Grit: The Power of Passion and Perseverance

eminently
important
difference.”
Of course, Darwin himself was the sort of high achiever Galton was trying to understand. Widely
acknowledged as one of the most influential scientists in history, Darwin was the first to explain
diversity in plant and animal species as a consequence of natural selection. Relatedly, Darwin was an
astute observer, not only of flora and fauna, but also of people. In a sense, his vocation was to
observe slight differences that lead, ultimately, to survival.
So it’s worth pausing to consider Darwin’s opinion on the determinants of achievement—that is,
his belief that zeal and hard work are ultimately more important than intellectual ability.
On the whole, Darwin’s biographers don’t claim he possessed supernatural intelligence. He was
certainly intelligent, but insights didn’t come to him in lightning flashes. He was, in a sense, a
plodder. Darwin’s own autobiography corroborates this view: “I have no great quickness of
apprehension [that] is so remarkable in some clever men,” he admits. “My power to follow a long
and purely abstract train of thought is very limited.” He would not have made a very good
mathematician, he thinks, nor a philosopher, and his memory was subpar, too: “So poor in one sense
is my memory that I have never been able to remember for more than a few days a single date or a
line of poetry.”
Perhaps Darwin was too humble. But he had no problem praising his power of observation and the
assiduousness with which he applied it to understanding the laws of nature: “I think I am superior to
the common run of men in noticing things which easily escape attention, and in observing them
carefully. My industry has been nearly as great as it could have been in the observation and collection
of facts. What is far more important, my love of natural science has been steady and ardent.”
One biographer describes Darwin as someone who kept thinking about the same questions long
after others would move on to different—and no doubt easier—problems:
The normal response to being puzzled about something is to say,“I’ll think about this later,” and
then, in effect, forget about it. With Darwin, one feels that he deliberately did not engage in this
kind of semi-willful forgetting. He kept all the questions alive at the back of his mind, ready to
be retrieved when a relevant bit of data presented itself.
Forty years later, on the other side of the Atlantic, a Harvard psychologist named William James took
up the question of how people differ in their pursuit of goals. Toward the end of his long and
distinguished career, James wrote an essay on the topic for 
Science
(then and now the premier

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academic journal, not just for psychology but for all of the natural and social sciences). It was titled
“The Energies of Men.”
Reflecting on the achievements and failures of close friends and colleagues, and how the quality of
his own efforts varied on his good and bad days, James observed:
Compared with what we ought to be, we are only half awake. Our fires are damped, our drafts
are checked. We are making use of only a small part of our possible mental and physical
resources.
There is a gap, James declared, between potential and its actualization. Without denying that our
talents vary—one might be more musical than athletic or more entrepreneurial than artistic—James
asserted that “the human individual lives usually far within his limits; he possesses powers of various
sorts which he habitually fails to use. He energizes below his maximum, and he behaves below his
optimum.”
“Of course there 
are
limits,” James acknowledged. “The trees don’t grow into the sky.” But these
outer boundaries of where we will, eventually, stop improving are simply irrelevant for the vast
majority of us: “The plain fact remains that men the world over possess amounts of resource, which
only very exceptional individuals push to their extremes of use.”
These words, written in 1907, are as true today as ever. So, why do we place such emphasis on
talent? And why fixate on the extreme limits of what we might do when, in fact, most of us are at the
very beginning of our journey, so far, far away from those outer bounds? And why do we assume that
it is our talent, rather than our effort, that will decide where we end up in the very long run?
For years, several national surveys have asked: Which is more important to success—talent or effort?
Americans are about twice as likely to single out effort. The same is true when you ask Americans
about athletic ability. And when asked, “If you were hiring a new employee, which of the following
qualities would you think is most important?” Americans endorse “being hardworking” nearly five
times as often as they endorse “intelligence.”
The results of these surveys are consistent with questionnaires that psychologist Chia-Jung Tsay
has given to musical experts, who, when asked, reliably endorse effortful training as more important
than natural talent. But when Chia probes attitudes more indirectly, she exposes a bias that tips in
exactly the opposite direction: we love naturals.
In Chia’s experiments, professional musicians learn about two pianists whose biographies are
identical in terms of prior achievements. The subjects listen to a short clip of these individuals
playing piano; unbeknownst to the listeners, a single pianist is, in fact, playing different parts of the
same piece. What varies is that one pianist is described as a “natural” with early evidence of innate
talent. The other is described as a “striver” with early evidence of high motivation and perseverance.
In direct contradiction to their stated beliefs about the importance of effort versus talent, musicians
judge the natural to be more likely to succeed and more hirable.
As a follow-up study, Chia tested whether this same inconsistency would be evident in a very
different domain where hard work and striving are celebrated: entrepreneurship. She recruited
hundreds of adults with varying levels of experience in business and randomly divided them into two
groups. Half of her research subjects read the profile of a “striver” entrepreneur, described as having
achieved success through hard work, effort, and experience. The other half read the profile of a

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“natural” entrepreneur, described as having achieved success through innate ability. All participants
listened to the same audio recording of a business proposal and were told the recording was made by
the specific entrepreneur they’d read about.
As in her study of musicians, Chia found that naturals were rated higher for likelihood of success
and being hirable, and that their business proposals were judged superior in quality. In a related
study, Chia found that when people were forced to choose between backing one of two entrepreneurs
—one identified as a striver, the other a natural—they tended to favor the natural. In fact, the point of
indifference between a striver and a natural was only reached when the striver had four more years of
leadership experience and $40,000 more in start-up capital.
Chia’s research pulls back the curtain on our ambivalence toward talent and effort. What we