Where smart fails

Why Intelligent People Fail is a succint catalog of failure.

As Kottke points out, it's pretty much the same reasons everyone else fails.

Intelligence is wildly overrated. Smart is great. But smart has practically no correlation with success, however you define it.

Smart people need to be told this, and they need to continue to see the statistics that back this truth. Because smart people think they're super-special by virtue of an inborn trait. And everyone wants to be smart, and to be considered smart, to the point of self-deception. That's cultish behavior centered around a trait that has recently decided to look down on religion.

I find it personally galling when people use intelligence as a bulwark against theism. Although no one has ever said to me, "I thought you were too smart to believe in God," the surprised looks I've received when I talk about Jesus say it just fine. (On the flip side, a woman once assumed I was an atheist because I "looked so smart.")

Malcontent intelligentsia for the last 150 years or so have tried to con us into thinking that intelligence implies humanism. As in so many other instances though, intelligence corresponds with one thing: Intelligence. MENSA is a disappointing epicenter of this self-congratulatory canard.

You can mix and match intelligence with any other human trait. Anxious. Beautiful. Racist. Musical. Spiritual. Good, bad, silly, it doesn't matter. Intelligence doesn't make you better or worse. It just makes you smart.

The crux of the problem is that people confuse intelligence with wisdom. Wisdom takes you to good and lofty places. Smart just knows how to read the map. It don't know nothing about picking a good route or a good destination.

Smiles and denials

For years and years, when friends' relationships foundered, I was baffled when one or both halves of a couple would smile and act like they were not just barely holding it together through force of will, even when confronted directly by an outsider.

Sometimes I would be more than baffled. I would take it personally, because crying and breaking things indicated an obvious red-lights-and-bells problem, yet my concerns would be shooed away like those of a beloved, overprotective nanny. "Thanks for being such a good friend," they would say, "We'll work through this. It'll be fine."

I would think, "They have to know how bad things are. They must just want me out of the way."

Today, it finally occurred to me that they weren't intentionally lying to me. They really were just deeply disoriented... so lost that offers of help looked like threats. Smiles and denials was how they had solved their problems before. There was no reason for it not to work this time too.

You can see how this would seem alien to a man who falls apart semi-annually. But all considered, I like my way better. I prefer lots of little break-downs to any number of big ones. That might even be why I do it, come to think of it.

Red Hand of Done

This past week, my players finished the Red Hand of Doom, slaying High Wyrmlord Azzar Kul, vanquishing his summoned Aspect of Tiamat, and saving the human lands of Elsir Vale from diabolical infestation. Only two characters died in the process!

The amazing thing is how well their plans worked.

How a normal D&D plan works
At the beginning of any major set piece, the players develop a loose plan of action.
Round 1: Deploy plan.
Round 2: Something unforeseen manifests, and the plan is left swinging on one hinge.
Rounds 3-10: Everyone runs around relying on their best tricks until somebody's out of hit points.

That is how pretty much every D&D fight goes that I've ever run or played in. The interesting parts are coming up with the plan, and then coping during the plan's lumbering demise.

How this one was different
The plan more or less worked like they meant for it to. The hitters flew up a 100 foot shaft invisibly, wailed on the bad guy in a surprise round, and finished him before he ever got a chance to respond. The rest of the group clambered up just in time to see Tiamat manifest. Judicious application of resources made the fight hard, but winnable.

Several times in their adventuring careers, the party has been in worse shape, and far less certain of outcome. At first, I wondered if I did them a disservice by making it too easy. But today I decided I didn't. I mean, it was no half-speed move action among cakes. They took their lumps. Two PCs died (conveniently, the two whose players had dropped out of the game), and everyone else took serious damage (except for the monk whom Tiamat quickly surmised as a minor threat).

The feeling of mastery and completion though, made it seem like, for once, the players leveled up. They put together a plan, hit their marks, and used gumption to solve the problem. Yay players! Yay D&D!

Some weeks, the game is totally 20 minutes of fun packed into 4 hours. But it never seems like it's not worth it.