the Renaissance man (woman) versus the polymath

As I wrote yesterday, the OED defines a Renaissance man as “one who exhibits the virtues of an idealized man of the Renaissance.”

And I defined a modern polymath as one who is proficient in or who has made significant accomplishments in at least two widely disparate fields or three less disparate fields.

So what exactly is the difference between a polymath and a Renaissance man (woman)?

It seems pretty clear. Polymath status is based solely on knowledge and intellectual achievements, whereas Renaissance man status is based primarily on factors other than one’s intellectual abilities and achievements. Braininess is one part of being a Renaissance man, but it is hardly the only part.

The Renaissance ideal was based on education, but, as the OED states, there was more to it than that.

One of the great Renaissance educators, Vittorino da Feltre, believed that a proper education should allow one to be able to discuss “natural philosophy (i.e., the sciences), ethics, the motion of the stars, geometry, harmony, arithmetic and surveying.”

The Renaissance humanists believed that the man who arose from this education was the perfect gentleman, a man who was not only accomplished in most fields of study, but also was athletic, skilled in military science, courteous, well spoken, artistic, and musical.  And, as if that wasn't enough, the ideal man was supposed to be able to do all that with grace and nonchalance.

Basically, he was supposed to be able to make the difficult look easy, an ability that the Italians called sprezzatura. The idea of sprezzatura came from the book that epitomized the Renaissance ideas, Baldasare Castiglione's The Book of the Courtier, published in 1528. Castiglione wrote the Courtier to describe the qualities of the ideal gentleman, the courtier, i.e., one who spent his time at the court attending (and flattering) the king and queen.

Famed Renaissance historian William Harrison Woodward wrote that Castiglione’s courtier was “nothing less than the ideal personality as the Renaissance conceived it.”  Woodward wrote that the ideal personality of the Renaissance was to be developed in every way; i.e., to be a “complete gentleman.”  He should be a brave and competent soldier, but not a professional soldier, a superior athlete and sportsman, a “perfect horseman,” a competent dancer, and an excellent conversationalist, not just in content, but in style. He should be intelligent and well-read, a poet, an artist, a singer, and a musician. Not only should he be all this, but he should also dress well.

This was the “Renaissance man,” a learned and widely read man who used that learning as a springboard to become a gracious, virtuous, and multi-talented person.

Again, what is the difference between the two? Renaissance man status could incorporate polymathy, but not vice versa. A Renaissance man might be a polymath, but a polymath is not necessarily a Renaissance man.

The modern polymath defined

Today we put it all together. We need to keep in mind Heraclitus’s original concept, Andrew Robinson’s idea (broad learning and curiosity), and Carr’s and Djerassi’s breadth and acceptance requirements, and overlay these ideas on Burke’s serial and proper polymaths.

Burke’s prerequisite of “several” fields of expertise pays homage to Heraclitus’s original notion and is a good middle ground between requiring too many fields of expertise and too few. It acknowledges that a real polymath should work in “several” disciplines.

Accordingly, the modern polymath should be one who is proficient in or who has made significant accomplishments in at least two widely disparate fields or three less disparate fields. The more unrelated the fields, the more polymathic the person.

This definition can be gauged objectively and satisfies the breadth test. The acceptance requirement can be satisfied by professional licensure, by publications, or by acceptance by experts in those fields. The acceptance requirement also allows for the conclusion that, the more generally accepted as an expert such a person is in each of his/her fields, the more polymathic the person is.

This definition puts Hedy Lamarr (remember her from the PopMatters article?) squarely in polymath status (acting and electronics are about as far apart as two fields can be), but easily knocks out the swimming, trumpeting, and tax polymaths that I discussed earlier. However, it will allow us to recognize and appreciate the incredible achievement of a real modern polymath.

