by Waqas Ahmed
It is not surprising, as we will see later, that some of the greatest polymaths during this period were instrumental in their respective struggles for freedom against classism or colonialism. Despite being equally — and in some cases arguably more — impressive as polymaths, these ‘indigenous folk from the colonies’ are deprived of their due appreciation.
Encouragement
In a world where specialisation in all spheres of life is almost compulsory, it is difficult for us today to imagine that for most of human history, polymathy was considered normal, even natural. There are many instances of cultures, philosophies and social structures that encouraged the polymath — if not for all people then at least for a select class.
In Ancient Greece, for example, there existed polymathic philosophers, freethinking enquirers who transcended fields and disciplines. They would pursue a question, and would be willing to explore any field of knowledge that might shed light on it. They were known as atopos or ‘unclassifiable.’ It is they — the likes of Socrates, Plato and Aristotle — who came to define the Greek philosophy we are so indebted to. During the Roman Era, the culture of otium (‘leisure time’ undertaken by politicians, lawyers, merchants and soldiers in order to pursue intellectual or artistic activities) gained currency and the development of a multifaceted lifestyle became the goal, especially amongst the elite.
In the Islamic world, the Quran encouraged (and in fact demanded) people to ponder, reflect and think about its message (the Arabic tafakkur, or ‘to think,’ is consistently mentioned throughout the text). There are multiple references to this in the Quran, which at different points encourages the acquisition of knowledge and wisdom through study, travel, scientific investigation, philosophical enquiry and social dialogue. This, together with the fundamental Islamic concept of tawheed, which alludes to the unity of the cosmos, and the powerful example of its prophet, Muhammad’s own multifaceted life inspired generations of extraordinary Muslim polymaths (or Hakeem). Even Bertrand Russell in his widely acclaimed but incredibly Eurocentric History of Western Philosophy had no choice but to recognize these early Muslim scholars as being ‘generally encyclopaedic.’
In Sung China, the bureaucrats (Shih) were statesmen as well as artists and scientists who, far from being idealist philosophers, were more concerned with making practical contributions to technology, culture and society at large. They were interested in building, inventing and creating as well as governing and administering. Along with intellectual pursuits, the Shih exhibited habits and cultivated hobbies that not only marked their social status and refinement, but made them more polymathic. They aspired to be what the I-Ching refers to as the junzi or the ‘perfect gentleman’ — he who, in addition to possessing a number of righteous qualities, masters the liu yi or the ‘Six Arts’ (Rites, Music, Archery, Charioteering, Calligraphy and Mathematics). It was this culture that gave rise to phenomenal polymaths such as Shen Kuo, Su Shi and Su Song.
Due to a lack of warfare under the Tokugawa shogunate in eighteenth-century Japan, the samurais’ role as soldiers diminished and they became courtiers, bureaucrats and administrators. A typical example was Yanagisawa Kien, who, given the new culture of the samurai, was finally able to unleash his many ‘other sides.’ So in addition to being an accomplished painter and calligrapher, he mastered the ‘Sixteen Noble Accomplishments’ that were expected of a samurai, which included military arts (such as swordplay, horsemanship and archery), music (he played the flute and harp) poetry, medicine, Buddhism and the tea ceremony.
During the French Enlightenment, just before intellectual specialisation became commonplace, the virtuosi emerged as ‘free and unconfined’ enquirers, as did a group of freelance intellectuals known as the curieux — a classic example being Montesquieu whose many-sided interests were reflected in both his library and his notebooks. Aside from the intellectual class, the bourgeoisie or ‘gentlemen’ were also expected to pursue and master multiple pursuits such as music, fencing, philosophy and dancing — a custom famously depicted in Molière’s classic play Le Bourgeois Gentilhomme. Historian Andrew Robinson saw the Enlightenment as ‘undisputedly polymathic’; and figures such as the Comte de Buffon exemplified this culture.
