We think we know what “educated” means: a degree, a certain accent, the right school’s monogram. But beneath this familiar definition lies a far more complex story. One that is shaped by privilege, society and prejudice. It makes us rethink how we define intelligence. Who really deserves this label, and whether we have been looking in the right places?
In Pakistan, people often treat the word “educated” as a badge of superiority, a marker of intellect and success. But what does it truly mean to be educated? Traditionally, society defines it as someone formally taught or trained, usually through schooling.
Yet, the way we use it leans far less on learning and much more on privilege. The right schools, fluent English with a well-practised accent, and a degree to seal the deal. Intelligence, meanwhile, is the capacity to learn, adapt, reason, and solve problems. So why do we keep equating intelligence only with those who have formal education?
Education today carries the weight of social capital, class structure, and costly schooling. The value placed on what you learn often depends less on the knowledge itself and more on where you acquired it.
A degree from a private university is instantly more respectable than one from a government institution. And an overseas qualification will always be more valuable, regardless of the subject or depth.
Meanwhile, those who cannot afford such opportunities are boxed into the “less educated” category. Even if their tangible expertise and versatility surpass those with credentials. This is not just classism; it is intellectual gatekeeping, tying intelligence to expensive certificates instead of real ability.
Noam Chomsky, one of the most influential thinkers of our time. Challenges the idea that education is about filling your head with facts. True education, he argues, in its truest form, cannot be reduced to the memorisation of facts.
It is the slow, deliberate work of learning to think for oneself. To question what is presented, and to be curious. Real knowledge lies not in the weight of what we store in our minds. But in our ability to search, ask, and see differently. A degree or a head filled with information may impress on paper, yet without the capacity to think critically, question and create. It is just the frame without the picture.
Think of the mind as a kitchen. Knowledge is the stock of ingredients you collect over time, herbs, spices, vegetables, and even recipes. But real skill lies in knowing how to use them: balancing flavours, modifying when something is missing, and creating something new when needed.
By this analogy, a degree might mean your pantry is full of expensive ingredients. But it does not guarantee you can cook a satisfying meal. Someone with fewer resources might still create something far better because they learned to adjust, experiment, and make the most of what they have.
Mark Tilbury, a self-made millionaire, questions the faith we place in traditional schooling as a direct route to success. He points out how formal education often overloads students with facts and formulae that rarely translate to real life.
For Tilbury, grades and diplomas don’t guarantee wealth or independence; what truly matters is the ability to create value in the real world. He urges taking ownership of your own learning, seeking mentors, exploring online resources, and building practical skills that lead to freedom and fulfilment. Success, he reminds us, comes not from certificates but from the willingness to learn and grow beyond the classroom walls.
In our conversations, people often use “uneducated” as a dismissal, placing others beneath them. It becomes an insult, as if lacking a degree also means lacking intellect or value. This reflects the process of othering, a social phenomenon where one group defines itself by marking another as different, inferior, or outside the accepted norm.
Othering creates a divide, where those labelled “uneducated” become the “other,” seen as lacking not just formal education but also worth and legitimacy. It is a way to reinforce our own sense of superiority by excluding those who do not fit the narrow standards society sets.
In reality, these individuals missed the chance to sit in classrooms, yet they notice what others overlook, repair what others discard, and build from almost nothing. Their decisions and wisdom come from years of lived experience rather than textbooks or diplomas.
The label may diminish them in society’s eyes, but the truth is they hold forms of understanding that our limited definitions will never fully recognise.
Ironically, many degree-holders fail to show the qualities education should nurture: independent thought, openness to new ideas, and the ability to adapt. This is because the current system rewards conformity over curiosity. It is designed to produce robots for our society.
Chomsky argues that modern schooling reflects industrial-era needs. It trains students to follow instructions, memorise content, and excel at standardised assessments. Schools treat the ability to question, create, and innovate as secondary, if not disruptive.
Families pour their savings into schooling without asking whether students are learning anything lasting. We equate price with quality, certificates with ability. Exams, our favourite proof of success, measure little beyond how well a person can memorise under pressure. And so we create graduates skilled at chasing grades, offering what the same dozen graduates offered last year.
Bridging the divide between the so-called “educated” and “uneducated” in Pakistan begins with rethinking the definition of intelligence and the purpose of education. The worth of skills gained outside schools and universities deserves recognition.
Self-taught expertise deserves honour, and we should reward curiosity and adaptability over rote recall. Prejudices need challenging; the instinct to rank an English-speaking graduate above a craftsman, or a foreign-trained professional above a local graduate. Such assumptions narrow the view and waste the depth of talent available.
This divide comes from privilege, not ability. Learning extends beyond classrooms, and knowledge belongs to more than those with degrees. If we wish to see our society flourish, then education should be a means to nurture potential in all its forms, not just a badge for the fortunate. Until then, the word will remain a compliment for the privileged, while overlooking those whose intellect runs just as deep.
