Lately I’ve been wondering if I’m getting dumber.
I haven’t taken a single math class since I started college and I can barely do basic trigonometry without referring to “Soh Cah Toa.” Yet just over a year ago, I could integrate complex trig functions almost robotically. I could expand a Taylor series like it was second nature. Facts that I knew better than my locker combination in high school are completely lost to me now.
I think the reason I’m so disturbed by my recent decline in mathematical skills is that subconsciously I’ve been holding on to a couple of deeply rooted beliefs.
First, the belief that some knowledge is more valuable than other knowledge. I couldn’t tell you anything about major historical events on which I once wrote 1,000-word papers. The most basic rules of French grammar escape me, although once upon a time, I was practically fluent. And I am downright clueless about most forms of art and music. But for some reason, these don’t bother me as much.
For a long time, I equated “smarter” with “better at math and science.” That’s what school, and society, told me it was. Because I liked those subjects, and I was good at them, I agreed. I was reassured that the knowledge I valued was also valued by others.
Tell someone you study “astrophysics” or “neuroscience,” and they’ll likely act very impressed. Your field of study is often the first thing others ask about. It’s also the first thing they judge you on. There is this inescapable hierarchy of disciplines and their levels of respectability instilled in our culture. Those in physics, math and other fields that rely heavily on computational work are considered among the ranks of elite geniuses. The more mathematical, abstract, and theoretical your work is--the less sense it makes to other people--the better. Next come the physical and life sciences, then the social sciences, and lastly, the humanities.
But language or communications degrees are more than just invitations for snarky comments. Each discipline tries to understand the world in a unique way. Each looks at a different aspect of the world--from quarks to cultural patterns--and explores it from a unique perspective. Each discipline has a set of skills that others do not, and as fields become more and more specialized, so do these skill sets. So why do we deem some fields “smarter” than others? And furthermore, why do we consider these fields to be more valuable?
Which brings me to the second belief I held for too long--that intelligence somehow makes you a better person, that it warrants respect and success. I've given far more importance to intelligence than it deserves.
Being “smart” is just that. Smart. It’s like being pretty or funny. Some are, some aren’t and some work until they get there. College is the first educational experience I’ve had where the goal is not to make students as smart as possible in as many subjects as possible. Sure, we have a few requirements intended to make us more academically well-rounded, but for the most part, we take the classes we want to take. Instead of honing general knowledge, our education now focuses on specialization. Instead of learning about many things, we’re learning how to do the things that will matter to us. And that, I think, is far more critical.
Success is not about being smart, it is about being skilled. You earn respect by being really, really good at something.
The goal of any career is to achieve a level of expertise in what you do. This comes in a variety of forms. You hone specific skills by solving certain types of problems over and over again. Some people might call this “intelligence,” but that may be a narrow perspective. It’s practice. Practicing a way of thinking makes you good at it, just like physically repeating tasks and procedures does.
With that in mind, the knowledge I am gaining, and will continue to gain, far outweighs the knowledge I have lost. I feel more competent and confident now, taking classes specifically tailored towards my interests and applying that knowledge, than I ever did in high school, when I just knew bits and pieces about many different subjects.
If thousands of years of human introspection and scientific research haven’t been able to fully explain intelligence, maybe we shouldn’t so easily define it either. It really doesn’t matter how “smart” your interests sound, or, for that matter, how “smart” you are.
Just do what you’re passionate about, and do it well enough to make it matter.
Pallavi Shankar is a Trinity sophomore. Her column runs every other Friday.
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