During the same period in Britain, a similar breed was celebrated. Art historian Kenneth Clarke said ‘Eighteenth-Century England was the paradise of the amateur; by which I mean, of men rich enough and grand enough to do whatever they liked, who nevertheless did things that require a good deal of expertise.’ They were referred to by Philip Ball in his book Curiosity as the ‘professors of everything,’ and included the likes of Christopher Wren, who excelled as an architect, physicist, astronomer and mathematician; William Herschel, who excelled as an astronomer, botanist, composer and physicist; and William Petty, who excelled as a naval architect, physician, professor of music, chemist and engineer.
So a culture (at least among the elite) that encouraged the many-sided potential of mind and life can be seen to have always existed in some shape or form. At many points over history, polymaths were acknowledged and celebrated for who they were. However, as we look back today, those same polymaths have been implanted into our consciousness via our history books as ‘specialists.’ It is no wonder we have lost touch with our polymathic heritage.
The Myth of the ‘Specialist’
Edwin Hubble excelled in athletics, was an amateur boxer and angler, served as a soldier in the U.S. army during World War I, qualified as a lawyer, coached basketball and taught Spanish before ultimately becoming the Nobel Prize-winning astronomer whose name was given to the landmark Hubble Telescope. Nicolaus Copernicus was a clergyman, economist, painter, polyglot, diplomat, physician and lawyer in addition to becoming the father of modern astronomy whose heliocentric theory revolutionised the way astronomers viewed the universe for centuries to come. Charles Dodgson was a successful photographer, mathematician, clergyman and inventor but we know him as Lewis Carroll, the writer of short stories, poems and novels, most famously Alice in Wonderland. And Anthony Burgess, author of A Clockwork Orange, was also a major in the British army, a linguist and polyglot, teacher, musical composer and a writer on multiple subjects.
Whether we admit it or not, we automatically consider the great achievers in the world to be lifelong specialists in their respective fields. We expect that they have been completely immersed in their work, not allowing anything to distract them from their primary subject or activity. We assume that the Nobel laureates, great scientists, writers and artists, athletes, businessmen and statesmen become who they are because of their exclusive commitment to their field. It is this complete, long-term immersion, we are often told, which eventually allows for their creative breakthroughs. This is a flawed assumption.
As one studies the lives of some renowned ‘specialists,’ it appears that they often have a number of avocational pursuits (prior careers or hobbies) that in some way or another influenced — or in many cases facilitated — their main endeavour. In many cases they themselves admit to this. It is therefore worth questioning whether those we automatically consider ‘specialists’ are actually specialists at all.
This culture of typecasting and attaching a person to one exclusive identity also affects the limited way we view history. The fact that we know Copernicus and Hubble only for their astronomy and Carroll and Burgess only for their fiction is telling of our current mentalities. Because our minds, our lifestyles, our thinking, our culture, our societies are so specialised, we automatically assume that it has always been this way. We dismiss or ignore the many sides of people in history, celebrating them instead for one particular achievement. We accept a handful of cases — such as Leonardo, Franklin and Aristotle — as polymaths only to demonstrate that they are ‘exceptional’ (abnormal) cases, practically a different species from a different planet.
The truth is quite the opposite: specialisation is not the norm but the exception. There are those for whom one domain is indeed the grand, exclusive call
ing: perhaps Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan, Pele, Muhammad Ali, John Nash, Akira Kurosawa, Stephen Hawking, Pablo Picasso, Sigmund Freud, A.R. Rahman, Mozart, Rumi and the like. These are the exceptional cases — for whom the phrase ‘they were born to do it’ could apply — even if there was a lot more to their journeys than we care to acknowledge.
In fact, one might select any great figure from world history — art, science, business, politics, anything — explore their lives and see whether or not they have varied backgrounds, varied interests or varied accomplishments in fields other than what they are principally known for. The hyper-specialists, you will find, are rare. Polymaths are the norm.
