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Curiosity is linked to that kind of passion, yet it is conceptually distinct. Creative people experience blinding insights, but they recognize them as insights precisely because they have an almost insatiable yearning for understanding. This quality, so natural in children, often declines with age. Somehow, creative adults manage to preserve this quality—what George Santayana called “second naïveté,” or what Erich Fromm called “the willingness to be born every day.” Answers come to creative people only because they ask questions. It’s like the story of the poor man who wanted desperately to win the lottery. One day in frustration he called out: “God, why don’t I ever win the lottery?” A voice thundered back from the overhanging clouds: “BUY A TICKET.”
Creators in every walk of life, from physics and mathematics to music and poetry, report that original ideas first manifest themselves in nonverbal form, sometimes as visual images, inchoate thoughts, or pure emotional feeling. Robert Frost once said that a poem “begins in delight and ends in wisdom.” Without that capacity for nonverbal delight, there would have been no “Mending Wall,” no “Birches,” no “West-Running Brook.” And, by extension, no Sacre du Printemps, no Demoiselles d’Avignon, no Totem and Taboo, no Ulysses, no uncertainty principle, no double helix, no E = MC2. One would suppose that passion,
curiosity, and playfulness are qualities that a college can do little
to instill. They either arrive with the incoming students, or they do
not. Fortunately, those qualities arrive in great abundance on this campus
each fall, drawn here by some magnetic force that few of us fully understand,
but that all of us deeply appreciate. . . . Well, most of the time. |
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