Some necessary background

*Harvard Magazine Cover, September - October, 1990.*
*Caption: “Brown with re research associates Benjamin Gardner, Wolfgang, and Ernie.”*

It’s well over half a century ago—in 1969—since I, a budding psychologist, first became interested in the question: Does the human BRAIN have anything to tell us about the human MIND? With the benefit of hindsight, you might think that was a stupid or ill-considered or unnecessary question. But at the time, the case was actually the opposite—from the behaviorist B. F. Skinner to my own beloved adviser Roger Brown, I received a clear message: We psychologists should leave the study of the brain to those who were interested in rats or, perhaps, in the sense of smell.

At any rate, in that fateful year, I became acquainted with the writings of Norman Geschwind, a behavioral neurologist. I was fascinated by what psychologists might learn

from the study of patients who had suffered a particular form of brain injury—an accident, a stroke, tumor—and in turn had significant impairment or even the loss of a particular cognitive capacity—say, aphasia (language), alexia (reading), amusia (music) , prosopagnosia (facial recognition), and the like. I also learned about the amazing insights that were emerging from the study of individuals whose brains had been surgically split into two halves in an effort to control epilepsy!

Making a life-changing decision, I decided to learn about the human brain, and I asked Dr. Geschwind whether he would be my preceptor. Having received a positive response and a post-doctoral fellowship, I had the opportunity to work at a hospital alongside a ward of brain-damaged patients—the Boston Veterans Administration Hospital (BVAH).

By the middle 1970s, I thought that I had learned enough to share some insights and conclusions with readers. I wrote and published The Shattered Mind, with a tantalizing subtitle: The Person after Brain Damage.

I could have moved on, but I felt that there was more to say on the topic. (In fact, I worked at the BVAH for another 15 years). In particular, I was interested in exploring how knowledge of the brain—and of various forms and sequelae of brain damage—might illuminate the “kinds of minds” that members of our species possess and can elect to develop.

Thanks to the awarding of a major grant to the Harvard Graduate School of Education—one that provided five years of funding for several of us—I was able to undertake a major study. That concentrated research undergirded the book for which I remain best known: Frames of Mind: The Theory of Multiple Intelligences. In that book, based in significant measure on evidence from studies of the effects of brain damage, I contend that human beings have evolved over the millennia to have at least seven different forms of cognition: linguistic, logical-mathematical, musical, spatial, bodily-kinesthetic, interpersonal, and intrapersonal—the so-called “multiple intelligences.” Even though I—along with many others—have pondered the possibility of adding intelligences, in the intervening years, I have confirmed only one additional intelligence: a form that I’ve dubbed “naturalist intelligence.”

From time to time, I spoke of the intelligences as “computational capacities.” As I’ve conceived it, the mind/brain is best thought of as a set of semi-independent and semi-autonomous computational devices. A few individuals—call them omnibus geniuses or “da Vincis”—may be blessed with a set of seven or eight excellent computers. Some unfortunate individuals may have a set of computers that do not work well at all. But most of us constitute a mixed computational bag: some intelligences are strong, others are average, still others do not operate well at all. (To a person persuaded by the validity of “MI theory,” it should come as no surprise that many persons who are a whiz at logic and mathematics seem to be deficient in understanding of other persons… or of themselves.)

One assumption that I was well aware of half a century ago: The intelligences, the computational systems, are not necessarily yoked to a single sensory system. Most of us may rely on our visual system for spatial tasks, but one can be spatially skilled even when one is blind. Most of us use our auditory system for language, but one can be linguistically competent if one is deaf—by signing, learning to read braille, and so on.

The one exception to this pattern seems to be musical intelligence. Certainly, the making and appreciation of music is enhanced—and perhaps enabled—by having adequate hearing. And yet, upon more careful examination, many aspects of music—rhythm, texture, accent—can be appreciated even by individuals who are deaf. By the same token, acute hearing does not in any way predict one’s musical capacity—we all know individuals whose hearing is otherwise fine but who are considered tone-deaf… or at least asked to listen or “mouth lyrics” while participating in a chorus. The 20th century Russian composer Alexander Scriabin was a firm believer in synesthesia—the integral co-operation of various sensory systems. Some of his most valued pieces were composed (and are performed in our time) along with complex visual forms that are carefully intertwined with streams of sound. Even an individual who is totally deaf can appreciate most facets of Scriabin’s music; just as individuals who are blind are able to appreciate sculpture and, with appropriate tutelage, many aspects of drawings, paintings, murals, and the like.

So much for background!

Intelligences vs. sensory systems

At the time that the idea of multiple intelligences was first put forth, I could have made most of these points. And from the beginning, I objected strenuously when individuals—often with the best of motivation or intention—spoke about “visual” intelligence or “visual” learners. These spokespersons confused intelligences with sensory systems. I had always insisted that these hypothesized computational capacities were NOT indissolubly yoked to the eyes, the ears, a sense of touch, or a sense of smell.

But at the time that I was first learning about the cognitive effects of damage to the cortex (and other neural regions), our knowledge of these systems was modest. At most, when someone had a stroke, we could look at a CT scan or at patterns of EEGs, various forms of FMRI, or other more sophisticated brain-observing technologies were yet to be widely available.

