October 5, 2011
Lessons of Logic–p2: Talent is Overrated
Previously I posted about how everything I ever needed to know in life, I learned from logic puzzles. A few readers commented on how I had only written about one thing; if I wanted to compete with Robert Fulghum, I needed more material. So I’ve started this new series to catalog my favorite lessons from logic puzzles. This episode: Talent is Overrated.
In the years I’ve spent teaching logic, two basic groups emerge, which I’ll call “Tortoises” and “Hares.”
When the subject of logic puzzles comes up, Hares jump in headfirst, and do quite well. By the time the instructor is finished guiding the Tortoises through the first puzzle, some Hares are starting on the fifth. After two or three puzzles with the instructor’s help, Tortoises try in on their own, with mediocre results. With practice, they improve.
It’s apparent that Hares are “talented” at logic puzzles. But what does that really mean? Do their original sprints continue to bear them forward as the classes progress? Usually not. Sometimes within minutes, Hares run into road blocks that force them to break the rules down step-by-step, just like the Tortoises. As each participant finds his or her own level of challenge, everyone becomes a Tortoise…and that’s when the real learning begins. Each individual must face his or her own cocktail of assumptions, conclusion-jumping, poor attention and distraction. Those who raced in the beginning are no more or less equipped to deal with this than anyone else. Whatever talent they had was only useful in getting them to the real puzzle, the puzzle of character.
Character? Are logic puzzles really about character? In the long run, I think they are. When someone with talent hides their mistakes so they can keep the label of being “smart,” that’s a character issue. When someone must be humble enough to learn from a mistake, that’s a character issue. When someone puts time and effort into self-improvement, that’s a character issue. When someone gives up because it’s intimidating, that’s a character issue. Logic puzzles require character. Much like the Aesop fable, I’ve seen Hares dash ahead, teasing the Tortoises, until they suddenly fall silent. Some take a few trembling steps outside the world of talent, learning as they go. They are no longer competing with others, only with themselves. I’ve seen some Tortoises plod along, struggling with every step, until they look up and find they have outpaced the Hares. I’ve seen others give up after the first puzzle, believing that it only confirmed their lack of talent.
Of course, I’m not saying people who reject logic puzzles are lacking character–after all, we all have to make decisions about what types of self improvement we’re ready for. Perhaps some day those people who rejected the opportunity will be ready to try again, just as someday I’ll be ready to jog two miles every morning, like I know I ought to. I just hope that people can see it the same way. After all, no one looks at the habitual jogger and says, “Oh, he was just born healthy.” Yet far too many people look at those who do logic puzzles as being “born smart.” Whatever talents we may be born with, it’s ours now, to waste or cultivate the best we can. And that’s the part that matters.
