"Smart" is stupid
Do stars’ parents remind them how bright they are? (Photo from NASA’s Hubble Space Telescope, May 1, 1999)
What do we mean when we call someone “smart”?
I have often heard people use the word to reassure someone. “Honey, it’s okay — you’re very smart, even though you didn’t ace the test,” or “You’re just smart in a different way than your brother.”
It’s used reproachfully: “You’re so smart — why are you doing such dumb things?”
It’s also heaped on as the highest praise: “This group of kids is so smart!”
Over the years, many of my students have revealed that they fear looking stupid if they ask a question, or actually being stupid if they can’t understand something.
My students can’t quite come up with a good definition for “smart” and struggle even more to define its antonyms, virtually all of which were once accepted terms for individuals with various types of disabilities. We point out to students that there are people who have brain damage so severe that they will never speak, write, or even use the bathroom on their own. Are they “dumb?” When we ask this question, teens recoil in horror. “Of course not!”
Students can grasp that those with profound intellectual disabilities are lovable human beings with intrinsic value, but they still believe that their own value must be earned by being “smart.”
Even though the word “smart” has tremendous power, it has actually become close to meaningless. It’s not about intelligence or aptitude or even getting good grades. To be “smart” is to be worthy — and to be “not smart” is to be an embarrassment to yourself and your family. If “smart” is what’s important to your parents, then being “smart” is critically necessary. To not be smart — to be dumb, stupid, idiotic, a moron, or any other ableist slur you want to apply to yourself — is to fall off a cliff. To have someone reassure you that you are still smart is to pull you back up to safety.
Some of us have started to realize that reassuring girls that they are “pretty” isn’t an effective way to instill in them a sense of their own value. But “smart” isn’t a good replacement. How can we help boys and girls (and ourselves) to get past equating intelligence with worthiness?
Instead of intelligence, we could focus on character qualities: Generosity, kindness, and so on. But this is still sending the message to children that they need to do or be a certain way to be loved. Labels, even positive ones, will never help us escape the feeling of unworthiness. What we need is love, unconditional, clearly expressed, with no labels or strings attached. We all need to know that we are loved for who we are, exactly as we are, no matter what. When we can feel this love in our bones, the warmth of it like a blazing fire in our innermost self, we’re not afraid of being “not smart.” We’re not afraid of anything.