Now that we have this definition under control, we can look at other similar concepts (the Renaissance man, the universal man, etc.), and also start getting to know the Real Polymaths.

the modern polymath defined, part 4

Today, let’s review Cambridge cultural historian Peter Burke’s definition of the polymath. In fact, remember that he had four definitions:

The passive polymaths, who read widely but make their reputation in one discipline alone.

The limited polymaths, active in a small cluster of neighboring disciplines.

The serial polymaths, whose interests gradually shifted from one discipline to others.

The proper polymaths, who have continued to work in several fields and to make serious contributions to all of them, keeping several balls in the air at the same time rather than picking them up one by one.

Also remember that Burke lamented that polymathy “has been diluted to refer to people who have mastered two or three disciplines.”

How should we work these definitions into our own?

The limited polymath is clearly out as a definition for our modern polymath. Yesterday, I suggested that the learning of a microbiologist and neurobiologist is not broad enough to be fully polymathic. That is a good example of Burke’s limited polymath.

But what about his passive polymath and his serial polymath?

The biggest problem, it seems, with the passive polymath is that it is very hard to determine that person’s polymathic qualities. How do you figure out if that person has read widely enough to qualify as a true polymath? I don’t know. If you have any ideas, please let me know.

But the serial polymath seems pretty legitimate to me. So what if the person concentrated in one field and then moved on to a different field? There has never been a rule that a polymath has to engage in all of his/her fields of interest at the same time. Some undoubtedly have, but that’s not a requirement, at least not to me.

And then of course, we have Burke’s proper polymath, which is a pretty legitimate polymath.

So, when we come up with our definition, possibly even tomorrow, we’ll want to factor in Burke’s concepts of the serial and proper polymaths.

the modern polymath defined, part 3

Two weeks ago, I wrote about Edward Carr’s and Carl Djerassi’s ideas on polymathy.

Remember that Carr had a “breadth” test for polymath status. He argued that success in thoroughly unrelated fields enhanced one’s polymath status.

And Djerassi believed that influence and acceptance was an essential requirement of polymathy. He said that a person was not really a polymath unless he or she was accepted as an expert by practitioners in each field that the polymath claimed to master.

These ideas are critical. The aspiring polymath must have significant breadth of knowledge and must be accepted as a true member of the fields in question.

In other words, a poet and songwriter is not a polymath. Nor is a painter and etcher. Probably a microbiologist and neurobiologist is not one either. These pairs of fields simply aren't unrelated enough.

More tomorrow.

The modern polymath defined, part 2

A couple of weeks ago, I discussed some interesting definitions of the polymath from that Royal Institution presentation, “What happened to the polymaths?”

At that presentation, Oliver Morton, the Chief News and Features editor at Nature, defined the polymath as “someone who makes contributions to four widely conceived as distinct areas of science and culture” at a “professional level.”

John Whitfield, the author of a biography of the British polymath D’Arcy Wentworth Thompson, defined the polymath as someone who made “a contribution to more than one field that would stand on its own.”

And Andrew Robinson, the author of a biography of another British polymath, Thomas Young, defined the polymath as someone who had broad learning and curiosity that led to something original.

What about these definitions? Are any of them really good definitions for the modern polymath, taking into account how polymathy has been defined throughout the ages?

Morton’s definition sets the bar too high. No one knows everything any more. For better or for worse (probably for worse), there are no more Leonardos, no more Aristotles. No one can contribute to four distinct areas of science and culture at a professional level anymore.

However, Whitfield’s definition seems to be not be rigorous enough. Polymathy has always meant “great learning,” and “great learning” might require excellence in more than two disciplines.

Robinson’s idea is more general, but it is getting close to the truth. A polymath certainly has to have broad learning. After all, that is what the word has always meant. But what about curiosity that leads to something original? Why not? A person with broad learning is almost by definition curious? How could you possibly have such broad learning if you weren’t curious? And original thinking? Surely broad learning and curiosity will lead to at least one original idea. How could it not.

So we’re certainly zeroing in on a solid definition.

More tomorrow.