麻豆传媒

As someone whose running shoes rarely leave the closet, I am both in awe of, and perplexed by, my endurance athlete friends. Particularly hard to grasp is that their love of running marathons or cycling up mountains isn鈥檛 in spite of those efforts being so gruelling. They enjoy them precisely for that reason.

Humans, as a species, often think of ourselves as intrinsically lazy, even if scientists prefer terms like 鈥渆ffort averse鈥�. But we know that putting effort in can be deeply rewarding, to the extent that we may choose a more difficult process even if the outcome remains identical. We also seem to value effort after the fact, taking unreasonable pride in a poorly constructed piece of flat-pack furniture, say, because it was a struggle to assemble.

鈥淥n the one hand, effort is costly,鈥� says , a psychologist at the University of Toronto, Canada. 鈥淥n the other hand, it looks like we tend to value those things that we exerted effort for.鈥� In a seminal 2018 paper, he and his colleagues dubbed this apparent conflict the .

Since then, psychologists have been figuring out the origins of the effort paradox and why some of us struggle with tasks that others might find easy. What they are finding is offering fresh insights not only into how you can get off the couch and into your running shoes, but also how you can learn more effectively, better empathise with others and even cultivate a more meaningful life. 鈥淸It seems] that if we can become more effort-willing, we can learn to tolerate the aversiveness of effort,鈥� says Inzlicht.

The law of least effort

For the , the has held that humans, along with other animals, prefer to avoid exertion. Think of a sidewalk that is blocked. Do you take a shortcut around the barriers or follow a signposted detour? Most of us opt for the former. 鈥淲e have very few laws in psychology,鈥� says cognitive psychologist at the University of Regensburg in Germany. 鈥淭hat one is pretty strong.鈥�

Researchers originally thought that our effort avoidance , so we steered clear of hitting a physical limit. Over the tens of millennia when our ancestors relied on hunting and gathering, calorie intake was lower (and less predictable) than it is today. Wasting energy could mean life-ending folly.

But studies in recent decades haven鈥檛 borne this out. 鈥淥ur intuitions weren鈥檛 quite right,鈥� says , a neuroscientist at the University of California, Berkeley, and a co-author of the effort paradox paper.

Rather than feeling like something is effortful because we hit a physical limit, we may reach this point because we . This is a phenomenon that psychologist at the University of Bologna, Italy, has demonstrated numerous times, finding that half-marathoners and footballers if they are mentally fatigued, due to prolonged cognitive exertion, but not physically fatigued, for example.

The resource depletion idea in terms of explaining our , either. While researchers have posited that we avoid mental effort because it uses blood sugar, this has ; other metabolic arguments remain up for debate.

Along with Inzlicht, Shenhav is exploring a different explanation for why we find effort, including mental effort, off-putting: its . 鈥淥ne basic property of effortful tasks is that they lead you to think about what happens if you don鈥檛 engage in effort 鈥� things like making an error, or disappointing people,鈥� he says.

And yet it is far too simple to say that the avoidance of exertion is the whole story. None of us would be on this planet at all had our ancestors not expended a great deal of physical effort to hunt, gather and survive. 鈥淧eople do not avoid effort in general,鈥� says Dreisbach. 鈥淭hey avoid the waste of effort.鈥� The complications come in the fact that how we each define the cost 鈥� or benefit 鈥� of effort differs depending on the task, the requirements and even our own abilities, personalities and resources.

Although this may seem intuitive, by thinking deeply about how and why we put more effort into some activities, researchers are beginning to unravel the effort paradox.

The IKEA effect

One clue comes from the observation that we seem to value effort after the fact 鈥� demonstrated by the so-called IKEA effect. Aside from those folks for whom a Sunday spent puzzle-piecing together flat-pack furniture is the highlight of the week, many of us would prefer that our bookshelf instead arrived premade.

If we choose to assemble it ourselves, we might think it is because the cost of that effort 鈥� including the time and the mental and physical exertion 鈥� is worth the money saved. But this doesn鈥檛 entirely explain what happens after the process: once it is built, we often value that IKEA bookshelf more, even preferring it to a . Our effort, in other words, doesn鈥檛 just bring the benefit of reduced cost, it adds value in and of itself.

