I. The solitary
Our word ‘idiot’ originates from the Greek Idiōtēs, which in its most basic form means as much as that which is peculiar to itself, that which distinguishes something from everything else. Idiōtēs is that which makes something singular and unique, as opposed to common and shared. Idiōtēs is what is singular, as opposed to what is regular. In its form as ἰδιώτης, idiōtēs comes to refer to people. It means a ‘private person’, as opposed to a communal person living in a shared society with shared customs and opinions. ‘Idiot’ refers to those people who do not live and think by way of what is common, but live and think from themselves only. The idiōtēs are those whose lives are fully marked by ἴδιος. Thus, in Ancient Greece, idiōtēs has a political meaning in the broad sense. Those who do not share in the life of the polis, but decide to live by themselves, are idiots. Solitary people, outsiders, these are idiots. However, it is not clear that the Ancients meant the word itself in any derogatory sense. We must steer clear in giving to idiōtēs the meaning that we commonly attribute to ‘idiot’.
For the Greeks, in all probability, idiōtēs simply meant a private person, as opposed to a public person. Far removed from our contemporary usage of the word, ‘idiot’ didn’t necessarily have a negative connotation. The connotation of mental illness, stupidity, or physiological degeneracy, was only given to it later. However, it is known that many authors thought of man as intrinsically political; Thucydides claims men that don’t participate in politics are useless, Aristotle designates man as a political animal, and for Plato, not participating in politics results in being ruled by idiots, a non-participation that itself could thus be called ‘idiotic’. It is thus clear how the derogatory sense could be read into idiōtēs, but it need not necessarily be there to begin with, it is not present in the meaning of the word and its various forms itself. The idiōtēs is merely a private person, whether one deems such a private way of life good or bad is a different question.
II. The layman
Next to the political meaning, idiōtēs was also the designation for a layman, someone unfamiliar with the learned opinions and knowledge of a community. In a very general sense, someone untainted by the doxa of the learned, an unschooled person. In Plato’s Theaetetus, there is a debate about who one should trust in predicting the future concerning different activities. In medicine, should one trust oneself —an ordinary person—, to predict the future course of one’s disease, or should one trust a trained physician? In cooking, should one trust a layman, or a seasoned chef, to judge on whether something is tasteful? In the first example, concerning judgement in medicine, ἰδιώτης is used to designate the layman. Why? This concerns the different manners in which the layman and the trained physician judge the case of disease. The physician judges the case from the knowledge that he has, a common knowledge that is carried over through tradition, hence, he is trained in medicine. He thus judges a case starting from the shared knowledge of the community, from the tried and tested paradigm of knowledge that reigns among physicians at that specific time. Opposed to this, the layman, who doesn’t know anything about the common collection of knowledge that we call medicine, cannot judge the case starting from such knowledge. How will he judge the case then? He will judge it from himself, from his own unique point of view, and not the shared point of view of medicine. He will judge it only by way of his own individual intellect, for this is all he has. Hence, he judges in an “idiotic” manner, in a singular manner. He doesn’t reason by way of shared knowledge, but by way of his own unique manner of thinking.
Here, we should refrain from reading idiōtēs as being either good or bad, either being ‘idiotic’ or not, these moral evaluations do not belong to the word itself, and only came to be added later. Plato is merely designating a manner in which, or from which, one judges; from the position of shared and communally verified knowledge, or from the position of oneself. As a learned person, or as a private person. The question is, whether “the individual himself is the best judge.”(Plato, Theaetetus, 178e)
