We want our joys to be photogenic, our love to have milestones, our sadness to be diagnosable. But some of the most transformative experiences are those no one sees, that leave no trace except the way a person’s silence deepens, or the strange softness in their gaze. We are taught to “find ourselves”, but perhaps we should learn to lose ourselves more wisely.
I bought a smart mirror. It just keeps asking “Why?”
“Intelligent idiots” are among the most damaging types of fools precisely because their intelligence masks their idiocy not just from others, but often from themselves. Their harm lies in their ability to obfuscate clarity with credibility. Because they speak with polish, draw on complex ideas, and appeal to reasoned structures, they smuggle in delusion under the guise of insight.
The core issue is misapplied intelligence. These individuals possess analytical or rhetorical skill but lack awareness—the capacity to recognise the limits of their knowledge, or the insight to discern coherence and truth. They make the false seem plausible by wrapping it in intellectual ornamentation. What is relatively clear becomes murky; what is simple is made needlessly complex. This wastes time, attention, and energy, especially in areas where precision and honesty are vital.
Ego plays a central role. When intelligence becomes an identity rather than a tool, the person becomes invested in being right rather than discovering truth. Stress and psychological needs—such as the desire to feel superior or maintain a worldview—lead to motivated reasoning. Self-delusion becomes self-defence. Because they argue well, they are difficult to correct, and because they sound right, others defer to them, mistaking fluency for substance.
In effect, they pollute. They make productive action harder by creating intellectual fog. Worse, they draw followers—not by offering clarity, but by giving confusion the shape of conviction.
The damage isn’t always dramatic, but it is insidious. It shows up in wasted years, misdirected efforts and broken consensus. The intelligent idiot is fluent, confident, and wrong—although often sincerely so.
I write in Bunhill Fields until I’m kicked out.
These days I get goose bumps when I listen to my music, and occasionally a tear.