Mensa – by Duncan Harley
Seemingly anyone who has shown they have an IQ in the top
2% can submit evidence of this to join Mensa.
I have never joined Mensa. Not that I can’t afford the application
fee – some £26.87 plus VAT or other – it’s just that I can’t make head nor tale
of the admission process.
“Does your child prefer Charles Dickens to Cbeebies, or do
they find school boring and unchallenging? You could have a bright spark on
your hands!”
“There are many
confusing notions about what giftedness is and is not. Indeed, in several
respects, the life experience of the gifted individual seems paradoxical.”
“Mensa hosts a
limited number of group supervised tests at centres around the British
Isles. This package provides you with a rounded assessment of your
capabilities, for a one-off fee of just £24.95.
We also
offer schools the chance to test their pupils aged over 10 and a half.”
Oh really?
Oh really?
Seemingly ‘Mensa is the largest and oldest high IQ society
in the world. It is apparently a non-profit organization open to people who
score at the 98th percentile or higher on a standardized, supervised IQ or
other approved intelligence test.’ I don’t doubt it for a minute, but why boast
about it. I mean, if you’re smart then keep it to yourself for godot’s sake.
Boasting about being in amongst the first two percentile of the population only
leads to trouble.
The likes of Churchill and Stalin and that wigged Trump
probably made the grade. Winston at least could paint as well as Hitler but both
Stalin and the Donald lacked somewhat in the art-department.
But back to Mensa. An article in today’s Times alludes to
the club, for that is what it is. Giles Coren helpfully strips the group to its
core. Alongside an allusion to dimness, he takes issue with the notion that
except for the chosen them, we are all dull and less than in the top percentile
of intelligence. And, he is of course probably correct.
Ever since I failed my eleven-plus, I have superseded those
of my contemporaries who went on to join Mensa. Those silly enough to pay the
admission fee have mainly died, committed suicide or failed to do much in life –
although some did become bankers.
I have to kind of agree with Giles when he concludes that ‘Were
I any brighter than I am, I should feel guilty for having wasted my talents.
But I have learned to love my dimness and to be grateful for what it has
brought me, safe in the knowledge that – of which Mensans are living proof -
that clever people are quite the stupidest of us all.’
As for me? I am quite content to have the mental capacity to
hold the entire contents of a couple of 200-page books in my head while running
on a treadmill and simultaneously multiplying 23 X 12 without the use of a
calculator.
Duncan Harley is author of The A-Z of Curious Aberdeenshire plus the forthcoming title: The Little History of Aberdeenshire - due out in March 2019
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