No skill is more valuable and harder to come by than the ability to critically think through problems.
If you can think through things better than others, you’ll have fewer problems and more free time. If you can’t, you’re going to spend a lot of time fixing your mistakes.
Good decisions make the future easier, bad ones make it harder.
But how can we learn to think better?
For part of the answer, we turn to Solitude and Leadership, a lecture given by William Deresiewicz. The entire essay is worth reading (and re-reading), but here is the relevant excerpt:
Learning How To Think
Let’s start with how you don’t learn to think. A study by a team of researchers at Stanford came out a couple of months ago. The investigators wanted to figure out how today’s college students were able to multitask so much more effectively than adults. How do they manage to do it, the researchers asked? The answer, they discovered—and this is by no means what they expected—is that they don’t. The enhanced cognitive abilities the investigators expected to find, the mental faculties that enable people to multitask effectively, were simply not there. In other words, people do not multitask effectively. And here’s the really surprising finding: the more people multitask, the worse they are, not just at other mental abilities, but at multitasking itself.
One thing that made the study different from others is that the researchers didn’t test people’s cognitive functions while they were multitasking. They separated the subject group into high multitaskers and low multitaskers and used a different set of tests to measure the kinds of cognitive abilities involved in multitasking. They found that in every case the high multitaskers scored worse. They were worse at distinguishing between relevant and irrelevant information and ignoring the latter. In other words, they were more distractible. They were worse at what you might call “mental filing”: keeping information in the right conceptual boxes and being able to retrieve it quickly. In other words, their minds were more disorganized. And they were even worse at the very thing that defines multitasking itself: switching between tasks.
Multitasking, in short, is not only not thinking, it impairs your ability to think. Thinking means concentrating on one thing long enough to develop an idea about it. Not learning other people’s ideas, or memorizing a body of information, however much those may sometimes be useful. Developing your own ideas. In short, thinking for yourself. You simply cannot do that in bursts of 20 seconds at a time, constantly interrupted by Facebook messages or Twitter tweets, or fiddling with your iPod, or watching something on YouTube.
I find for myself that my first thought is never my best thought. My first thought is always someone else’s; it’s always what I’ve already heard about the subject, always the conventional wisdom. It’s only by concentrating, sticking to the question, being patient, letting all the parts of my mind come into play, that I arrive at an original idea. By giving my brain a chance to make associations, draw connections, take me by surprise. And often even that idea doesn’t turn out to be very good. I need time to think about it, too, to make mistakes and recognize them, to make false starts and correct them, to outlast my impulses, to defeat my desire to declare the job done and move on to the next thing.
I used to have students who bragged to me about how fast they wrote their papers. I would tell them that the great German novelist Thomas Mann said that a writer is someone for whom writing is more difficult than it is for other people. The best writers write much more slowly than everyone else, and the better they are, the slower they write. James Joyce wrote Ulysses, the greatest novel of the 20th century, at the rate of about a hundred words a day—half the length of the selection I read you earlier from Heart of Darkness—for seven years. T. S. Eliot, one of the greatest poets our country has ever produced, wrote about 150 pages of poetry over the course of his entire 25-year career. That’s half a page a month. So it is with any other form of thought. You do your best thinking by slowing down and concentrating.
The best way to improve your ability to think is to spend large chunks of time thinking. Immersing ourselves in the problem offers insights that can’t be gained otherwise.
One way to force yourself to slow down and think is to write. Good writing requires good thinking.
“If you’re thinking without writing, you only think you’re thinking.”— Leslie Lamport
Clear writing gives poor thinking nowhere to hide. A lack of understanding, which was previously invisible, becomes suddenly visible. You can’t simply take a few minutes here and there, get the gist of the problem, and expect to have clear writing. It doesn’t work that way.
Good writing, like good thinking, takes time.
One heuristic to tell how good someone is at making decisions is how much time they have. The busiest people are often the ones who make the worst decisions. Not only do they have less time to dedicate to thinking about the problem, but they are often busy correcting poor decisions from the past.
Bad decisions accumulate, making your position increasingly worse. You can think of it a bit like playing Tetris. When you’re in a bad position, you need just the right piece to clear the board. When you’re in a good position, it doesn’t matter what comes next.
Good decision-makers understand a simple truth: you can’t make good decisions without good thinking, and good thinking requires time. You can pay the price now or later. The time to get it right is less than the time to correct the mistake.
Good thinking is expensive. Bad thinking costs a fortune. Rather than accept that good thinking requires time, most people try to bargain with reality. Unfortunately, that is not how the world works.
If you want to think better, schedule time to write out your thoughts.