“Every word uttered evokes the idea of its opposite,” said Goethe. This is true because no single statement can summarize the totality of a person, object, idea or event.

For instance, if I say, “President Obama is a great public speaker,” my listener might be thinking, “Yeah, but…” and then come out with, “He says ‘er’ and ‘uhm’ too much in interviews.”

At that point, I am stuck with rephrasing my original assertion, because I was talking about my impression of the President speaking at formal occasions.

I would have done better to say, “The President is a great public speaker on formal occasions, although he ‘ers’ and ‘uhms’ too much in interviews.”

If I’d said that, then I would have been able to talk about the President’s accomplishments as a platform speaker without having to defend my incomplete assertion.

Furthermore, I would have demonstrated that I had thought about the pros and cons of the President’s speaking style, and would therefore have earned more credibility with my listeners.

It pays to say what you have to say, and also say what you’re not saying.

If a Susan Boyle look-alike stood in front of the Board Rooms that I’m familiar with, she would have been exposed to the same ridicule and condescension she experienced at her televised audition which I just saw on You Tube.

It would have been politely concealed, but the corporate elite occupying the seats around the table would have fidgeted on their leather cushions.

The video made me cry, especially when the judges finally gave voice to what I was feeling, although I thought the complete version on You Tube was incredibly cynical and manipulative. (I’ve linked to it, above.)

It made me cry because Ms. Boyle seemed to take it in stride that everyone spoke to her as though she were the village idiot.

Why is it that a middle-aged woman without a figure or a chic wardrobe is an object of ridicule?

In this youth-obsessed, status craving, competitive world, she took the stage with no apparent ammunition, until she opened her mouth. And suddenly we learned she had nerves of steel, talent, and a depth of humanity that made her seem more powerful than all the glitzy show-offs, and we all felt like idiots.

Which means we’re not really idiots, because when we see or hear something profoundly beautiful, we acknowledge it, and shake our heads at our own folly.

“Deep down, we’re all shallow,” said Oscar Wilde. I have to disagree.

I’d say we’re shallow until we witness something deep, like Susan Boyle’s talent, and then we are moved out of our shallowness, and into appreciation.