What Intelligence Is?

[Guest guest]

What IS Intelligence?

 

 

Not " I.Q., " which we should all know was just a racist, military scam.

 

Not secret CIA knowledge, which is just assassination and plunder.

 

Not style, vogue, which is just the psychology of advertising.

 

Not speedy calculation, efficiency, and cleverness, which is just anxiety.

 

Not genius, so called, which is just academic self-aggrandizement.

 

Not beauty, which is socio-cultural.

 

Not talent, which is just exhibitionism.

 

 

 

But genuine, authentic

 

 

Intelligence

 

 

What IS it?

 

 

 

 

Is it Hamlet's reptilian duality?:

 

To be proactive, or to be passive: that is the question:

Whether 'tis most mindful to witness masochistically

The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune,

Or to respond sadistically against a sea of troubles,

And through aggression, end them?

 

Can one abandon intelligence for the night:

 

To die: to sleep;

No more; and by a sleep to say we end

The heart-ache and the thousand natural shocks

That flesh is heir to, 'tis a consummation

Devoutly to be wish'd. To die, to sleep;

To sleep: perchance to dream: ay, there's the rub;

For in that sleep of death what dreams may come

 

 

Anna, note: " What Dreams May Come "

 

 

And, one might abandon the intelligence of living itself:

 

 

When we have shuffled off this mortal coil,

Must give us pause: there's the respect

That makes calamity of so long life;

For who would bear the whips and scorns of time,

The oppressor's wrong, the proud man's contumely,

The pangs of despised love, the law's delay,

The insolence of office and the spurns

That patient merit of the unworthy takes,

When he himself might his quietus make

With a bare bodkin? who would fardels bear,

To grunt and sweat under a weary life,

But that the dread of something after death,

The undiscover'd country from whose bourn

No traveller returns, puzzles the will

And makes us rather bear those ills we have

Than fly to others that we know not of?

Thus conscience does make cowards of us all;

And thus the native hue of resolution

Is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought,

And enterprises of great pith and moment

With this regard their currents turn awry,

And lose the name of action.-- Soft you now!

 

And then there's sex!

 

The fair Anna! Nymph, in thy orisons

Be all my sins remember'd.

 

 

 

Choices, choices, choices!

 

Choice:

 

Perhaps That is true Intelligence: responsible choice. And if so,

why would Hamlet wish to escape it?

 

 

Theater, drama, passion: the escape from responsible choice, the

surrender to something overwhelming. Ah, yes, and faith, religion,

spirit.

 

Surrender to that " God " like Force, so seductive.

 

Thus, to surrender (passively) to Intelligence

Intelligence being responsible (proactive) choice

 

Ah, now there's the rub

Ah, there's the oxymoron!

 

 

 

We want freedom

 

But we dread choice

 

We wish to collapse into the cosmos

 

But we want to remain in control

 

 

Intelligence:

 

That razor's edge.

 

 

The Middle Path....