"You Must Be Smart at This"

I've been reading a fascinating book called "How We Decide," by a guy named Jonah Lehrer. The book contains many odd and interesting (and useful) tidbits of information relating to psychology, probability, and more. I'd mark it up with lots of underlining and margin notes, only I won't, because it's a library book.

One of the more intriguing stories in the book details an experiment done by a researcher named Carol Dweck. I've read about this study before, but not in such detail as it appears in this book. Here's what Dweck did:

1. She gathered a bunch of fifth graders and had researchers give them some simple nonverbal puzzles .

2. Then she had her researchers offer the children a one-sentence statement of praise--EITHER "You must be smart at this" OR "You must have worked really hard."

3. Then the researchers offered the kids a choice of two followup puzzles.

--Option A: A "harder" puzzle, "but you'll learn a lot just from trying it," or

--Option B: A puzzle that's "about as easy as the one you just tried."

The results? 90% of the "worked really hard" group opted for choice A. Less than 50% of the "must be smart" group did.

Dweck wasn't done. She gave the kids a REALLY hard puzzle. The "must be smart" group worked at it for a little while and got discouraged and frustrated. They gave up pretty quickly, on the whole. The "worked really hard" group--well, they worked really hard. "This is my favorite test," many of them claimed, even some of those who never actually solved it.

And when Dweck told the kids that they could see the work of students who'd done better than them or the work of kids who'd done worse, the "must be smart" kids typically chose to see the work of kids who'd done worse. The "worked really hard" kids, in contrast, tended to look at the work of kids who'd done better than they had. The "must be smart" group, Lehrer sums up, "chose to bolster their self-esteem" by looking at the work of students who hadn't done as well--who weren't as smart. The "worked really hard" group "wanted to understand their mistakes, to learn from their errors, to figure out how to do better."

The reasons for the split, to Dweck, were clear. "When we praise children for their intelligence," she writes, "we tell them that this is the name of the game: Look smart, don't risk making mistakes." The "smart" kids acted in ways that avoided putting their supposed level of intelligence to the test. In particular, they did their best to put themselves in situations where they'd be unlikely to make mistakes. "Mistakes," reports Lehrer, "were seen as signs of failure; perhaps [the children] really weren't smart after all." The "worked really hard" group, on the other hand, acted in ways that tended to reinforce the notion that they really WERE hard workers. The results were telling: they showed more curiosity, enjoyed themselves more, and in the end LEARNED more. Which is, after all, the point of school.

This has implications for all subjects, but perhaps especially for math. People tend to believe that math is something that you either CAN do or you CAN'T: you're "smart" at math or you're not. "I was never any good at math," parents (and teachers!) sometimes tell me. "I just don't have the knack for it....It's like other people have a math brain and I don't." I don't usually hear those kinds of things about social studies or even about reading.

For the record, there are lots of good reasons to reject the notion that some people have a "math brain" and others don't. But EVEN IF IT WERE TRUE, it isn't something I'd ever want to hear, because it simply isn't helpful. Dweck's research strongly suggests that if we changed the question "Which kids are smart when it comes to math?" to "Which kids work hard when it comes to math?", we'd all be better off--that kids who find math a little alarming might develop a more resourceful and positive attitude toward it; that kids who are already quick with numbers but accustomed to coasting might find themselves motivated to delve a little deeper and think a little harder; that kids of all ability and interest levels might be inclined to take more risks, show more persistence, and in the end, like the students in Dweck's study, learn more.

So. Two conclusions (for now, anyway).

One: when we teacher types say, "Mistakes are a natural part of learning," we really MEAN it.

And two: Yes, we know your kids are smart. Of course they're smart; they've got good genes, they've grown up in wonderful homes, they're verbal, they're curious, and they're as bright and funny as all-get-out. But do us (and yourselves, and your children) a favor:

Don't tell them.