Staring at a blank canvas is both daunting and inspiring at the same time. I imagine this is how many parents feel when looking at their babies just after birth. Perfectly innocent, malleable, and dependent on your every move.
So I’m puzzled when I see so many parents paint without giving thought to the works they’re creating.
Here’s an early example. Babies acquire language from the sounds they hear and context they perceive. No matter which of the various theories you believe, the way adults speak helps kids learn pronunciation, syntax, and vocabulary.
Why, then, do parents babble back to their babies? Goo goo, ga ga, fawning sounds and exaggerated tones. These hinder, rather than help child development. We learn best when our abilities are stretched constantly, and when we can test many hypotheses rapidly. Babies do this experimentation when babbling, but rely on us to actually spend time interpreting and correcting them (as detailed here).
The babble-back mindset carries on into later stages of growth in a more subtle way. Parents and teachers dumb down their ideas and words, presuming kids won’t be able to understand. And when kids ask questions, it’s much easier to blow them off with a quick answer than to go into detail on a topic, only provoking more questions.
As adults, it’s our responsibility to raise children who love learning, grow constantly, and are never deprived of their potential. Yet we do just that, every time we try to fit kids into our image of what a child should be — innocent and incapable.
Sometimes, this image of our kids can even have long-term psychological effects. When we assign them levels in school, we implicitly assume they can only achieve within their appointed level, breaking that confidence that leads to expanding beyond current abilities.
Worse still, these presumptions can lead to unintentionally destructive value messages. Lisa Bloom noted last week that when adults meet young girls, they default to commenting on how pretty the girls are, outfits, hair, makeup, and the like. She reminds us that, if we always jump to beauty, girls learn that’s the most important thing for them to focus on.
So let this be a reminder: to talk to babies like normal people, to empower kids to reach out and explore beyond their capabilities, to answer their questions, and to be intentional about the values we imply with our choices of words. Just because the canvas is a child doesn’t mean we should finger paint.
The Financial Times came out with a great piece on the limitations of India’s entrepreneurial development (via @eugenialeee). A director quoted mentions that in India, the risk-taking required for right-brain thinking is simply not part of the culture. He says that parents are the ultimate source of this limitation, since they question their children and do not want to allow kids the potential to have to struggle.
I don’t think this is specific to India by any means, though I’m sure those types of parental objections are seen frequently in Indian families. In fact, I’m pretty sure almost every parent has had a similar conversation with their kids around picking a college major or job. You certainly don’t want to see your kids end up unemployed if everything fails. They need a safe fallback, and often the fallback is so good that the risky opportunity never gets tried at all.
So what leads someone to break out of that protective parental risk aversion bubble?
Part of it, I think, is clearly due to some form of ‘comfort’ — it’s very hard to think about entrepreneurship when you have pressing commitments like kids, overdue bills and loans, and so on.
But the other part is self-confidence. When I meet brilliant people who are afraid of failure, it’s because they always think through the worst situtation possible. They engage in affective forecasting, and overestimate how much the negative state they’d feel after a failed venture would bring them down. They think of reputation effects, of wasted time, of not being able to get married and live the suburban dream life.
This ultimately comes down to things you learn as a young child. When you tried to do something new and experimented, and failed or messed something up, what did your parents say to you? Did they scold you and tell you not to take the phone apart again? Or did they help you figure out how to put it back together correctly next time?
That kind of childhood encouragement is what ultimately fosters an entrepreneurial culture.
You’re in fourth grade, writing your first research paper on Greek philosophy, and the teacher has a special announcement. Class will be held in the library today, for a session on citations and bibliographies by the librarian. Everyone knows that these sessions do untold damage to young kids — hours of boredom sitting through the semantics of MLA and the locations of commas and italics.
But something more sinister is also happening, and its echos into adult life are a tasteless, colorless poison. In a knowledge world, the modern form of passing the buck is passing the thought.
It turns out that adults repeat the same tactics they used during school, except for things that actually matter. That’s a dangerous combination.
When we teach kids to respect the authority of prior work, it ends up having a silencing effect on potential disagreement. I learned early on that, if a credible source with an important-sounding name, title, or pedigree simply wrote something down, I need only find and quote it to ‘prove’ a point. Indeed, citations are the ultimate academic commodity — they’re often counted as the only metric other than pages and words that matters to the quality of a paper.
These antics are repeated endlessly through primary school, high school, and college. We spend painstaking effort to include the minimum number and ensure every citation is formatted correctly. Or beware the wrath of your professor.
But when’s the last time you remember a teacher commenting on one of your citations? That you misquoted the author, took a quote out of context, or that the quote was based on shaky evidence?
For me, not once in my academic career. Not. Once.
As a time optimizer, I quickly learned to short-circuit such a flawed metric. A quote is a quote, after all, and no one would check. So lots of citations were taken out of context, or hastily added without actually reading the piece I was quoting.
