“Jack, you’ve got a really sharp mind.”
My boss at the Denver Institute for Faith and Work loves our rapid-fire, intricate theological conversations.; they’re so fun. I smiled as I remembered quoting Von Balthasar and Lewis over Costco food court turkey sandwiches to critique modern epistemologies. But that compliment this morning had been preceded with by the qualifying, “This is going to be a difficult conversation.”
So we talked about my written communication. Several of my recent emails to him had been sharp, but also cutting, and there is no place for that in a healthy office culture. I needed to change.
As I drove back to our office, I explored the compliment again: “Do I really want to be sharp?” My first thought was, “Well, it’s better than being dull.” Then it struck me: you can be both sharp and dull.
Dullness of Mind
My mind, among other things, is a tool. As a tool, it can be a good one or a bad one. It is good when its components are what they ought to be and bad when they are not. Among the components of the mind are its shape, its contents, and its brilliance.
Like a knife, a mind may be either sharp or dull. A sharp tool has the ability to pinpoint with precision, make incisive insights, and draw clear distinctions. Even the Scalpel that is the Word of God can divide joint and marrow, critically and surgically removing untruth. (Heb. 4:16)
Like a novel, a mind may be either interesting or dull. If it is good, it both has interesting things to say and arranges, frames, and presents them interestingly. Some novels you can’t put down; some conversations last long into the night.
Like a lightbulb, a mind can be either bright or dull. A brilliant light is enlightening or illuminating. It causes those around it to see more clearly things which were hitherto unclear.
What I hope is now clear is that being “sharp” and being “bright” are not the same thing. In fact, you can be sharp without being bright.
The Better Way
“Jack, you’ve got a really sharp mind.”
As I recorded above, I’ve read well enough to quote authors across the centuries and think critically between opposed schools of thought. It would appear that sharpness is a natural virtue that develops from reading enough books.
If I may, I would argue that we should primarily pursue brilliance, not sharpness. It was the brilliant eyes of Lucie Manette that drew Sydney Carton out of himself and toward “the eternal love which bestows eternal life.” This brilliance, finding a new home in Carton, effected this response from the soon-to-die seamstress:
But for you, dear stranger, I should not be so compose, for I am naturally a poor little thing, faint of heart; nor should I have been able to raise my thoughts to Him who was put to death, that we might have hope and comfort here t0-day. I think you were sent to me by Heaven.
As a friend put it, “Carton, once a hopeless man, attains a hope so abundant that it overflows casting rays of hope not the heart of the seamstress.”
Sharp and Brilliant
Being sharp isn’t bad. The Word of God is sharp, sharper than a two-edged scalpel, able to navigate “between joint and marrow.” But it is also a “lamp to my feet, a light to my path.”
In your studies, your research, your growth in knowledge, however sharp you may become, cultivate the brilliance of that “light, which is the light of men.”
Leave a Reply
Your email is safe with us.