How to Think for Yourself

How to Think for Yourself. An essay by Paul Graham, November 2020.

When being right isn't enough

In some fields, being right isn't enough. A scientist's idea has to be correct and new: nobody publishes what everyone already knows.

Investors too. If everyone makes the same forecast, it's already in the price. The only insight that pays is one others lack.

Founders too: if everyone liked an idea, others would be on it. They need one that sounds bad, but isn't, like airbeds in strangers' homes.

And essayists: an essay that only tells readers what they already believe is a bore.

Two kinds of work

But most work isn't like that. An administrator just has to be right. Nobody else has to be wrong.

The line between them is surprisingly sharp. Graham wishes he'd known it as a kid: it matters when you choose your work.

Independence seems mostly inborn, so a mismatch hurts. An independent mind chafes as a middle manager; a conventional one struggles in research.

Where do you fall?

The catch: people often misjudge where they sit on the line from conventional to independent-minded.

Conventional people sincerely feel they decide everything for themselves. And if their views match their friends' exactly? Pure coincidence.

Schools rank how smart we are for years. But they never measure independence, except to discourage it. So we get no feedback.

There may even be a Dunning-Kruger effect: the most conventional are sure they think for themselves; the truly independent worry they don't.

The company you keep

Can you grow it? Graham thinks so. Nerds use one trick by accident: they barely know the conventions. It's hard to conform without knowing to what.

Company matters. Among conventional people you limit what you say, and then what you think. Among independent ones, surprising talk sparks more ideas.

That's why high school is hard on independent kids: they can't choose their company yet. The lesson: if a place feels like high school, leave.

Startups, and a few allies

Startups mix the two. Founders and early hires are nearly always independent. But conventional people far outnumber them, so growth dilutes the spirit.

One odd result: founders end up speaking more openly with other founders than with their own staff.

You don't need a crowd. One or two independent friends to talk with is enough, and they need you too. Good universities have clumps of them.

Different minds, other eras

Also go wide: meet as many kinds of people as you can. Several peer groups weaken the pull of any one, and you can carry ideas between worlds.

Different means they think differently, not that they look different. Dig, and nearly anyone knows something unusual. Graham asks what, and means it.

History widens it in time: try to see how the world looked to people back then. Two distant viewpoints fix a point better than one.

Is that true?

The broadest defense is skepticism. When you're told something, silently ask: is that true? Don't make them prove it; judge it yourself.

Make it a puzzle. Some accepted ideas will prove wrong; guess which. The prize isn't the flaw, it's the new idea hiding behind it.

Start asking and you'll be surprised how often the answer isn't an instant yes. You'll find more leads than you can follow.

Ideas move in waves

But some influences never arrive as claims; they're implicit. To see them, step back and watch how people pick up ideas.

From far enough away, ideas spread like waves. Clothes make it obvious: a few people wear a shirt, then more, until half the room does.

Ideas have fashions too, and you want no part of them. Not just to own your mind: unfashionable ideas lead somewhere interesting far more often.

Fastidious about truth

Underneath, Graham sees three parts, like muscles: care about truth, resisting being told what to think, and curiosity.

The first is more than avoiding false beliefs. It's care about how much you believe. Most people round off: unlikely turns impossible, probable turns certain.

So they recoil from ideologies, which make you swallow a whole bundle of beliefs at once, like a sandwich of ingredients of unknown age.

Without this care, contrarians trade convention for conspiracy theories, often built to catch them. The good news: wanting this care helps it grow.

Resisting being told what to think

The second part is the most visible, yet often misread as merely negative: not caring what others think. In the most independent, it's a positive force.

It's a delight in ideas that upend what everyone believes. That's why new ideas often make us laugh: novelty and humor share the same surprise.

This part seems the most inborn; it shows up early, in children. You probably can't grow it much, but independent friends help protect it.

Curiosity

The third part, curiosity, may be the most interesting. It's what people feel just before they have a new idea.

In his experience, curiosity and independence go together. Except in small children, who are all curious, maybe because everyone has to learn the rules first.

The independent-minded never stop. Graham calls them “the gluttons of curiosity, who keep eating even after they're full.”

The three work together: the first two clear space in your head, and curiosity fills it. They can even stand in for one another.

Feeding curiosity

Can you grow curiosity? First, avoid what smothers it. Does your work engage it? If the honest answer is not much, maybe change something.

Then seek out topics that grab you, or invent them. And indulge it: unlike most appetites, feeding it makes it grow.

Curiosity is more personal than the other two, so Graham offers it as a compass. Not just do what you love: follow your curiosity.

In short

Some work needs ideas that are right and new. Most only needs them right. Know which you want.

Keep independent company, meet different kinds of minds, and read history.

Silently ask, is that true? And step back from intellectual fashions.

Care about truth, resist being told what to think, and let curiosity be your compass.

The original says it better. Read it: paulgraham.com/think.html