Why Charlie Munger Doesn’t Teach His Own Mental Models System (And How We Might)

I read an exchange recently that made me think about what seems to be Charlie Munger’s inscrutable rationale for not being more explicit in providing guidance to those who would follow in his mental models approach to learning. Munger’s partner Buffett, of course, gets called on more frequently to expand on the book “Security Analysis” penned by his mentor Benjamin Graham. Buffett often replies that investing is so simple that were he to write such a book, no one would believe it. 

Munger’s mental model approach isn’t that simple—Charlie admits as much, writing, “You may say, ‘My God, this [mental model approach] is already getting way too tough.’ At the same time, Munger does seem to think that the system is simple enough to be learned, and, presumably, taught. Immediately following his ‘too tough’ remark, Munger writes, “But, fortunately, it isn't that tough—because 80 or 90 important models will carry about 90% of the freight in making you a worldly-wise person. And, of those, only a mere handful really carry very heavy freight.”

Charlie Munger Teaching Mental Models.

So why doesn’t Charlie teach it more systematically, more explicitly? I have some ideas. A recent exchange about basketball prospects in advance of the upcoming NBA draft got me thinking about why Charlie Munger doesn’t teach it and how we might profitably adopt his insights into acquiring what he calls worldly wisdom.

A participant in a recent NBA chat asked about Myles Turner, a talented prospect out of the University of Texas. He wrote that turner, “is known as a nice rim protector/defender, though when I watch him, his feet are really slow and he can't move side to side. Should I be worried?

Myles Turner's Running is a liability. And can be improved.

Chad Ford of ESPN responded, “He's been working on it. Talking to his trainer in Vegas, he never really was taught how to run. I know that sounds weird, but when you watch him, it rings true. I'm told he looks dramatically better. It was just about teaching technique and getting his legs a little stronger….If he's fixed that, he's a very intriguing prospect.”

I was reminded of a couple other examples from the world of professional basketball. The first was from Kyle Korver who reported how jarring it was to see trainers at PPP tell him his jumping form was poor and then show him visual evidence. Seeing the excess and unnecessary strain he was putting on his body because of poor form and a lack of strength—both correctible conditions—he resolved to change.

Korver arrived at P3 in Santa Barbara a half-decade ago with a ravaged left knee, some elbow pain, and a game that was slipping away. the staff at P3 ran Korver through a series of tests, taking care to measure the amount of force the player generated on both sides of his body. Grantland’s Zach Lowe recounts, “Korver had almost no oomph, and what oomph he had was isolated in his right leg.” P3 Founder Marcus Elliot noted that, not only was he asymmetric, but “by NBA standards, he had a handicap.”

Bad mechanics were likely to lead to overstressing his right leg—and additional injuries likely to result from there. L.A. Lakers’ longtime trainer Gary Vitti in a wonderful New Yorker piece described how complicated it is trying to keep high level athletes health over the course of a long and grueling season (he might well be talking about investors keeping their minds clear over the long haul of their careers, too). “Kobe comes down wrong, and has a tibial-plateau fracture. Steve Blake is behind a pick and puts his arm out as a guy’s running by, the guy hits his arm, and he tears his ulnar collateral ligament. It’s a baseball pitcher’s injury! So it’s a complete fluke. Jodie Meeks goes for a jump shot, comes down on somebody’s foot, rolls his ankle. Pau Gasol strains a flexor muscle in his toe, we strap his toe down, now he changes the mechanics, now his pelvis shifts, and the load goes to his adductor—and he strains his adductor. Xavier Henry runs into somebody, and he gets knocked off balance, and he comes down in an awkward position. How’s that related to anything?”

In Korver’s case, Elliott and staff at P3 retrained Korver’s body in a way akin to what Munger proposes people do to improve over the ‘normal’ function that evolution has gifted them with. Simple, repetitive exercises aimed at making him stronger and improving his mechanical function were the whole plan. As Lowe concluded, “Korver would never jump high or run fast, but if he could start moving before his opponent and reach peak speed faster, he might eke out the tiny opening he needs to shoot.” That sounds a lot like Munger on making fewer errors in recreational tennis; 80 percent—and I'd argue that, especially on the men's side, that might be closer to 90 percent—of the points are decided by winners, about 80 percent are decided by unforced errors.

