We Should Stop Calling People “Smart”
No one smart actually exists.
Our historic thinkers, wealthy businessmen, and world leaders have often been described as “smart.” Einstein has been described as “smart” for his discovery of the theory of relativity. Aristotle has been labeled “smart” for his contributions to philosophy and politics. Warren Buffet has been deemed “smart” for his notable investing ability. The word “smart” is constantly thrown around to describe those who are outstanding in a certain discipline, yet the word itself encompasses much more than intelligence in one field. Merriam-Webster defines smart as “having or showing a high degree of mental ability” — what if a person has this outstanding mental ability in the field of chemistry, yet lacks emotional intelligence? Should he still be described as smart? Does the word “smart” truly represent his identity, or would “scientifically intelligent” be a more accurate descriptor? The word “smart” is far more ambiguous than we think. Hence, we should no longer use the word “smart” to describe someone — throw the word away.
I was in my sophomore year of high school, acing every assignment I took in English class. For each essay, grammar quiz, and comprehension assessment, I would receive scores higher than those in my class, winning me the label “smart” in that class. Of course, I was proud — who wouldn’t want to be called smart? In fact, I was known as the “smart kid” in that class. Then came chemistry: here I was, an extremely average student, always lost in atomic structures and photoelectron spectroscopy. I wasn’t performing poorly, yet I wasn’t the brilliant student I was in my English class the period before. Hence, I was never referred to as “smart” in that class — did this mean I wasn’t smart? Was I still smart? After all, my identity hadn’t changed; I was the exact same person. I wasn’t altering my persona to fit in with this dramaturgist society (ignore the pretentious tone), yet I was viewed as two different characters. Perhaps if I was described as “English smart,” my identity would be the same across both classes.
The word “smart” wasn’t applicable everywhere I was, and the same applies to everyone. I’ve yet to come across a person who has been smart in the sciences, languages, math, social studies, technology, finance, and arts all at the same time. If a person is described as “smart,” would that indicate general intelligence, or is specificity required? It’s like describing a person as “good” — what does that even mean? “Smart” is the same as “good,” with its extremely vague, ambiguous definition. We can’t apply “smart” to anyone for that matter, for who has this overall general intelligence? Not even Einstein did. Yet when someone scores well on a test, we call them smart. When someone graduates at the top of their university, we call them smart. Are these people smart, or academically intelligent?
Specificity is important. Have you ever been in English class, writing an essay when your teacher or professor emphasizes the importance of “specificity?” Language requires specificity — it’s the foundation of semantics. John is good. Becky is good. John is attractive. Becky is ethical. The same specificity is necessary with “smart.” John is smart. Becky is smart. John is mathematically intelligent. Becky is smart at music. In the former sentences, our interpretation of the designation “smart” can vary, and each of us tends to determine “smartness” in a different manner. The latter expressions specify what “smart” means, an action we should all take when writing, speaking, and communicating in modern language.
American psychologist Howard Gardner claims there exist multiple types of intelligence, which he discovered through his studies of the savant syndrome — a neurological condition in which a person has a disorder but is exceptional in one area, with abilities far greater than the average person in that field. These multiple types of intelligence include visual/spatial, verbal/linguistic, logical/mathematical, bodily/kinesthetic, musical/rhythmic, interpersonal, intrapersonal, and natural. Often, these savants were exceptional in one of these fields of intelligence but were often unaware of social cues and lacked overall “practical” intelligence. For instance, English savant Daniel Tammet learned to speak the entire Icelandic language in a week and can recite pi to 22,514 digits. However, he lacks “practical” intelligence, or in other words, intelligence that can help a person in everyday life. Tammet has never been able to work a 9 to 5 job and is uncomfortable going to the grocery store due to the high amount of “mental stimulus.” Tammet is deemed a genius due to his mathematical and language intelligence, yet he lacks social and “everyday” intelligence. Does this mean he is no longer smart? Of course not — he’s been deemed a genius. Hence, specifying how he is intelligent is necessary for us to truly understand Tammet’s outstanding cognitive abilities.
Gardner’s fields of intelligence truly emphasize the ambiguity of the term “smart.” Unless someone is excellent in each of these fields, are they actually “smart?” I’ve met thinkers who are exceptional in the logical field of intelligence through their ability to solve multivariable calculus problems faster than anyone I know, yet they lack linguistic intelligence and can’t analyze a piece of literature for the life of them. Does this mean they are “smart” or the exact opposite? If a person is extremely intelligent in one field, yet lacks intelligence in another, does the intelligence “cancel out?”
Smart people don’t exist. Musically smart people exist. Street-smart people exist. I’m here to argue that “smart” must be paired with an adjective or a prepositional phrase. Each time you use “smart,” add an adjective in front. Linguistically smart. Explain what the person is smart at. She is smart at algebra. Don’t refer to a person as merely “smart.”
It may sound like I’m rambling about a minor issue and the use of just one word. However, the tiny alteration to our vocabulary can allow for significant ease in communication and semantics through the removal of ambiguity. Moreover, it establishes a more inclusive society. Rather than only associating “smart” with those who are good at academics, we are allowing those who are exceptional in numerous fields to receive the label “smart.” Creative children who, for their entire life, struggled academically may be deemed as “smart” if described as “artistically smart,” allowing us to ensure that every child is motivated to pursue their passions. Modern society has associated smart with excellence in a few fields, such as academics and technology, which undermines the intelligence of those who don’t excel in these fields but demonstrate remarkable talent in fields such as music and communication. Furthermore, specifying the type of intelligence allows for a more individualistic society. Rather than some people being “smart,” we are all “smart” in our own ways. There is essentially no harm in throwing away only the word “smart,” except for a few extra syllables being spoken.
I’ve been called smart my entire life due to my academic intelligence and problem-solving abilities (I’m not bragging), yet I don’t feel comfortable with my association with that label while my peers intelligent in other fields aren’t given the same recognition. Let’s make this one small change to our vocabulary to ensure that everyone exceptional at something can receive the label “smart” — with specificity, of course.