I know this story isn’t particular to me, and in a school context it’s mostly inconsequential. But what effect does that formative experience have on people later on?
We see this every day, actually. People use outside evidence in everything from casual conversation to business presentations to formal research without completely reading the source. Worse still, many leaders will use an outside source to justify actions, without ever forming an independent opinion on the usefulness of that source’s data.
Jump with me from the classroom to the boardroom. This type of faux logic appears in business arguments constantly. It’s the cancer of consulting. Just pay someone else to do the work, and use their credibility to rationalize whatever the conclusion. The good word has been Written by McKinsey. (Or insert your favorite scapesource). So shut up. Next question, please.
Somehow, training kids in the scientific method but then valuing the citation alone as a stopping point has bred a culture of absolution. Just cite someone smarter than you, and you’re excused from the responsibility to think.
Here’s an idea: let’s discuss the logic behind conclusions instead of the authority of sources. My anti-MLA is a citation like “326 of 1000 surveyed in a randomized, controlled study would buy this product for $10”. By making the evidence explicit, it can lead to questions like “were the participants representative?” or “has that conclusion been repeated in other studies?” This is called traveling down the ladder of inference.
Holding everyone accountable for preparing these answers encourages discussion and engagement, rather than unquestioning belief. This requires a culture that praises people having the courage to be wrong, so we need to value discussion over watertight arguments.
Our responsibility to think independently has been in decline for too long. Once and for all, I declare war on citations.
Here’s a common story from the zoo. We raise an animal, say a lion or a penguin, in captivity from birth. Zookeepers are careful to immerse the lion in a world perfectly constructed to look and feel like the savanna. The penguin lives in his proper Antarctic zone, designed to look like the ices of the tundra. They are both fed, on a regular schedule, and kept happy and healthy. So long as they perform for the zoo’s visitors.
Yet the animals, with endless possibilities at birth, quickly come to know the limits of their potential at the zoo. The savanna zone has a wall. It is constrained freedom, an existence manufactured by outside observers as the image of what a lion ‘should’ grow up in. And so, should that lion be released from captivity later, the freedom would be deafening. Undoubtedly, it would be unable to function without a daily feeding and a bath. That has become its reality, and understanding of the world.
We understand these shortcomings, and continue to raise lions in zoos for the good of the onlookers. But why do we educate our children this way?
Earlier this week, Peter Thiel named his 20 under 20 fellows, who he would pay $100,000 to drop out of college to pursue other interests for two years. In doing so, Thiel raises questions about the value of higher education. If these high-performing kids go on to become extremely successful, it evidences the declining necessity of higher ed for success.
But, as Andrew Kelly points out, these were already the most academically gifted students in the country. They don’t need college, but they also don’t need the Thiel fellowship. They’re already successful in their own right. Thiel’s program proves nothing about college as an institution.
In reading their short biographies, I couldn’t help but reflect on my own experience in public schools for twelve years of my life. One difference is quite clear: I was raised in captivity. Each year had its walled garden of lessons and allowances. I learned in exactly the way that educators had decided I should.
We should know better. Like designing exhibits at a zoo, people are woefully inadequate at circumscribing worlds for others to live in. We systematically underestimate the capability of subjects, be they animals or young people, to care for themselves. And in doing so, we limit their potential.
Worse still, Thiel’s idea strikes a nerve because we’ve been made to feel a certain insecurity about our learning. We think we need rigor, requirements, and standards in order to learn and grow. So we set standards and require demonstrations of skill.
Thankfully, my most formative years in captivity were spent with a back door. Spring 2001 was my first encounter with then-nascent Wikipedia. It was rough, articles were dramatically incomplete, and teachers were afraid of it. And it came with related links. Suddenly the great depths of human knowledge were interconnected and at my fingertips.
A few days ago, my friend Mindy (deservedly a Thiel fellow but probably too modest to apply) asked whether knowledge was too easy for our generation. She focused on the once-prevalent struggle to earn knowledge by finding it. Now that information is so easy to find, she asks, have knowledge and critical thinking become superficial?
I think this question is deeply intertwined with how we educate kids. When your curriculum is on rails, learning is a direct-to-DVD movie. Just read the spoilers, the bullet points, and the SparkNotes, know the destination and your ETA, and you can fall asleep for the rest of the ride — wakefulness is simply not worth the effort. We don’t short-circuit our learning because information is too easy to come by. Instead, we seek out easy information because we know the answers are canned anyway.
Alfie Kohn has done extensive research on the way intrinsic motivation can be undermined by extrinsic incentives, in business settings and at school. When time is precious and you’re evaluated by your knowledge of the occurrences in a book you were forced to read, the bulleted summary is a strictly dominant strategy. Lions in captivity don’t move around much except when there’s a steak involved.
