Intelligence Assessment

Intelligence Assessment

There is something I used to do routinely that I don’t do anymore: assess other people’s intelligence. As a professor, it’s part of the job—forming opinions about other people’s intellectual abilities. Sometimes it seems like the main part of the job. It comes in many forms: grading, admissions, letters of recommendation, job interviews, promotions, tenure decisions, book reviews, refereeing, replies to critics, question periods, random conversations. I did it all the time; it was part of my daily life. Now I don’t do it anymore. And I feel better for it.  I don’t think it’s good for a person—all that judging, scrutinizing, criticizing. It’s a lot of responsibility and it casts a pall over the proceedings: fear, suspicion, the constant need to impress. It also inevitably makes you think too much about your own intelligence—am I good enough, do people approve of me? Admittedly, I haven’t done much of that in the last thirty years, but as a young man it was hard to avoid. It’s a relief not to have to bother with it anymore. It isn’t that I don’t evaluate people’s minds anymore (you wouldn’t believe what I actually think of people), but it isn’t so morally important—you can make or break people. And it’s not easy—it’s dirty work but some poor sod has to do it. Because intelligence is hard to judge, which is why psychologists have such a hard time with the subject. I’ve seen a lot of bad judgment in my time—and confident bad judgment. It creates a nasty atmosphere. A philosophy department is like a cauldron of insecurity, paranoia, and outright terror. No wonder philosophers are so awful! And yet it is unavoidable. Still, it’s good to be aware of it, so that its excesses can be detected and curbed. Curb your lack of enthusiasm. Don’t be overwhelmed by being underwhelmed. Take it easy, for pity’s sake. I have had to do far more criticizing than I would have liked, and I’m glad to be rid of it. It’s not fun, it’s not healthy. Constant criticism is a downer. It would be so much nicer to have nothing but praise for everyone.

I remember, in particular, job interviews. I had a carefully crafted methodology for them, which perplexed my colleagues. I would ask difficult questions, obnoxious questions, and stupid questions—on purpose. The stupid questions were intended to simulate what the interviewee might encounter from students or know-nothings—to see how they would handle that kind of situation. These questions could be very telling. Obnoxious questions were intended to reveal how the candidate would deal with a common type of objector—would they be fazed and flabbergasted, or calm and cool? Of course, my colleagues thought I was being obnoxious just to derail the candidate, rather than to give him or her the chance to shine. But my difficult questions were the most cunning: how would the candidate react to a telling criticism or a deep problem? Here again, the idea was to give the person a chance to show their real philosophical worth, as opposed to trotting out routine answers. When they struggled, intelligently struggled, that was to their credit; they could see the problem and refused to give a facile answer. My colleagues thought I was trying to nail the person, discredit them, eliminate them. The exact opposite was my intention, and again this kind of exchange often brought out the best (or the worst) in them. It’s not simple, this intelligence assessment lark: bland and routine is not going to cut it.

It takes a lot of intelligence to be an intelligence assessor. It takes experience and practice, self-awareness, sympathy, a readiness to use the scalpel or bludgeon. Nor is it easy to hold up under such assessment—I felt for these people, I really did. I was there myself once upon a time, trembling, dry-mouthed, trying to keep calm. It’s the dirty little secret of academic life, seldom spoken of, frequently felt. I think a workshop on intelligence assessment would not be a bad idea, especially for people new to the job.[1]

[1] The other smutty secret is the horror of grading. Is there anything worse than trying to decide between a B and a B minus? Don’t you just hate to compile a grade sheet? It’s bad enough having to say that someone is just not that bright, but to have to put a number on it! The whole system of grades is a table of torture for all concerned.