VIRALHow Being Intelligent Can Be More Isolating Than It Is Rewarding

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Throughout our lives, our parents encourage us to study diligently, complete our assignments, excel in examinations, gain admission to reputable colleges, and ultimately secure rewarding employment. However, can a life devoted solely to academic pursuits truly be fulfilling?

John Stuart Mill, a renowned advocate of utilitarianism, once stated, “It is better to be a human being dissatisfied than a pig satisfied; better to be Socrates dissatisfied than a fool satisfied.” In a recent article for BBC Future titled “The Surprising Downsides Of Being Clever,” David Robson begins with a similar sentiment, questioning, “If ignorance is bliss, does a high IQ equal misery?”

Robson references the esteemed author Ernest Hemingway, who remarked, “Happiness in intelligent people is the rarest thing I know.” This perspective may hold some truth.

Robson observes, “At best, a great intellect makes no difference to your life satisfaction; at worst, it can actually mean you are less fulfilled.” The moral dilemmas that often burden political and diplomatic decision-making can weigh heavily on the minds of those deemed “smarter.”

While I acknowledge that this may come across as pretentious, I am currently in the process of writing a book that explores various issues within American society. As someone who identifies as a perfectionist, I resonate with the insights of Alexander Penney from MacEwan University in Canada, who notes, “It’s not that their worries were more profound, but they are just worrying more often about more things. If something negative happened, they thought about it more.”

Building on Robson’s argument, another source of dissatisfaction for “smarter” individuals can be found in their social interactions. Last semester, I experienced what it meant to be considered “smart.” I managed an eight-course, 24-credit hour workload and, despite the challenges, achieved a place on the dean’s list.

I can confidently assert that being labeled as “smart” often results in making zero friends.
Driven by a strong desire to graduate a semester early—an ambition I ultimately did not fulfill—I dedicated myself to studying every night, inadvertently distancing myself from my former friends.

Consequently, my friends began to drift away, assuming that I simply preferred not to spend time with them.

While this assumption was inaccurate, one could argue that my academic focus interfered with my social life. I found myself with little time to socialize, enjoy drinks, watch Netflix, or participate in the various activities typical of college students.

But how do we truly define “intelligence”?

There are two primary perspectives to consider:

Firstly, there is the conventional view of intelligence, which is often equated with academic success.

Secondly, there exists a less traditional interpretation of intelligence, one that I, along with many other writers, am inclined to embrace: eloquence.

The Merriam-Webster dictionary defines eloquence as “the ability to speak or write well and in an effective way,” and I believe it is an integral aspect of intelligence.

One might be the most brilliant physicist in history, yet if they cannot effectively communicate their discoveries and research, their brilliance may go unrecognized.

Conversely, it is also possible to be an adept communicator without possessing intellectually stimulating content to convey.

As you may have gathered, I take pleasure in expressing myself through writing and speaking in a somewhat elevated style. This is not to suggest that I consider myself particularly insightful.

In this era of online criticism, I am bound by unspoken norms that discourage any form of self-aggrandizement.

And that is perfectly acceptable; I enjoy the challenge of articulating complex ideas using sophisticated and carefully selected language when appropriate.

As a result, I often encounter a degree of disdain in my courses at Marquette University.
My classmates tend to assume, perhaps out of laziness, that individuals who utilize elaborate or “fancy” vocabulary are arrogant. I have observed this through their judgmental glances directed at me while I speak in class, their infrequent engagement with me during or after lessons, and their tendency to overlook or directly challenge my contributions.

This perception is compounded by the feeling that my peers often disengage when I speak, sometimes even conversing amongst themselves while I pose what may be perceived as an overly complex question.

While it is true that stereotyping can serve as a simplistic method for individuals to navigate their surroundings, such generalizations do not always hold true.

I take pride in my manner of communication, driven by my passion for language and expression, and no amount of disdain from my classmates can diminish that enthusiasm.

Moreover, expressing the truth can jeopardize one’s reputation. In a media ethics course I attended last semester, a group of students presented on the merits of America.

Although I could have easily pretended to share their patriotic sentiments, I chose to be candid when small groups were asked to share their perspectives on various topics.

While I cannot recall the precise question posed, I expressed the view that America is not, in fact, the greatest country in the world. While I could provide numerous facts, statistics, informed opinions, and evidence to support my stance, it is often unpopular to voice such truths.

Furthermore, striving for a higher moral standard—whether it pertains to justice, truth, or other ideals—is not a simple endeavor.

Ultimately, possessing intelligence is not necessarily glamorous. Being well-informed obligates one to convey truths to various individuals, whether it involves informing a relative about the safety of GMO foods, advising a roommate on grammatical accuracy, reminding a friend to wear a seatbelt, or addressing a superior on their shortcomings.

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