For decades, traditional education operated on a singular metric: academic intelligence. If you could crunch numbers or write essays, you were golden.
However, as researchers and educators expanded our understanding of learning, a new framework emerged: multiple intelligences. Coined by Howard Gardner, this theory identified a spectrum of ways people can be “smart”—linguistic, logical, musical, spatial, kinesthetic, interpersonal, intrapersonal, and naturalistic. Finally, a breakthrough! Kids weren’t failing school; schools were failing kids by defining intelligence too narrowly.
The multiple intelligences framework indeed gave us a richer vocabulary to describe human potential. It recognised the brilliance of the dancer, the compassion of the caregiver, and the creative spark of the artist alongside the logic of the mathematician. It redefined what it meant to learn and excel, particularly for kids whose strengths didn’t fit neatly into a box. In the world of progressive education, this was hailed as revolutionary—and to an extent, it was.
But here’s where it gets tricky. As much as this discovery was meant to liberate, it may be starting to backfire.
Quite simply: shoehorning kids into specific “intelligence types” can feel eerily similar to the one-size-fits-all system we were trying to escape. Labels—no matter how diverse or well-intentioned—are still labels, and they can come with baggage.
Imagine a child who loves climbing trees and exploring the outdoors. Labelled a “naturalist” intelligence type, their education might be adapted to include environmental science or forestry trips. Great, right?
Sure, until this becomes the only way they’re seen.
The same happens with a child who’s a strong communicator—suddenly, their “linguistic intelligence” becomes a tunnel through which every other strength or interest is filtered.
We’ve observed how parents and educators, eager to celebrate a child’s uniqueness, can unintentionally lock them into a new kind of box. “Oh, she’s a musical learner; she just isn’t logical.” Or, “He’s an interpersonal learner; maths won’t ever be his thing.” The nuance of multiple intelligences gets flattened into yet another rigid framework.
Even worse, over-identification with a single intelligence can sometimes limit a child’s growth. If we assume a child is only good at one thing, we may unconsciously stop offering them opportunities to explore other areas. A child who loves painting might be steered exclusively toward art, never given a chance to try coding, carpentry, or sports because, well, “that’s just not their intelligence.” In trying to honour a child’s strengths, we might accidentally discourage curiosity.
The truth is, that learning doesn’t fit neatly into categories. And this, yet again, can become an uncomfortable truth for even the most self-professed liberated learners. Every child draws from multiple intelligences depending on the situation. Much in the way that any of us draw from different traits and characteristics in being people, depending on the situation. A young artist, for instance, isn’t “just” a spatial thinker. They might use mathematical reasoning to calculate proportions in a drawing or interpersonal skills to collaborate on a mural. When we let go of limiting frameworks, we allow kids to surprise us—and themselves—with their versatility. Often, and this is what we attest to time and time again at Imagine If, ways of learning are far more complex and diverse than what we believe.
At Imagine If, we focus on providing a variety of experiences and environments where kids can explore freely. Instead of prescribing them a “type” of intelligence, we observe how they engage in different contexts. Maybe they shine in group discussions and find peace in solitary reading. Maybe their fascination with patterns translates to both music and math. We resist the urge to pin them down, trusting that their abilities will evolve with time and exposure.
The conversation about multiple intelligences has value, no doubt. It’s broadened our understanding of human potential and brought much-needed validation to kids who don’t fit into traditional academic moulds. But we need to tread carefully. In our well-intentioned attempts to celebrate superficial diversity–without nuance and critical thought–we risk creating new categories of exclusion.
So, try this: instead of asking, “What kind of intelligence does this child have?” we asked, “How can we offer this child the most expansive, unlabelled learning experience possible?” This moves the focus from classification to possibility.
Ultimately, education should be less about determining who a child is and more about nurturing who they could become. And often, that isn’t up to us, or other people. Intelligence isn’t a fixed trait or a set of categories; it’s a fluid interplay of curiosity, effort, and opportunity. By letting go of the need to define, we allow kids to experience the fullness of their potential; and encourage them to decide for themselves who they want to be.
Learning is a messy, multifaceted experience. The moment we stop confining intelligence to tidy boxes, we create a world where every child, regardless of their “type,” has room to thrive and shift into the wide world of possibility–the possibility to become anything and anyone beyond our imagination. That’s the kind of education to nurture, and in doing so, remind them of their potential.