In this blog post, we take an in-depth look at whether talent is an innate ability or something that can be cultivated through consistent effort.
Which comes first: talent or effort?
“First, you must have talent. Then comes training.” These are the words of Ernest Miller Hemingway. Whenever we face a difficult challenge, we’ve all probably pondered this at least once: “Is it because I’m not trying hard enough? Or do I simply lack talent in this field? Should I be working harder, or am I just lazy? Is talent innate, or is it developed later in life? How much effort does it take to know whether I have talent or not? Is the inability to put in grueling effort proof that I lack talent?“ Countless thoughts on the topic of ”talent and effort” can come flooding in, one after another.
There are many hardworking people, but none of them seem to possess any special aptitude. On the other hand, some people achieve remarkable results without much effort, despite their laziness or perhaps thanks to their innate talent. I, too, wanted to go to graduate school and used to wrestle with these questions, wondering, “Is this just an excuse, or is it reality?”
“It seems like that friend solves problems well even after studying for just 3 hours—or even less—while I have to spend 10 hours. Major courses might be manageable, but as research becomes more in-depth, won’t this gap widen? If so, wouldn’t I have to devote myself entirely to studying just to reach a level comparable to global competitors?”
Does talent truly exist? If it does, is it so powerful that it cannot be overcome through effort? Let’s briefly examine how this debate has unfolded among existing researchers. Regarding the classic debate over whether talent is genetic or environmental, Thomas Bouchard, a professor of psychology at the University of Minnesota, boldly declared, “I’m willing to bet that exceptional talent necessarily involves a strong genetic component.” On the other hand, Ericsson, born in Sweden in 1947 and active in the United States, is a leading proponent of the environmental theory. He argues, “The debate over whether it is genetic predisposition or environment stems from differences among various people. However, we cannot say that these differences originate from genetic predisposition, and even if such predispositions exist, they have not yet been confirmed.” From Professor Ericsson’s perspective, what is more important than innate talent is diligent practice and the internal motivation to achieve one’s goals. This perspective seems to align with the common advice that “effort is a talent.”
The debate between proponents of genetic predisposition and those of environmental effort shows no signs of ending. Ultimately, some conclude that there is no definitive evidence to support the theory of innate talent, while others assert that “even if such evidence existed, it would be impossible to prove.” After examining this discourse, I came to feel that debating whether it is “nature or nurture” may be a meaningless argument. However, it is worth noting that an increasing number of experts are rejecting the view that intellectual talent is innate.
The Invisible Treasure, Talent
While writing this blog post, a fable came to mind. It is La Fontaine’s fable titled “The Invisible Treasure.” The story goes like this: A farmer, sensing his impending death, told his lazy sons, “Even after I die, never sell our land. I don’t know the exact location, but a tremendous treasure is buried there.” After their father died, the sons dug up the land thoroughly in search of the treasure. But there was no treasure to be found.
In fact, there had never been any treasure to begin with. But because they had dug so deeply into the ground, that year’s harvest was bountiful, and thanks to that, the sons became very wealthy. This fable shows how imagination can turn into reality. If the three sons hadn’t imagined the treasure, the land their father left behind would have remained barren. If we didn’t expect ourselves to have talent, would we have put in endless effort? I suspect that holding even a sliver of hope for a desired goal is precisely what constitutes the illusion of “talent.”
It is difficult to judge whether one has talent or not at the very beginning. Even those who have experienced failure or success cannot be certain whether it was due to relentless effort or innate talent. A scene from an American animated film I saw as a child comes to mind. It’s a scene where a character runs across a cliff into thin air. For a while, he keeps walking, unaware that his feet are floating in mid-air, until he finally looks down and realizes his feet are suspended in the void. Then he immediately falls. I think we are all protagonists in this situation. We are walking in mid-air, striving for achievement—whether we expect to have talent or believe we lack it. And we are trapped between these two states: the harrowing state of realizing the insurmountable wall of talent that effort cannot overcome, and the state of falling.
At this point, should we grab the character walking in mid-air and let them fall? Or should we awaken the ignorance of the person who is striving without realizing they lack talent? To this, I want to answer, “Why should we?” A person risking their life in ignorance may seem ridiculous, but in some ways, they might be the wiser one. This person continues to think and strive even while walking down the wrong path. They are undoubtedly several steps ahead of someone who has realized they lack talent and given up on everything. In fact, I believe it is more tragic to abandon even the knowledge gained from past efforts after realizing one’s lack of talent.
Our lives are always filled with tension. People believe the ground they stand on is firmly compacted by reason, yet they challenge and speak of things that are futile and cannot be overcome by effort. Just like an aerialist who trusts a safety net, or a cartoon character walking on thin air. The reason those who challenge and strive can remain suspended in midair without falling is that gravity temporarily ceases to act. Who has the right to pull down someone moving toward their dreams in a place where gravity does not act? Paradoxically, it is precisely this “illusory talent” that drives those without talent to strive even harder. As the inscription on the Amsterdam stone reads, “Better to fail than to despair,” rather than despairing over a lack of talent, why not try striving in the name of “talent”—even if it is merely an illusion? I believe that the wings of this invisible talent will free us, as we strive, from the laws of gravity.