III. From idiōtēs to idiot.
There exists a long and interesting history between the idiōtēs of Ancient Greece, and the idiots of today. In Latin, idiota retained the original meaning of idiōtēs, but became more exclusively used to designate the aspect of being a layman, as opposed to a learned person. Slowly this was no longer to merely designate the private way of thinking, as we saw in Plato, but explicitly with a derogatory sense: idiota was ignorant, illiterate, ignorant, brutish, etc. Later, in French and English, idiot became increasingly used to designate the mentally retarded, idiocy became grave stupidity. Until, in the 19th century, idiot became a class of mental illness and intellectual disability, reserved for those with a profoundly terrible intellect. In Edouard Séguin’s Idiocy: And Its Treatment By the Physiological Method, published in 1866, we read:
“the idiot moves, feels, understands, wills, but imperfectly; does nothing, thinks of nothing, cares for nothing (extreme cases); he is a minor legally irresponsible; isolated, without associations; a soul shut up in imperfect organs, an innocent.” (Edouard Séguin, Idiocy: And Its Treatment By the Physiological Method, 22)
I find this definition of the idiot interesting, for it carries a lot of the original idiōtēs in it. Séguin describes the idiot as being “isolated, without associations; a soul shut up in imperfect organs.” All the meaning of idiōtēs, as singular, private, etc., is retained here. The question arises; is it because one is different, unique, because one is idiōtēs, that one is an idiot. Or is one idiōtēs because one is imperfect, because one is an idiot. Does the being without associations, make one an idiot. Or is it because one is an idiot, that one is without associations. Is one mentally retarded, because one thinks like an idiōtēs in the Greek sense? Or does one think like an idiōtēs, because one is mentally retarded? This is the question.
IV. What is called idiot?
Nowadays, ‘idiot’, is rarely used as a psychiatric category. In fact, it almost seems to have no definite meaning, being used for everyone and everything we don’t like. But still, when we call someone an idiot, we often still convey the original sense of ‘private person’, perhaps without us even noticing. What do we mean when we call someone an idiot? We typically mean something like, “you didn’t know this? you idiot!”, it is because one doesn’t know something that is deemed as evident or supposed to be known by everyone, that we call them an idiot. Because one doesn’t share in the knowledge that we deem should be shared by everyone. A knowledge that one needs to have, in order to be a veritable person. Remind yourselves of how idiōtēs was used in the Theaetetus. When we call someone an idiot, do we not mean exactly this? We accuse someone of being an idiot, for being bold enough to think he knows better what is going on with his own body than some trained physician. An idiot, someone who doesn’t recognize hierarchy? In fact, how we use the word ‘idiot’ is much closer to how the Ancient Greeks used it, than to the 19th century idiot. Be it that for us, contrary to the Greeks, ‘idiot’ is never neutral, but always derogatory.
But is it so, that being a private person, not sharing in the doxa of the community, not thinking by way of carried-over knowledge, being an idiōtēs, necessarily makes one an ‘idiot’, in the derogatory sense? Is it not so, that at times, it is precisely thinking in opposition to taken-as-true knowledge, that prevents one from idiocy? Do we not also call ‘idiots’, those who can only think from what they are told, incapable of having a thought of their own? There is nothing we fear more, than spending a lifetime without ever having a single ‘original’ idea. We say idiot, and we mean at once someone who doesn’t share in knowledge, and someone who shares in knowledge to such a degree that he is incapable of creating a thought of his own.
In Plato’s example, he means to say that in judgement concerning one’s health, it is better to trust a trained physician than it is to trust oneself. This is so with all activities that require a degree of specific knowledge: “Nor again, in any question of what will be in tune or out of tune, would the judgment of a teacher of gymnastic be superior to that of a musician.”(Plato, Theaetetus, 178d) But this of course assumes that the physician knows more than oneself, and that the ‘training’ that made the physician into a physician was good, and wasn’t a training into error. That the training was a learning, and not an indoctrination into false knowledge. Also, —because it is simply not relevant to his inquiry— Plato leaves aside the question of intention. It is assumed that the physician cares just as much about one’s health as one does oneself. It is assumed that the physician doesn’t have other motives (profit, reputation to uphold, theory to prove, etc.). But if these conditions do not apply, then is there not a wisdom in the idiōtēs manner of thinking, and an idiocy in the learned way of thinking?
