Who’s at Fault? — Who gets the credit?

Bernard Weiner, a respected psychologist who first came to prominence in the 1970s, has, in his published work, shed light on what people choose to blame or credit for their failures and successes in life. His research, applied to a performance-based activity such as golf, is simply fascinating. I have to think that Weiner must be a pretty cool dude, not only by virtue of his obligatory 1970s psychologist sideburns and elbow patches, but because his theories have timeless relevance to everything we say before, during and after our time on the golf course.

Weiner said there are three basic things that people will blame (or credit) when they fail or succeed at a task: Ability, Effort, or Luck. And how you perceive and describe your own successes or failures will reveal almost everything about your beliefs, motivations and future expectations about your performance.

As an example, let’s look at Adam Scott’s explanations after winning the Houston Open in April. Scott attributed his win to working hard, practicing a lot and having confidence before this event. Weiner’s translation: I’m a good player, but what really won this event is the fact that I worked hard in practice leading up to it. Now, this may not seem too brilliant then, but think about the reverse side. When Scott booted an enormous lead the week before the Open a month later at the Stanford St. Jude Championship, his ability was protected. When Ability is tied to effort, and not as a fixed variable, one is able to cite effort and keep confidence in their ability, in a less than optimal performance.

Here’s where this stuff gets really interesting. Wiener’s research, along with the research of others, confirms that those who fault their ability in failure kill their motivation and sabotage their future performance. Why? Because they operate under the faulty assumption that there is some kind of a “golf gene” out there, and they’re not endowed with it, and can’t order it from the golf shop. For most of us, when we win we attribute our success to our ability, and when we lose we do the same. In short, when we win we’re good, and when we lose we’re bad. For Scott, and other great athletes, they’re always good, no matter what the outcome, they just could have worked harder if they are disappointed in the outcome.

Is the faulty logic many of us operate under starting to appear? My own favorite motivation-killing, ability-faulting wail is, “I suck.” Or, as the ball is in flight and careening toward the lumber yard, “Oh, God, that’s horrible.” (Saying this aloud takes on another dimension. We love to let everyone we’re playing with know, that we know, that they know, that we just hit a real dog of a shot—which of course makes even a marginal effort on the next stroke look like pure genius.) You’ll really struggle to improve if you do not believe in your ability and hold onto the notion that you were born without the “Bobby Jones Gene.” No amount of practice will be able to overcome that belief. The key to learning and improving is transcending this erroneous logic.

The bottom line is that great performers rarely fault their ability if. They always look first at their effort, or lack thereof, as the reason for failure. If great effort was given, well then, as Tiger has said, “I’m trying as hard as I can, and sometimes things just don’t go your way, and that’s just the way things are.” A poor performance must be chalked up to lack of effort or preparation, and absolutely must be distinguished from lack of innate ability. Furthermore, don’t be afraid to employ the luck card when effort was put forth, and the results simply didn’t come through.

Next time you stroll into your clubhouse, take an inventory of the self-defeating banter that gets tossed around the card table and numbed with good scotch. Then, do yourself a huge favor—avoid joining the self-pity circle. Instead, ask yourself how much you’ve actually been practicing the shots you missed. And when someone compliments you on a fine round or golf shot, look them straight in the eye and say, “Thanks,” and take complete responsibility for your accomplishment. You can then revel in the blank stare you get back as the person stumbles to compute why you took credit for your ability and effort. Saying thank you is not arrogant, it is simply as Weiner would say, ‘reflective of one who possesses maladaptive attribution patterns.’ Whatever jargon you use, the bottom line is that it’s liberating, and boosts motivation in a big way. To reside in a space where one’s successes and failures are a matter of learning and effort, not pre-determined ability and social comparison, is, I think, to play Authentically.