The key to all of this is who selected the knowledge to be imparted. Students, it turns out, are quite capable of choosing their intellectual adventures without coercion. Every one of them, not just the geniuses. I did my fair share of leveraging Wikipedia to avoid wasting my time on coerced learning. But I also took the back door out of my cage when no one was looking. I followed Wikipedia trails, swinging from one link to the next in a forest that has no walls.
I don’t remember much of eighth grade social studies’ cursory treatment of the Constitutional Convention, but I do remember reading the Wikipedia articles on every one of the 27 amendments, which sparked my brief but intense obsession with Constitutional law. I remember secretly reading about string theory while bored of class exercises about the water cycle.
Our technology has categorized and linked the great body of human knowledge. And connectedness breeds discovery, mapping, and synthesis. All we need to do is let go of our insecurities and free children from the world we created to protect them from their own power. Each of the Thiel fellows did this early on, and we assuredly will be celebrating their accomplishments in a few years.
So maybe we could all use a little unschooling. Let go of the carrots and sticks, and stop trying to define what should be known only so as to guarantee it will be forgotten. I think we all remember tiring of the savanna exhibit long ago. Kids don’t need zookeepers, they just need to learn how to hunt.
If sleep forces us to consolidate our memories every day, the act of graduating initiates a more profound sleep. Today I’m confronted with the formidable task of sleeping on four years of academic work. I have two hours to reduce the material I’ve spent 2,184 hours of class time learning into three piles: the backpack (to reread), the binder (to reference), and the basket (to recycle).
But, wait. I didn’t actually spend 2,184 hours of class time on these readings, notes, and lecture slides. Be real, Jesse. I probably skipped over half of the actual class time required to generate all of this paper. So let’s not be too sentimental about it.
The truth is, some entire classes — 42 class-hours plus countless hours of work outside — get thrown straight into the basket pile with no due process or review. So what separates the lessons I’ll carry in my backpack forever from the ones that have already long been thrown into the wastebasket?
Analyzing the mountain of paper is instructive. There’s a strong correlation between the size of the pile and its chance of getting summarily trashed. Often, it turns out, professors have a certain self-consciousness about their classes, and it shows in how much paper they generate. Fifty-page lectures, hundreds of pages of readings, required note-taking, and so on. These forms of coercion amount to a way of saying “I’m important, pay attention to me. Or else.”
Now, I’m no coward with respect to reading. I love information. And a long reading is justified when it’s the sort of pithy text that tickles your consciousness with every turn of the page. So don’t get me wrong. I’m not advocating for ‘dumbing down’ school or reducing academic rigor.
But there’s a big difference between rigor that’s out to teach something and rigor that’s out to prove something.
Ideas that have made it into my backpack — the things that I will forever carry with me into every organization, and evangelize to every person I meet — are deceivingly simple. The Heath brothers would say that such ideas are ‘made to stick‘. Simple, unexpected, concrete, and empowering.
It goes beyond the stickiness of a few ideas, however. The classes worth remembering are often consummately so. There are entire bodies of knowledge I love and repeat constantly in my life. Shoutouts are due… to organizational behavior (MGMT 238 – Adam Grant), emerging economies (LGST 216 – Phil Nichols), and information strategy (OPIM 469 – Lorin Hitt and OPIM 666/210 – Eric Clemons). Their entire classes have made it into the backpack and the binder, and I will remember them for the rest of my life.
What these four professors did was extraordinary, and it ultimately amounts to bravery. A quality that I’d call “courageous distillation“. Looking at an overwhelming trove of knowledge in one’s subject area, and spending significant energy deciding what’s important, distilling it into memorable stories. And more importantly, having the courage to decide that, even if a textbook exists for the subject, most of it is actually not important, and won’t make it into students’ backpacks.
Unfortunately, that type of courage is almost entirely lacking in academic disciplines with texts. Somehow, having something bound with a shiny cover that others in the field use gives one license to lose all creativity. But teaching for actual learning will always be an art, and finding lessons worth remembering is a subtractive process.
Seems to me that the key to all of this is being willing to let go of some ego, and to actually make decisions — to let go of notions that every method and finding in one’s entire field of study deserves regurgitation, and find the messages at the core. So professors, if you’re listening, rewrite the textbooks, create classes that are uniquely your own, and rediscover the essence of what you’re teaching through students’ eyes. And do that over and over, every year. You might even learn something in the process.
These lessons aren’t limited to academia. As I move forward in my life, I need to constantly remind myself that not everything I do is important, and to be courageous enough that I’ll periodically re-evaluate my work and distill it further. I will never be afraid of empowering others to take my life’s work and do more with it than I had dreamed.
I’ll forever thank the nine professors whose class notes made it into the backpack and the binder. Beyond those few, I’m just glad that paper, like memory, is recyclable.