Intelligence feels like something real, something measurable—but what if it’s just a reflection of our own biases? The way we define intelligence may reveal more about us than the world itself.
And what exactly is intelligence? We assume it’s a real, measurable thing—something a person, animal, or even a machine can possess. But intelligence might not be an objective trait at all. Instead, it could be something we project onto the world, based on what we value and recognize in ourselves.
Consider the way we judge intelligence in nature. We admire the cleverness of border collies, dolphins, and crows while dismissing creatures like shrimp or slime molds. But intelligence, in any practical sense, isn’t what has made most species successful. Grass doesn’t think, yet it thrives across the planet. Viruses have no awareness, yet they’ve reshaped human history. Even within our own species, intelligence—however we define it—isn’t always what drives success.
Despite its fuzzy definition, we still treat intelligence as something critical. We seek it in romantic partners, leaders, and even our pets. We spend billions researching artificial intelligence, hoping to recreate it in machines. And when searching for extraterrestrial life, we assume intelligence is the key indicator of an advanced civilization. But if we struggle to define intelligence even on Earth, why do we expect to recognize it in the cosmos?
The way we measure intelligence often centers on brains—especially big, complex ones like ours. But that assumption doesn’t always hold. Cuttlefish solve problems using neurons in their arms. Monarch butterflies, with brains smaller than a pinhead, navigate continent-spanning migrations. Intelligence, as we define it, isn’t necessarily linked to brain size, structure, or even individual thinking—many intelligent behaviors arise from collectives, whether it’s a swarm of ants or the neurons in our own heads.
If intelligence is so hard to pin down, why do we insist it’s a real thing? Maybe because it flatters us. Humans have built entire civilizations on intelligence-based strategies—tool-making, language, problem-solving. But even for us, intelligence didn’t emerge as a single package. It evolved over millions of years as a mix of abilities—learning, communication, planning—that happened to serve our survival. We’re intelligent because we decided intelligence matters.
Ultimately, intelligence exists because we say it does. It’s not a single trait but a shifting idea—a reflection of what we value at any given time. And if we’re still struggling to define it, maybe that’s because intelligence, like beauty, has always been in the eye of the beholder.
Read the article at aeon.co