Inzlicht has found this in his research, too. In a , he and his colleagues asked participants, who were all undergraduate students, to write an opinion-based essay by themselves or using AI assistance. The students who wrote their own papers valued them as highly as the AI-written papers, even though the AI-written papers were rated objectively better.

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This may be related to our sense of meaningfulness. In a related experiment, participants were asked to do a 鈥淪troop task鈥�, which involves naming the colours of words. Inzlicht found that participants believed that the more effort a task required, the more meaningful it had been, regardless of what the task had (or hadn鈥檛) actually achieved. 鈥淭he more effort they exert on that task, the more meaningful they say this truly meaningless task was,鈥� he says.

It isn鈥檛 just our own efforts we value more highly, but other people鈥檚 too. In one , participants gave higher ratings to a poem, a painting and a suit of armour if they thought the creations took more time to produce, even when told that all objects were created by skilled experts. The idea that the quality of an object is directly related to how much work has been put into producing it is known as the effort heuristic 鈥� and it is often true that more effort leads to a better result. Consequently, when we are faced with an outcome that we believe came from more effort, our brains take a cognitive shortcut to believing that this outcome is superior, whether or not it is.

Yet we might not just value effort, whether our own or other people鈥檚, retrospectively. We may also choose a certain, more arduous path because of its extra effort. In another , Inzlicht and his colleagues ran 12 experiments that asked participants to do either a job that required some effort (like a Stroop task) or one that needed none (like watching a computer do this task). Most chose the effortful activities over the passive ones.

One reason for this, says Inzlicht, is that we tend to want to avoid a particularly unpopular emotion: boredom. 鈥淗ow can people 鈥榓lways鈥� prefer the less effortful thing, yet really dislike boredom? This suggests, again, that our decisions about what to do and when to do it are not just solely based on whether something is more or less effortful. It鈥檚 also that we want to be stimulated.鈥�

This isn鈥檛 a uniquely human characteristic. Studies going back decades have found that, after prior conditioning, animals 鈥� including , 鈥� will choose to work for food, such as by pressing a lever, even when identical snacks are available in a nearby dish. But this is true only under certain conditions: as the animals successively get hungrier, or as the lever gets harder to press, there comes a point when they choose the 鈥渇ree鈥� food instead.

Similarly, for many of us, something like building IKEA furniture probably needs to hit on the right effort balance, says Inzlicht. If the first step in the instruction manual sent us into the woods to chop down a tree, it is unlikely that many of us would view the process as being worth it.

If we learn to exert effort in one domain, it may expand our tolerance for trying hard in another

This relates to the idea of a 鈥渇low state鈥�, which posits that there is a sweet spot when it comes to finding effort rewarding 鈥� any exertion should be just challenging enough to be stimulating, but not so much that it becomes frustrating.

That sweet spot, researchers say, will look different for everyone. Indeed, this variation between us may help explain the effort paradox in general, says Dreisbach. We tend to judge certain actions as being effortful for the person doing them, when this isn鈥檛 actually the case, she says. 鈥淲e think, 鈥榃ow, are they especially motivated?鈥� Probably not. They just don鈥檛 mind. They don鈥檛 experience the costs.鈥�

The difference in how we each experience effort may even start in the brain. MRI scans, for instance, have revealed that although mental and physical efforts use different brain systems, one part of the brain 鈥� the basal ganglia 鈥� seems to be a . Shenhav, meanwhile, in which participants decided how much cognitive and physical effort to put into a task involving foraging apples from a simulated orchard. While most preferred low-effort options, a consistent subset of participants 鈥� between 12.5 and 14.5 per cent 鈥� sought out both physical and cognitive effort.

The benefits of exertion

Even if we all have different thresholds for how much effort we are willing to put in (or feel at all), research points to the idea that many of us would benefit from pushing ourselves a little more, if we did so strategically.

This is particularly well-documented when it comes to learning. In one , for example, a group of students is asked to read a text, then to read it again, before being tested. A second group reads the text just once, then is tested.

Which group do you think remembers the text better one week later? It is the group that read it just once. Making the finding more striking, immediately after the experiment, the twice-reading group performs better.

