The pitfalls of intelligence

There is an anecdote told by Rubem Alves, a Brazilian educator, about two monkeys who fell into a trap and were sent to a circus.

It was obvious that one of them was brighter than the other. In no time at all, he had learned to balance himself on a big ball and ride a unicycle. His picture began appearing on circus posters. Everyone applauded him: “What a smart animal!" they would say. The other monkey refused to learn. He kept to himself on the side. The trainer tried to coax him with promises and threats, but failed to elicit any sign of comprehension. They called in the circus psychologist whose diagnosis was plain: “There’s no use in trying. It’s his low IQ." So he was abandoned in a corner as untrainable and useless. There were no posters with his picture. There was no applause.

Time passed. The economy took a turn for the worse, and the circus went bankrupt. It was decided that the most charitable solution for the animals would be to return them to the jungle. And so the two monkeys were sent on a long trip back home. About halfway through their journey, the unteachable monkey began to recover from his lethargy in apparent anticipation of former places and familiar fragrances, while his talented friend bounced soberly on the ball that was a final memento of his life in the circus. At last they arrived at their destination and were set free. A smile broke out on the unskilled monkey’s face. With a cry of joy, he leapt to embrace the world of beauty he had never forgotten. The skilful monkey climbed onto his ball and began the performance he knew so well. It was the only thing he could do.

Remembering the cheers of the children, the smell of popcorn, the music of the band, and the feats of daring on the flying trapeze, he suddenly realized: Some kinds of intelligence are suited for the circus; but they serve no use in real life. There was much he had to forget to prove his skill. And his success at forgetting was to be his doom.