10.30.06
The Renaissance Woman
During my convalescence I have been pondering a great many things, chewing on them idly like a sleepy dog, then picking them up later on after a nap and a shower. Among them has been the topic of the “Renaissance man,” of being a polymath.
Most people aren’t polymaths. This has to do partly with native intelligence and ability, because the raw capacity to perform at a high level in multiple fields of endeavor, let alone to excel in multiple fields of endeavor, is simply not all that common. But it isn’t just smarts and capability, because there are plenty of people who could be polymaths who aren’t. Some of them simply prefer to specialize; some of them don’t see the point; some have enormous abilities and little curiosity. Many of us have the experience of being forced to specialize more than we’d like to by simple virtue of logistics: no matter how much of a polymath one is, one still is unlikely to be able to be in two places at once doing two entirely separate things, and scheduling can be a regular nightmare.
Some have had the tendency toward being a polymath drubbed out of them by teachers chanting “you don’t want to end up a dilettante” or “a jack of all trades is a master of none.” Some would rather not stick out so much: being highly competent at even one thing tends to make you the object of others’ attention in ways that can be bad or unpleasant as well as enjoyable or good.
And then there’s the problem of supply and demand. The more you can supply, it is often demonstrably true, the more people will feel entitled to demand of you. Being highly competent in two or more things just multiplies the problem. Some people also feel like being a polymath just ups the ante, and that the more of a polymath you are, the more people expect you to be able to do, both for them, and just generally speaking: if you are so talented and smart as to be a notable mathematician and a good public speaker and a graceful ballroom dancer and a fine cook, why can’t you also fix the car and paint pictures and remember all the Latin names of trees and build boats and repair the leaky skylight and cure Aunt Lilibet’s gout? And even if you could, there is the sneaking sense that Aunt Lilibet would then say “Thanks so much, I feel ever so much better now. Hey, do you think you could see about that back porch? It’s half-rotted through and you’re so good at fixing things, I just know you’d know how to go out and rip the old one down and put a new one up.”
I think, too, that a lot of us polymaths–I am one, it’s not tooting my own horn, it’s just the way it is–and particularly women who are polymaths, have it drummed into us over and over again that it isn’t seemly to be too good at doing too many things. That it is intimidating to others who cannot do all the things we can do, and thus bad. Specifically, in my case and in that of many other women I have known, we are told, or it is at least heavily implied, that men will be intimidated by us and our polymathic abilities, and that this is categorically bad. It’s the old “you don’t want to seem smarter than he is” thing, multiplied by the factor of the “nerd girl” stigma, to the power of the lingering old crusty sentiment that it is categorically wrong for anyone, and particularly women, to do things that will draw attention to themselves.
I will continue to wrestle with the subject of being a polymath, I expect. I have only begun to think about it seriously, and in truth, I am still not yet running on all cylinders after this bout of Variegated Complaint. But I do know that it took me a lot of years to acknowledge that yes, indeed, having been (and in varying ways and amounts continuing to be) a professional musician, a professional writer, a professional historian, a professional educator, and a professional activist and public speaker did qualify me as a polymath. I avoided applying the term to myself for a very long time because I didn’t want to seem conceited. It was only when I realized that it wasn’t a conceit, and it was accurate, that I was a polymath whether or not I called myself one, that I started to become even remotely comfortable assuming the term. Even so, I am not in fact what I think of when I think of “a Renaissance woman.” She’s much more successful, prettier, more athletic, and better able to pass for normal than I am.
And that’s a kettle of fish best left for another day. Sheesh.