Now of course, we have many ways of studying the damaged brain. Indeed, even the brains of individuals who appear to be perfectly well can be studied while these individuals are engaged in a wide range of tasks. These technological advances make it possible both to understand the ways in which the human brain (and its associated sensory systems) ordinarily acquire skills, as well as the ways in which those whose brains (or sensory systems) were abnormal from birth are nonetheless able to navigate the world reasonably well.

Case in point: As it happens, I am visually very impaired: near-sighted, incapable of stereoscopic vision, color-blind, and prosopagnosic (unable to recognize faces)—and yet I have somehow compensated for these handicaps—even passing the color-recognition portion of the test for obtaining a license to drive. And much of my research has been about the arts—including the visual arts.

New ways of thinking about cognition

As one who has continued to ponder these issues, I was pleased to receive an insightful article by cognitive neuroscientist Miriam Hauptman and her colleagues Yun-Fei Liu, and Marina Bedny. These researchers describe the forms of cognition that are nonetheless enabled even when the normal or typical modes of learning and practice are not available to an individual (or, indeed, to groups of individuals). Human-typical functioning depends upon neural systems that have been prepared by many centuries of evolution. But those systems have the capacity termed plasticity—such flexibility enables members of our species to engage in cognitive activities that were invented in recent history and/or to engage in ways that had not been anticipated by evolutionary history.

Consider these examples: Most of us learn language relying on our auditory system. But individuals who are deaf for various reasons readily learn the signed system of their culture—and if such a system does not exist, they may actually develop a usable sign language. Most of us navigate using our visual systems, but individuals who are blind use tools like canes for navigation, braille for reading, and screen readers for searching the internet.

What we are now coming to understand—at the neural level as well as at the experiential level—is that important tasks are not necessarily associated with specific neural substrates. Rather, cortical systems are able to carry out abstract computations that can apply across disparate domains of knowledge and various types of information. As the authors put it: “Neural wetware can acquire different software as a function of experience, that is, that there are no immutable cognitive wirings. Cognitive flexibility and [my emphasis] specialization of cortical circuits co-exist,” (Hauptman, et al., 2025). Or, to choose another example: “social learning” (HG: in my terminology: interpersonal intelligence) depends on multiple neurocognitive systems, each with a different neurobiological substrate, including the so-called mentalizing system, which supports our understanding of the minds and actions of others.”

Were I to stop here, I could claim that each of the so-called intelligences can draw on circuits “prepared” by evolution, while having the option of mobilizing other ones. But the authors also posit the existence of domain-general reasoning abilities that are supported by frontoparietal circuits and prefrontal cortex. These neural structures enable the mastery and use of abstract rules and deductive reasoning—which, as the authors point out, are important for mathematical thinking and computer programming.

Scholars critical of “MI theory” could point to these structures as key to IQ—but in my terminology, these capacities simply constitute logical-mathematical (one form of) intelligence. They are not key to the several other forms of intelligences, ranging from musical to intrapersonal. Absent other developed neural geography, individuals with highly honed computational skills might well qualify as the classical savants but would be unable to perform proficiently in other domains. And of course, to the extent that Large Language Instruments can carry out such forms of computation more proficiently than all members of our species, the importance of such computational capacities for survival and thriving are undermined… while other less classically computational forms of intelligence may come to be more valorized.

Stepping back

As one who became fascinated over half a century ago by the study of the brain, I’m gratified when I have the opportunity to update my knowledge—and, I hope, my understanding—of human cognition and the human mind. I am grateful that the basic intuitions of “MI theory” seem to have withstood the passage of time reasonably well. I am equally gratified that the continued study of the brain—its evolution, its plasticity, its connections—has deepened our understanding of the human mind in its dazzling complexity.

It’s only fair to note that 2025 is not the same as 1969 or 1983. Nowadays, when my colleagues and I study intellect, we look not only at human intelligences, but also at animal intelligences, plant intelligences, and artificial intelligence. (See the blog my colleagues and I wrote on the topic here.)

It’s also important to point out that, in the second quarter of the 21st century, with artificial intelligence evolving so rapidly, the educational landscape will doubtless change in ways that are scarcely imaginable (Read my most recent blogs on this here, here, and here.) It’s up to those of us enmeshed in scholarship to nuance our views and conclusions in the light of new evidence, and it will be task of historians—should any remain!—to point out when we were confused, when we were wrong, when we were on to something, and when we saw further ahead.

Acknowledgements

For their useful comments on an earlier draft of this essay, I thank Mirian Hauptman, Annie Stachura, and Ellen Winner

References

Gardner, H. (1975). The shattered mind: the person after brain damage. Knopf.

Gardner H. (1983). Frames of mind: The theory of multiple intelligences. Basic Books.

Gardner, H. (2026). Introduction from Frames of mind: The theory of multiple intelligences. Basic Books.

Hauptman, M. et al. (2024). Built to adapt: Mechanisms of Cognitive Flexibility in the Human Brain. Annual Review of Developmental Psychology. 6, 133-162.