Stupidity

 THOUGHT OF THE DAY:     
"Statistics are no substitute for judgment." - Sir Henry Clay
Rationalization?  How about, "Statistics are no substitute for my prejudice."

That's a fair counterpoint, and one that Sir Henry Clay himself might not have entirely rejected.

The original quote can be read in two very different ways:

    Wisely: Statistics tell you what has happened; judgment is needed to decide what it means and what to do next.

    Dangerously: Statistics tell me something I don't like; therefore I shall rely on my "judgment."

History is full of examples of the second. People invoke "common sense," "experience," or "judgment" precisely when the numbers are undermining a belief they are attached to.

A cynical reformulation might be:

    "Statistics are no substitute for my prejudice."

Or:

    "Statistics are no substitute for a firmly held opinion."

Yet the reverse error exists too. Statistics can tell us that a treatment works on average, that a market tends to rise over decades, or that smoking increases risk. They cannot tell us whether this particular patient, this particular stock, or this particular smoker will experience the average outcome.

So perhaps the most balanced version would be:

    "Statistics without judgment are blind; judgment without statistics is often prejudice."

Given your interest in markets, it reminds me of your observation that "the trend is your friend, but don't count on it." The statistics tell you that stocks tend to rise over long periods. Judgment tells you not to bet the farm on any particular Tuesday.

How about trust the facts over your opinion if you are sure of the facts and have no alternative interpretation.

I think that's a good principle, with a couple of important qualifiers.

If you are genuinely sure of the facts, and there is no plausible alternative interpretation, then yes: the facts should take precedence over your opinion. An opinion that survives only by ignoring facts is not much use.

The difficulty is that people often disagree about one of three things:

    What the facts are.

        "The crime rate is rising."

        "No, it isn't."
        Here the dispute is factual.

    What the facts mean.

        Crime is rising.

        Is that because of policing, demographics, economics, reporting practices, or something else?
        Here the dispute is interpretive.

    What should be done about the facts.

        Even if everyone agrees on the facts and their causes, people may disagree on the proper response.
        Here the dispute is about values and priorities.

Where trouble begins is when someone reaches stage 3 but pretends they are still in stage 1. They dislike a conclusion, so they attack the facts rather than openly discussing the values involved.

The phrase "trust the facts" also contains a hidden challenge: certainty is rare. In science, finance, history, and public policy, there is usually some uncertainty lurking in the background. The facts may be strong enough to guide action without being absolutely certain.

That's why I might phrase your principle as:

    Trust the facts over your opinion whenever the facts are well established and your opinion is the only thing standing against them.

Or even more bluntly:

    If reality and your opinion disagree, reality is not the one that needs reconsideration.


Yes, and that is an important caution about language.

You were using "stupidity" as a defined technical term for a particular failure of judgment, not as the everyday insult meaning "a person of low intelligence." If that distinction is not stated, the word invites misunderstanding.

This happens often with words that have both ordinary and specialized uses. A philosopher might talk about "ignorance," "reason," "belief," or "faith" in a very specific sense, while ordinary conversation uses those words more broadly. Without the definition, someone can easily quote the word while ignoring the meaning intended.

Your point about ordinary usage is also important: when speaking publicly, we generally have to use words in their common sense unless we explicitly redefine them. Otherwise we create ambiguity—or worse, we can make ourselves appear to be saying something we are not.

A good example is "theory." In everyday speech, "theory" often means "a guess." In science, it means a highly developed explanatory framework supported by evidence. A scientist saying "evolution is a theory" is not saying "evolution is a speculation."

Similarly, your use of "stupidity" is closer to "failure of intellectual discipline" than "lack of intelligence." But unless you say that, many listeners will hear only the ordinary meaning.

There is also a practical reason to be careful: a specialized definition can be illuminating among people who agree to the terms, but it can become a trap in argument. Someone may respond, "You called people stupid," when what you actually meant was, "This particular behavior—refusing to examine important claims—is a form of stupidity."

So the rule you suggest is a good one: define specialized uses, but otherwise let words carry their ordinary meaning. It is a small discipline of communication that prevents a great deal of unnecessary disagreement.

My mom, in her rants against me, would tell me I was stupid, in spite of the fact that I was an honor student, mainly meaning clumsy.

That is actually a good example of how words often drift from their literal meaning into a person's private usage.

Your mother was probably not using "stupid" in the intellectual sense at all. In many families, especially in moments of frustration, words like stupid, silly, careless, or foolish become general-purpose expressions of disapproval. They may mean "you did something I dislike," "you are not paying attention," or, as you suggest, "you are being clumsy."

The trouble is that the person hearing it—especially a child—does not necessarily hear the intended meaning. A child often hears the global statement: "There is something wrong with me." That is very different from "You knocked something over" or "You made a careless mistake."

Your honor student example shows the mismatch clearly. Academic ability and physical coordination, practical judgment, emotional maturity, and attentiveness are different traits. Someone can be excellent at abstract reasoning and still trip over a curb, forget where they put something, or make a simple mistake. That is not "stupidity" in the ordinary intellectual sense.

It is interesting that this connects back to your earlier distinction. A person can misuse a word because they have not examined what they mean by it. Your mother may have been using "stupid" as an emotional label rather than a careful description. The important question is always: what evidence would support the claim?

"Frank is stupid" is a very broad claim.
"Frank sometimes acts carelessly" is a much more specific and testable claim.

The second might be true in some situations. The first requires a lot more evidence—and, as you point out, the evidence of being an honor student would weigh strongly against it.

I don't think I was any more or less clumsy than any teenager, and thought the same at the time.  That was her illness speaking, although at the time it created the antipathy in me that lead to what I still experience now as a certain coldness.

What you describe is an interesting example of how a word can do damage far beyond its literal meaning.

From what you say, the evidence at the time did not support the label. You were not failing academically or intellectually; you were behaving like an ordinary teenager. A teenager dropping things, forgetting things, or being awkward occasionally is not evidence of stupidity. It is evidence of being a teenager.

Your observation that it was "her illness speaking" is also a significant distinction. It does not necessarily erase the effect it had on you. A person can understand intellectually that someone else's behavior came from their own problems and still carry the emotional consequences of having lived through it.

There is a difference between forgiving an explanation and undoing an experience.

A child is especially vulnerable to repeated negative labels because the parent is not just another person offering an opinion. The parent is one of the main sources from which the child learns: "What kind of person am I?" Even if the adult mind later says, "That assessment was unfair," the emotional memory may not update as quickly.

What you call a certain coldness is also interesting. Sometimes what looks like coldness is not lack of feeling but a protective habit: keeping some distance from a relationship in which closeness once brought hurt or criticism. People can carry forward a response that made sense at one stage of life, even after the original situation has changed.

And there is an irony here connected to our earlier discussion of judgment and facts. You did, in fact, evaluate the claim at the time: "Am I really more clumsy than other teenagers?" You compared it against your experience and rejected it. That was actually a good example of not accepting a claim simply because it came from an authority figure.

The difficult part is that emotional evidence and intellectual evidence do not always move at the same speed. The mind may reach a conclusion long before the feelings catch up.