A person taking a test or playing a piece of music is executing a program, a deterministic procedure. If your program has a bug, then you’ll get a whole class of problems wrong, consistently. [...] A kid who gets arithmetic questions wrong usually isn’t getting them wrong at random; there’s something missing in their understanding, like not getting the difference between multiplication and addition. Working generically “harder” doesn’t fix bugs (though fixing bugs does require work).
Once you start to think of mistakes as deterministic rather than random, as caused by “bugs” (incorrect understanding or incorrect procedures) rather than random inaccuracy, a curious thing happens.
You stop thinking of people as “stupid.”
Tags like “stupid,” “bad at ____”, “sloppy,” and so on, are ways of saying “You’re performing badly and I don’t know why.” Once you move it to “you’re performing badly because you have the wrong fingerings,” or “you’re performing badly because you don’t understand what a limit is,” it’s no longer a vague personal failing but a causal necessity. Anyone who never understood limits will flunk calculus. It’s not you, it’s the bug.
This also applies to “lazy.” Lazy just means “you’re not meeting your obligations and I don’t know why.” If it turns out that you’ve been missing appointments because you don’t keep a calendar, then you’re not intrinsically “lazy,” you were just executing the wrong procedure. And suddenly you stop wanting to call the person “lazy” when it makes more sense to say they need organizational tools.
”Lazy” and “stupid” and “bad at ____” are terms about the map, not the territory. Once you understand what causes mistakes, those terms are far less informative than actually describing what’s happening.
These days, learning disabilities are far more highly diagnosed than they used to be. And sometimes I hear the complaint about rich parents, “Suddenly if your kid’s getting B’s, you have to believe it’s a learning disability. Nobody can accept that their kid is just plain mediocre. Are there no stupid people left?” And maybe there’s something to the notion that the kid who used to be just “stupid” or “not a great student” is now often labeled “learning disabled.” But I want to complicate that a little bit.
Thing is, I’ve worked with learning disabled kids. There were kids who had trouble reading, kids who had trouble with math, kids with poor fine motor skills, ADD and autistic kids, you name it. And these were mostly pretty mild disabilities. These were the kids who, in decades past, might just have been C students, but whose anxious modern-day parents were sending them to special programs for the learning disabled.
But what we did with them was nothing especially mysterious or medical. We just focused, carefully and non-judgmentally, on improving their areas of weakness. The dyslexics got reading practice. The math-disabled got worksheets and blocks to count. Hyperactive kids were taught to ask themselves “How’s my motor running today?” and be mindful of their own energy levels and behavior. The only difference between us and a “regular” school is that when someone was struggling, we tried to figure out why she was struggling and fix the underlying problem, instead of slapping her a bad report card and leaving it at that.
And I have to wonder: is that “special education” or is it just education? [...]
As a matter of self-improvement, I think it can make sense not to think in terms of “getting better” (“better at piano”, “better at math,” “better at organizing my time”). How are you going to get better until you figure out what’s wrong with what you’re already doing? It’s really more an exploratory process—where is the bug, and what can be done to dislodge it? Dislodging bugs doesn’t look like competition, and sometimes it doesn’t even look like work. Mr. Cohn was gentle and playful—he wasn’t trying to get me to “work harder,” but to relax enough to change the mistaken patterns I’d drilled into myself.
Relevant: sarahconstantin’s Errors, Bugs, and the End of Stupidity