This chapter, which sounds almost derogatory in nature, challenges the notion that certain Asian cultures are born with a mathematical skill that, on average, no other culture can compete with. While they have an advanced mathematical skill, it is not something they are born with. Gladwell once again solidifies the fact that cultural background and the construct of our family have more influence on us later in life than we choose to consciously admit. We are all truly products of our environment, and are guilty of association down to the most basic of influences.
Rice cultivation is one of the most tedious farming jobs in its industry. It is an extremely detailed process and the slightest miscalculation in irrigation or clay pan solidity can ruin your crop. It is said that rice farmers work harder than any other farmers. Rice farming is also skill-oriented, as compared to tech-oriented farming in Western civilizations. If we use the 10,000 hour rule with a rice farmers 3000 average hours of work per year, then they could become world-class experts in barely over three years. That is about twenty more hours per week than our average here in the states, and is a testament to their work ethic. Being raised in this environment as a child develops a personality that doesn’t recognize it as hard work. It recognizes it as the standard. The same is said when it comes to their study habits. Gladwell observes, “Asian students have a reputation for being in the library long after everyone else has left.” Many take offense to this reputation, but it should only contribute to a greater sense of pride.
The significance of mathematics:
Certain Asian cultures have an early head-start in math compared to their Western counterparts, but it is not due to studying at an earlier age. It is based in the fundamentals of their language. The linguistics of our numerical system is organized in a very clumsy manner, and its structure doesn’t make a lot of sense. The following passage from this chapter could not have been stated any better:
In English, we say fourteen, sixteen, seventeen, eighteen, and nineteen, so one might expect that we would also say oneteen, twoteen, threeteen, and fiveteen. But we don’t. We use a different form: eleven, twelve, thirteen, and fifteen. Similarly, we have forty, and sixty, which sound like the words they are related to (four and six). But we also say fifty and thirty and twenty, which sort of sound like five and three and two, but not really. And, for that matter, for numbers above twenty, we put the “decade” first and the unit number second (twenty-one, twenty-two), whereas for the teens, we do it the other way around (fourteen, seventeen, eighteen). The number system in English is highly irregular. Not so in China, Japan, and Korea. They have a logical counting system. Eleven is ten-one. Twenty is ten-two. Twenty-four is two-tens-four and so on.
The base numbers in these languages are also shorter to say, think, and therefore mentally process. It is no wonder why they are more advanced mathematically. Our system just makes it more difficult on us. Their experience tied with the work ethic of their culture makes them prime candidates to surpass us numerically. Considering the fact they run circles around us in numbers, it kind of makes you wonder how long the Chinese have been manipulating their currency, if in fact the accusation is true.
“Don’t depend on heaven for food, but on your own two hands carrying the load.”