When Leonardo da Vinci said that, “simplicity is the ultimate sophistication,” it must have aroused a few guffaws and sneers from the 16th-century intelligentsia.  After all, being sophisticated—that is, possessing true knowledge and higher wisdom and uncommon business acumen is complicated, a matter of understanding those arcane things that ordinary folks cannot.  Surely a genius as gifted as Leonardo would have understood the web of complexity that goes into being sophisticated.  Right?

Well, maybe.  But then again, what did Bernie Madoff’s trading strategies, credit default swaps, and collateralized debt obligations all have in common?  They were “complicated”—in fact, far too complicated for the simple to understand.  They were so incredibly intricate and thorny that anyone who listened to an explanation of what they were would surely have been an idiot if they responded:  “I don’t understand.  Can you explain how they work again?”   It’s too bad we didn’t have more of these idiots to scratch their heads over the strategies that helped shatter the global financial system.

Indeed, for all of the convoluted financial jargon that the economic crisis has spewed forth (What is a “High-Grade Structured Credit Strategies Enhanced Leverage Fund,” anyway?), at the very root of it were some simple, powerful truths.  Housing prices can’t go up forever.  It’s risky to borrow more than you can pay back.  You can’t predict the future.  Regulators are people.  The experts aren’t always right.  Some people are cheaters.  Too much money can make people lazy.  There’s no free lunch.

Interestingly, there’s a similar thread of simplicity throughout the Gospel.  What does Jesus, in delving into complex matters like the philosophy of life, morality, government, business, law, organized religion, and culture-what does He talk about?  Does it come through treatises and jargon preached from on high?  Was it for the specialists and the experts?  No, he spoke through simple stories whose images were clear as water and piercing as a sword, accessible to all but startlingly profound in their simplicity.  He spoke about mustard seeds and yeast, irresponsible sons and forgiving fathers, sleeping guards and opportunistic thieves, an unjust judge and a persistent widow, a lost sheep and a tireless shepherd.  It’s the stuff of children’s fables.

It brings home a point we’d do well to observe in business: that no point is so rigorously complicated that we can’t boil it down to simple truths.  In fact, the origin of the word “simple” is the notion of oneness—of being able to strip an idea down to its essential core, carving away the fluff and feathers that distract from it.  It takes a sort of courageous humility to attack needless complexity and ask things like, “Why are we doing this again?  What do we exactly mean when we say that?  Can you explain the problem to me once more?  Is there a way we can make this clearer?”

It would seem then, that if we take any lesson from the financial disaster of yesteryear on how to better grasp profound ideas, we should remember why Socrates was the wisest in Athens: because he recognized his own ignorance and wasn’t afraid to ask the simple questions.  In other words, we should demand the clarity and simplicity that Jesus himself used in describing the most difficult concepts to comprehend.  Or, more bluntly, we should hope that every meeting has fewer “experts” and more “idiots.”
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Ricky McRoskey writes for a New York-based financial firm.  A 2006 Notre Dame alumnus and graduate of the Columbia School of Journalism, he has written for Business Week, Silicon Alley Insider and the San Diego Daily Transcript. Originally from San Diego, Mr. McRoskey now lives in Norwalk, Connecticut with his wife.