One hypothesis for why these gains reverse is that those who read the text just once feel less prepared for the test, so retrieving the information from memory creates what have been dubbed 鈥渄esirable difficulties鈥� by cognitive psychologist Robert Bjork at the University of California, Los Angeles.

鈥淢any students think that if something feels hard, then that鈥檚 not conducive to learning,鈥� says at Maastricht University in the Netherlands, who studies effort and learning. 鈥淔or these specific learning strategies, it turns out that even though they feel more effortful, they鈥檙e still helping your learning 鈥� and this is why they鈥檙e helping your learning.鈥�

In educational settings, helping students want to put that extra, tactical effort in is often a matter of explaining 鈥渢his paradox of perceived learning and actual learning鈥�, says de Bruin. 鈥淚t鈥檚 all about changing their views on this relation between effort and learning.鈥�

Many of us can identify an activity or task that we willingly choose to put effort into. For some, that might be running marathons or building bookshelves; for others, it might be working through a gruelling maths problem or finally finishing that copy of Ulysses. It can be easy to take these preferences on as an immutable part of our identities. Once a couch potato, always a couch potato.

Or are we? It turns out that if we learn to exert effort in one domain, it may expand our tolerance for trying hard in another. So, stick it out with Ulysses and you might just find yourself regularly lacing up your running shoes too.

Learned industriousness

As laid out by psychologist Robert Eisenberger in 1992, this is called : the idea that by positively reinforcing effort, rather than performance, you can encourage someone to work harder. And this benefit seemed to apply to brand-new challenges. For instance, Eisenberger鈥檚 early work with Janet Mauriello Leonard at Siena College in New York found that, after being rewarded for completing mentally tough tasks, .

Despite being a 鈥渂rilliant鈥� idea, however, 鈥渢he empirical evidence was not complete鈥�, says Inzlicht. 鈥淪ome of the ideas from that paper were never tested, or at least never tested well.鈥� In research , Inzlicht investigated Eisenberger鈥檚 idea with more modern methods, using a series of challenging computer games in which players received rewards according to the amount of effort they put in. The concept of learned industriousness held up across the distinct types of game.

鈥淚f I reward your effort in one domain, it鈥檚 possible that I will also increase your effort-willingness in a second domain,鈥� says Inzlicht. He uses the example of teaching a child to play piano. If they learn to push through, despite not loving it, they may apply that same perseverance to, say, homework or sports.

Indeed, this can be taught from an early age, backing up what lots of parents already know. 鈥淢any kids have, at a young age, this idea that if something鈥檚 effortful, then it鈥檚 probably not right,鈥� says de Bruin. 鈥淭hat鈥檚 something that you can work on in terms of feedback 鈥� praising putting effort into something, instead of praising the outcome.鈥�

It is also important to teach children that if they do something for the first time, it is always going to feel effortful, she notes. However, this doesn鈥檛 mean that they aren鈥檛 good at it or should quit.

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Beyond education, similar ideas can be applied to our relationships and how we treat each other. Empathy, for instance, can feel effortful and so be something we try to avoid feeling, as Inzlicht has found in previous experiments. 鈥淐ognitive costs deter people from sharing in experiences of others, a central but underappreciated point in the study of empathy,鈥� he and his co-authors . If we recognise that empathy takes effort, and that effort itself can be a good thing, we may be more willing to work on being empathetic, Inzlicht suggests.

If more of us realise the implications of the effort paradox, researchers say, we can begin to reshape our relationship to effort, helping us change our habits and improve our well-being.

Exerting effort is connected to meaning and the concept of eudaimonia, a Greek word that roughly translates to human flourishing, says Inzlicht. It usually isn鈥檛 when we do nothing that we feel our actions are meaningful and important, he points out, but when we are exerting some form of effort.

At the very least, this may mean we want to reframe how we think of our leisure time. Rather than sitting and passively watching television, we might want to pursue a hobby like crafting or puzzling, a physical activity like climbing or running, or solving a problem that is important for your family or community. 鈥淥ur human limits are far vaster that we think,鈥� says Inzlicht, 鈥渂ut we stop ourselves.鈥