Charlie Munger has an amazing system for compiling experience across a broad latticework. In short, Munger’s ideas are to fix the small cognitive mistakes people make in a similar way to Myles Turner’s trainer (reportedly) fixed his gait. Unlike Turner’s trainer, though, Munger prefers not giving people too much guidance in the process of what Wittgenstein called ‘removing the crookedness’ from their thinking.

His reasoning is twofold: 1) because he doesn’t want it to be too easy, 2) because it sticks better when people have to work for it. 

I suspect Munger has another reason that I think is pretty ingenious—and remarkable given his extreme self-confidence—that I haven’t heard him express. I think Munger also doesn’t want to give too much away too explicitly to allow for individual idiosyncrasy. In just the same way my old tennis coach didn’t tinker with anyone’s swing more than he had to, Munger recognizes that people need to be comfortable with the way they use such a system. And not ‘spoon feeding’ people will afford them greater flexibility in acquiring the mental models approach and makes novel application more possible. 

Just as Buffett’s application of the ‘cigar butt’ approach to investing he learned from Graham improved by adding Munger’s key insights into investing—particularly regarding the importance of business strength. Were Munger to teach his system more exactly, he’d run the risk of turning a dynamic method into a moribund catechism. 

One of my favorite thinkers, Michael Oakeshott makes similar point in discussing the way different kinds of knowledge are acquired. While I don't think Munger is familiar with Oakeshott per se, I do think Munger's thinking demonstrates a remarkable implicit understanding of Oakeshott's distinction between technical and practical knowledge. I’ve written on Oakeshott’s distinction between these types of knowledge elsewhere, but he thinks that practical knowledge, unlike ‘technical’ knowledge, is “not susceptible of formulation of this kind. Its normal expression is in a customary or traditional way of doing things, or, simply, in practice. And this gives it the appearance of imprecision and consequently of uncertainty, of being a matter of opinion, of probability rather than truth. It is, indeed, a knowledge that is expressed in taste or connoisseurship, lacking rigidity and ready for the impress of the mind of the learner.”

Munger, like Oakeshott, recognizes that this apparent imprecision is misleading. Practical knowledge can be—and is regularly—taught. But not in the ways people think—and certainly not via some textbook. (I actually think Munger is too optimistic regarding acquiring wisdom through books—Oakeshott notes that the stuff Munger has in mind to teach can’t be learned only technical knowledge can be learned from a book or even via an online correspondence course). Where Oakeshott thinks much of technical knowledge “can be learned by heart, repeated by rote, and applied mechanically” he regards practical knowledge as impossible to be taught or learned (I think he’s either wrong about this, or he’s stated his point too strongly), it can, rather, only be “imparted and acquired.” This kind of knowledge—the kind Munger is interested in—“exists only in practice, and the only way to acquire it is by apprenticeship to a master--not because the master can teach it (he cannot), but because it can be acquired only by continuous contact with one who is perpetually practising it.”.

But what about the injuries that occur by leaving people to their own devices? If Munger could prevent such ‘injuries’, shouldn’t he? In one way, I think the answer is yes. And that’s why I’m as crazy as I am about incorporating Munger’s ideas for a system of mental models into formalized education. At the same time, though, I have come to recognize the sagacity of Munger’s not intervening in providing people more direction in acquiring the kind of wisdom he believes (and has demonstrated) is possible to acquire—even as people getting ‘injured’ because of (treatable) crooked thinking all around him.

Learning from one’s mistakes is one of the best things a person can do. Munger does talk a lot about how important it is to be able to acquire wisdom via vicarious experience so that you don’t have to experience everything first hand in order to understand it. You’ll have to suffer too much if you go about it that way. But there’s wisdom in the old adage ‘experience keeps a dear school, but it is a fool who will learn by no other.’ But there is something powerful about the lessons we learn by suffering the consequences of our own mistakes. It is, I suspect, why Buffett named his conglomerate ‘Berkshire’.

The upshot is that we can acquire and use an integrated system of mental models, just as Munger suggests. But we might have to (mostly) get it the hard way. Maybe the model of master/apprentice or coach/player is appropriate to getting this kind of knowledge—I do know I’d love to apprentice under Munger. But I wonder if there’s a way to incorporate Munger’s system into school curricula? Let me know if you have any ideas on that score.