For the twenty-first-century mind, conditioned as it is to assume that all humans are or ought to be specialists, it might be difficult enough to accept that polymaths have always existed, let alone that they have indeed been the prime shapers of history. To prove this hypothesis, the following section sets out a different way of looking at the ‘great man’ historical narrative.
Chapter 3
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Shapers of Our World
Polymaths are clearly a fascinating species. They show us what human beings are capable of if they refuse to be pigeonholed. They epitomise the multifariousness of human potential. But what value do they really add to society? The answer lies in a simple fact: polymaths comprise some of the most influential figures in world history. As the ‘disruptors’ of their time, they have contributed significantly to the human story, shaping the modern world in a way that would be unimaginable without them.
What’s more, we will come to appreciate that it was the fact that they were polymaths that defined their greatness. Whether or not their impact on the world is perceived as a positive one is relative — the point is that it was transformational. Yet how audacious it would be to make such a bold claim without surveying the history of the world and identifying just some of those history-makers; those whom we automatically assume to be single-field specialists but were actually many-sided, multidimensional geniuses. For the sake of structure, these examples are segmented into leaders, king-makers, revolutionaries, intellectuals, educators, scientists, mystics, artists, entrepreneurs and humanitarians — only because it is through these principle channels that the human story was most impacted.
Leaders
Muhammad ibn Abdullah was a simple, illiterate man who rose from being an orphaned shepherd to becoming a respected merchant in seventh-century Bedouin Arabia. But at age 40, he received a very different calling and began his campaign to change the world. Following years of meditation in a remote cave, he had reached a certain enlightenment, caused by what Muslims regard as divine revelations. This not only led to him becoming a revered spiritual guide, but also a soldier who commanded his army during a revolutionary struggle, a statesman who established, governed and expanded a new state, a lawmaker who formed and implemented a completely new legal system and an encyclopaedic thinker who, as well as providing general spiritual guidance, also issued practical advice on various matters ranging from business, politics and the law to more personal issues of family, social relations and hygiene.
In doing so, Muhammad started a movement that would inspire the establishment of great civilisations, produce great art and catalyse tremendous breakthroughs in science and philosophy. His impact on the world and its future was so transformational that even the white separatist scholar Michael H. Hart, in his seminal book The One Hundred: A Ranking of History’s Most Influential Persons, was compelled to rank Muhammad top of the list as the most influential human of all time.
The Quran — the book of divine revelations uttered by Muhammad — is considered the word of God by Muslims, and by any measure an encyclopaedic, literary masterpiece by many others. Muhammad had what his biographer Fethullah Gulen refers to as a ‘universal knowledge’ that could inform anyone ranging from ‘the 7th-century ignorant Bedouin to the world’s greatest modern intellectual.’ His multifaceted life, transcendent wisdom and leadership in matters of war, law, diplomacy and spirituality would earn him the title of al-Insan al-Kamil or ‘the Universal Man’ in the Islamic world.
Leaders — whether political, military, business, movement or organisational — are undoubtedly one of the most influential actors in any given society as they, by nature of their mandate, make decisions that affect a significant number of people. And like Muhammad, many of those considered to be the most influential leaders in history were in fact polymaths of one type or another.
This should be no surprise at all. Leaders of companies, charities, governments or any type of large institution, organisation or project that naturally has various dimensions to it are intrinsically required to be synthesisers of information. They are expected to have a rounded knowledge of multiple factors and perspectives that might influence the most important decisions. Leaders are charged with taking multiple seemingly unrelated yet intrinsically connected factors into consideration. The nature of their job requires them to step back and assess the big picture, evaluate the synergies and to connect the necessary dots. So a great leader is not merely a bold decision-maker, but a holistically informed decision-maker, one who is able to understand the significance of context and have a sense of perspective.
