|
Blog Gã Cua
Đồng - NHỮNG CÔ GIÁO DẠY VĂN KHÔNG BAO GIỜ… ĐỌC
SÁCH!
at 5/12/2012
11:56:00 AM
Tình cờ đọc
bài này, cùng lúc với 1 bài trên tờ Intel
Life
Non cogito,
ergo sum
Tớ đếch nghĩ
vậy là tớ hiện hữu
INTELLIGENCE
THINKING...
can be a bad idea. Ian Leslie explains why
Suy nghĩ... có
khi là 1 ý tưởng bậy
To make good
decisions, you need to be skilled at ignoring information:
Để có quyết
định tốt bạn phải học bí quyết vờ thông tin.
V/v Bài
của
Blog Gã Cua Đồng, GCC đã lèm bèm nhiều lần rồi, và nó liên quan tới cái
học của
VC, với những bài văn mẫu; cái học ngu ngốc bắt học thuộc lòng, viết
dưới
ánh sáng của Đảng, sư phạm học của hận thù...
Để rảnh, GCC
gõ Google Desktop, trình bày thêm.
Bài trên Intel, đúng là thần
sầu.
Rảnh TV sẽ dịch, cống hiến bạn đọc
INTELLIGENCE
THINKING
Non cogito,
ergo sum
Sometimes
thinking is a bad idea. Ian Leslie draws on Dylan, Djokovic and
academic
research to put the case for unthinking
To make good decisions,
you need to be
skilled at ignoring information
IT WAS THE
fifth set of a semi-final at last year's US Open. After four hours of
epic
tennis, Roger Federer needed one more point to see off his young
challenger, Novak
Djokovic. As Federer prepared to serve, the crowd roared in
anticipation. At
the other end, Djokovic nodded, as if in acceptance of his fate.
Federer
served fast and deep to Djokovic's right.
Seconds
later he found himself stranded, uncomprehending, in mid-court.
Djokovic had
returned his serve with a loose-limbed forehand of such lethal
precision that
Federer couldn't get near it. The nonchalance of it thrilled the crowd.
John
McEnroe called it "one of the all-time great shots".
Djokovic won
the game, set, match and tournament. At his press conference, Federer
was a
study in quiet fury. It was tough, he said, to lose because of a "lucky
shot". Some players do that, he continued: "Down 5-2 in the third,
they just start slapping shots ... How can you play a shot like that on
match
point?" Asked the same question, Djokovic smiled. "Yeah, I tend to do
that on match points. It kinda works."
Federer's
inability to win Grand Slams in the last two years hasn't been due to
physical
decline somuch as a
new mental frailty that emerges at crucial moments. In the jargon of
sport, he
has been "choking". This, say the experts, is caused by thinking too
much.
When a footballer misses a penalty or a golfer fluffs a putt, it is
because
they have become self-conscious. By thinking too hard, they lose the
fluid
physical grace required to succeed. Perhaps Federer was so upset
because, deep
down, he recognized that his opponent had tapped into a resource that
he, an
all-time great, is finding harder to reach: unthinking.
Unthinking
is the ability to apply years of learning at the crucial moment by
removing
your thinking self from the equation. Its power is not confined to
sport: actors
and musicians know about it too, and are apt to say that their best
work
happens in a kind of trance. Thinking too much can kill not just
physical performance
but mental inspiration. Bob Dylan, wistfully recalling his youthful
ability to
write songs without even trying, described the making of "Like a
Rolling Stone"
as a "piece of vomit, 20 pages long". It hasn't stopped the song
being voted the best of all time.
In less
dramatic ways the same principle applies to all of us. A fundamental
paradox of
human psychology is that thinking can be bad for us. When we follow our
own
thoughts too closely, we can lose our bearings, as our inner chatter
drowns out
common sense. A study of shopping behavior found that the less
information people
were given about a brand of jam, the better the choice they made. When
offered
details of ingredients, they got befuddled by their options and ended
up choosing
a jam they didn't like.
If a rat is
faced with a puzzle in which food is placed on its left 60% of the time
and on
the right 40% of the time, it will quickly deduce that the left side is
more
rewarding, and head there every time, thus achieving a 60% success
rate. Young
children adopt the same strategy. When Yale undergraduates play the
game, they
try to figure out some underlying pattern, and end up doing worse than
the rat
or the child. We really can be too clever for our own good. By allowing
ourselves to listen to our (better) instincts, we can tap into a kind
of
compressed wisdom. The psychologist Gerd Gigerenzer argues that much of
our behavior
is based on deceptively-sophisticated rules-of-thumb, or
"heuristics". A robot
programmed to chase and catch a ball would need to compute a series of
complex
differential equations to track the ball's trajectory. But baseball
players do
so by instinctively following simple rules: run in the right general
direction,
and adjust your speed to keep a constant angle between eye and ball.
To make good
decisions in a complex world, Gigerenzer says, you have to be skilled
at
ignoring information. He found that a port-folio of stocks picked by
people he interviewed
in the street did better than those chosen by experts. The pedestrians
were
using the "recognition heuristic": they picked companies they'd heard
of, which was a better guide to future success than any analysis of
price-earning
ratios.
Researchers
from Columbia Business School, New York, conducted an experiment in
which
people were asked to predict outcomes across a range of fields, from
politics
to the weather to the winner of "American Idol". They found that those
who placed high trust in their feelings made better predictions than
those who
didn't. The result only applied, however, when the participants had
some prior
knowledge.
This last
point is vital. Unthinking is not the same as
ignorance; you can't unthink if you haven't already thought. Djokovic
was able
to pull off his wonder shot because he had played a thousand variations
on it
in previous matches and practice; Dylan's lyrical outpourings drew on
his
immersion in folk songs, French poetry and American legends. The
unconscious minds
of great artists and sportsmen are like dense rainforests, which send
up spores
of inspiration.
The higher
the stakes, the more overthinking is a problem. Ed Smith, a cricketer
and
author of "Luck", uses the analogy of walking along a kerbstone: easy
enough, but what if there was a hundred-foot drop to the street - every
step
would be a trial. In high-performance fields it's the older and more
successful
performers who are most prone to choke, because expectation is piled
upon them.
An opera singer launching into an aria at La Scala cannot afford to
think how
her technique might be improved. When Federer plays a match point these
days,
he may feel as if he's standing on the cliff edge of his reputation.
Professor
Claude Steele, of Stanford, studies the effects of performance anxiety
on
academic tests. He set a group of students consisting of
African-Americans and
Caucasians a test, telling them it would measure intellectual ability.
The
African-Americans performed worse than the Caucasians. Steele then gave
a
separate group the same test, telling them it was just a preparatory
drill. The
gulf narrowed sharply.
The
"achievement gap" in us education has complex causes, but one may be
that bright African-American students are more likely to feel they are
representing their ethnic group, which leads them to overthink.
How do you
learn to unthink? Dylan believes the creative impulse needs protecting
from
self-analysis:
"As you
get older, you get smarter, and that can hinder you ... You've got to
programme
your brain not to think too much." Flann O'Brien said we should be
"calculatedly stupid" in order to write. The only reliable cure for
overthinking seems to be enjoyment, something that both success and
analysis
can dull. Experienced athletes and artists often complain that they
have lost touch
with what made them love what they do in the first place. Thinking
about it is
a poor substitute.
We live in
age of self-reflection, analyzing every aspect of our work,
micro-commentating
on our own lives online, reading articles urging us to ponder what
makes us
happy. Much of this may be worthwhile, but we also need to put thinking
in its
place. Djokovic's return was both the culmination of his life's effort
and an
expression of careless joy. It kinda worked .•
|
|