As an example, we could look at 15th century philosopher Nicholas de Cusa’s Idiota de Mente, the subject of which is the virtue encapsulated in the idiōtēs manner of thinking. In de Cusa’s dialogue, a learned philosopher visits Rome, to find the wisest individual in the city to debate philosophy with. The philosopher is roaming the lands, looking for truth. In Rome, a local orator immediately recognizes the philosopher by his pale face, his ankle-length toga, and various other signs signifying he is a learned man. The two men meet, and the philosopher explains his reasons for visiting the city —he is seeking wisdom—, and he asks if the orator can help him with his search. The philosopher expects that the orator will show him around the libraries of the city, and bring him to the philosophers of the city, but instead he is brought to a small subterranean room, where a simply dressed layman is cutting a spoon out of wood. The philosopher is confused, how will this layman be able to bring me knowledge? The layman answers:
“I do not think anyone is more easily brought to reveal his insights than me. Precisely because I admit to be an unschooled idiot, I am not afraid to answer. The learned philosophers and those who have a scientific reputation, are afraid to commit errors and are very cautious in sharing their opinions. But when you ask me a question, I will give you a straight answer.”(Nicholas de Cusa, Idiota de Mente)
Here, de Cusa reappraises the idiot. There is a virtue to the private way of thinking, the way of thinking that tries to explain things by way of its own intellect, and not by way of learned knowledge. For the latter is more easily victim to certain considerations that might get in the way of pursuing truth in an earnest way. The learned philosopher (or physician, or politician, etc.) has a reputation to uphold, and he won’t easily be brought to voice opinions that could harm his reputation. The idiot couldn’t care less. In the search for truth, we can all become victim to motives that diverge from the search for truth, and make us deem other pursuits more important: reputation, finances, etc. No one is free from these demons, that are always lurking to subvert the will to truth. But the learned philosopher is more easily victim to this, than the idiōtēs.
V. Cyclical idiocy
In all, it is a matter of circumstance. If we can be sure that the learned person is honestly seeking for truth. Then it would be idiocy to not deem his opinion important. But if circumstances make it so that it is more likely than not that ulterior motives are driving the learned person, then it would be idiocy to deem his opinion more important than our own.
It can be said that the history of thought is a continual alternating between the two idiocies. At times it is idiocy to think one should think by oneself, at times it is idiocy to not take on the position of an idiōtēs. There are times in which a problem poses itself, a problem so different from all one has seen before, that it cannot be solved by way of what we already know. There is no possible manner of treating it in a learned manner, for this new problem is too different from what we have already learned. It follows, that the only way to treat the problem, is in an idiōtēs manner. Eventually, if this manner of thinking serves useful for offering a solution, this manner of thinking gains wider and wider recognition. It becomes adopted by more and more people, and it ceases being idiōtēs, as it is now common and shared. What were once the radically peculiar thoughts of an idiot, are now the commonly accepted opinions of a community. Eventually these opinions become dogmatic, they become sedimented and stale, and fail to offer an explanation when a new problem emerges once again. The more these opinions become sedimented, the more ulterior motives attach to these opinions, motives that make it harder to subvert the opinions, even if the search for truth requires the opinion to be subverted. Why subvert a theory one takes to be true, when one still has a couple of years to finish one’s doctorate on this theory? Why critique a certain opinion, when this is the opinion of one’s employer? Why critique a theory, when there is money to be made in taking it as true? The more knowledge becomes dogmatic and held in place by ulterior motives, the more it loses its explanatory power, and the harder it is to snap out of it. Knowledge keeps us from thinking, and thus, a new idiot must arise. Socrates, the idiot who knows nothing, questioning his fellow Athenians. Descartes reacting against scholasticism. Kant reacting against dogmatic rationalism. Schopenhauer or Nietzsche reacting against “university philosophy.” These are the ruptures that carry philosophy forward. Ruptures, in which idiots emerge, to shame the doxa of the community for its idiocy.