Some of history’s most influential (dare I say ‘greatest’) ruling monarchs went beyond serving as mere enthusiastic patrons of arts and scholarship. They were in the privileged position of being able to pursue their own interests and talents without having the worry of financial constraints and other restrictions faced by people living without financial and political autonomy. Some monarchs diversified their activities for the purpose of statecraft, while others pursued activities simply as matters of personal interest and to exhibit multiple talents as a sign of their legitimacy. In doing so, they demonstrated various talents, often revealing themselves as extraordinary polymaths.
A prime example was Frederick II, Holy Roman Emperor in the thirteenth century and widely referred to as the stupor mundi or ‘wonder of the world,’ a title earned by more than his taking of Jerusalem in the fifth crusade (considered the pinnacle of political achievement in thirteenth-century Europe). Frederick was a polyglot, poet and linguist who conducted philological experiments to understand the evolution of language, a specialist in falconry (on which he wrote a treatise) and a patron of the arts and scholarship (most notably the Sicilian School of poetry) at a level unparalleled for a European monarch in the ‘Dark Ages.’
Lesser known to the Western world was Nezahualcóyotl, the fifteenth-century warrior-statesman who instigated and presided over Aztec Texcoco’s Golden Age — a period that brought the rule of law, scholarship and artistry to a level that would have a profound impact on other cultures in the region. He designed a code of law based on the division of power, which created the councils of finance, war, justice and culture. Under his rule, Texcoco flourished as the intellectual centre of the Triple Alliance and possessed an extensive library that, tragically, did not survive the Spanish conquest. He also established an academy of music and welcomed worthy entrants from all regions of Mesoamerica.
He is also known as the father of a philosophical movement, the followers of which are referred to as tlamatinime in the Nahuatl language, a word meaning ‘someone who knows something,’ generally translated as ‘wise man.’ He is also noted for introducing the idea of monotheism to Texcoco. Many of the greatest poems in the Nahuatl language are attributed to him, some of them written on the walls of the National Museum of Archaeology in Mexico City. He is also considered one of the great designers and architects of the pre-Hispanic era and is said to have designed the Albarrada de Nezahualcóyotl (dike of Nezahualcóyotl) to separate the fresh and brackish waters of Lake Texcoco, a system that was still in use over a century after his death. He commissioned and in many cases personally designed some of the most iconic sites in the city.
His story is not dissimilar to that of Suleiman ‘the Magnificent,’ who presided over the apex of
the Ottoman Empire’s military, political and economic power, personally instituted legislative changes relating to society, education, taxation and criminal law. His canonical law (or the Kanuns) fixed the form of the empire for centuries after his death. A polyglot, he spoke five languages: Ottoman Turkish, Arabic, Bosnian, Chagatai (a dialect of Turkish and related to Uyghur) and Persian. Not only was Suleiman a distinguished poet and goldsmith in his own right; he was also a great patron of culture, overseeing the golden age of the Ottoman Empire’s artistic and literary development, famously collaborating with the great architect Mimar Sinan to build some of the grandest feats of architecture in Islamic history.
And then there are more famous monarchs whom we know well but whose interests and accomplishments aside from their leadership are often downgraded or even overlooked by historians (and thus in our minds) as peripheral fancies. Akbar ‘the Great,’ the sixteenth-century emperor of India, set up a robust system of governance, pursued diplomacy with factions within the empire through matrimonial alliances, fostered fine art and architecture and expanded the empire to include key strategic ports and cities on the subcontinent. Moreover, he coordinated the formation of an entirely new religion, Din-e-Ilahi, one that would synthesise elements of all faiths, traditions and world views of the empire.
Lesser known is that Akbar pursued a lifestyle of continuous learning. Despite being illiterate, he surrounded himself with experts on various topics — often asking others to read books aloud to him. He was trained as a soldier and a huntsman, and ultimately became a formidable warrior who would lead and fight in his own battles as emperor. He was also an artisan, armourer and blacksmith of repute and excelled in carpentry and lace-making, continuously learning, mastering and implementing new skills, thereby earning the respect of his court and creating an almost superhuman image in the minds of his adversaries.