tesla, and Faraday. For laypeople, it's easy to deify these great thinkers and presume they possess supernatural gifts that make them omniscient. It is easy to imagine Einstein's neurons firing with computer-like speed to recall complex information and synthesize it on the fly. These brainiacs possess supreme confidence; we think — fully assured in their calculations, hypothesis, and theories. After all, they are among the most brilliant people to have lived. But counter-intuitively, genius hesitates.
Physicist Carlo Rovelli wrote a beautiful little book on big ideas called "Seven Brief Lessons of Physics." He wrote it for people like me who are unschooled in the science. He brilliantly distills fundamental theories into digestible bits, helping explain the world in terms of space, time, energy, and matter.
Upon reading his compact gem, I'm still unable to explain quantum physics or mathematically prove the existence of black holes, but I feel slightly closer to the company of those on a quest to explain the natural world.
Typically, when I read a book, it's a physical copy. The convenience of e-readers is unmatched, but nothing tops the feeling of the spine of a hardback or the musty smell of a well-traveled tome. More importantly, as I read, I underline, emphasize, mark up, and scribble in the margins, leaving a trail of my impressions. Nothing in Rovelli's book, even fascinating dissections of physics' most important theories, grabbed my attention more than a simple point he made about the nature of genius.
In discussing Einstein's landmark 1900 paper on photons and lights, Rovelli quotes Einstein:
It seems to me that the observations associated with blackbody radiation, flourescence, the production of cathode rays by ultraviolet light, and other related phenomena connected with the emission or transformation of light are more readily understood if one assumes that the energy of light is discontinuously distributed in space.
Rovelli goes on to identify the brilliance in Einstein's opening four words:
These simple and clear lines are the real birth certificate of quantum theory. Note the wonderful initial “It seems to me …,” which recalls the “I think … ” with which Darwin introduces in his notebooks the great idea of that species evolve, or the “hesistation” spoken of by Farraday when introducing to the first time the revolutionary idea of magnetic fields. Genius hesitates.
Genius hesitates.
In one short paragraph, Rovelli dismisses a common misconception about the world's geniuses. They aren't uber-confident, all-knowing, mythical wizards. Contrarily, they are cautious, tentative, and doubtful — presenting their theories with a nervous prudence, not a wreckless conviction.
We're unaccustomed to authority figures speaking with such doubt. Often, opinions are presented as fact, theories as truth, and hypotheses as reality. Even in the scientific domain, developed on the bedrock of relentless questioning; researchers unabashedly offer their ideas with an arrogance that would surely unsettle Einstein. And worse, questioners are ridiculed, threatened, and silenced.
Darwin and Faraday hesitated in fields where they were the world's ultimate experts. In that case, we must follow their lead, demonstrating restraint before jumping to conclusions on the day's issues and debates. If we're to move closer to truth, doubt is paramount. When coupled with curiosity, hesitation is a tool for discovery, not a sign of weakness.
Today, a culture of chic outrage urges us to choose sides on all topics, no matter how nuanced the subject or uninterested we are. And at the poles, they demand an answer today, for tomorrow, they might have moved onto another cause. Tempting as that may be, the icons of science light another path, one in which exploration is done without the destination in mind — where humility props the mind's doors open, and prudence avoids the stampede of the masses rushing to jump to conclusions.
Whether announcing a potentially earth-shattering development in quantum physics or responding to a social media post, it's worth remembering that genius hesitates. Framing views with "I think" or "it seems to me" as Darwin and Einstein did and hesitating like Faraday should be celebrated, not shamed — it's courageous, not cowardly.
