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scientist
is relatively new: it wasn’t coined until 1833.
For
centuries, there was no general term for people whose profession was to
discover knowledge through developing hypotheses, designing
experiments, and collecting data. I hope we don’t wait that long to
recognize that this way of thinking applies to every line of work—and any
walk of life.
Even as this book goes to press, I’m still rethinking.
In making the case
for thinking like a scientist, something has been nagging at me. I wonder if
I’ve devoted too little attention to the situations in which it’s productive to
preach, prosecute, and politick. When it comes to rethinking our own views,
the weight of the evidence favors the scientist mode as giving us the best
odds.
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But the ideal mode is less clear cut when it comes to opening other
people’s minds. I tried to capture the nuances in the value of each approach,
exploring how preaching can be effective in debates with people who are
receptive to our viewpoint or aren’t invested in the issue; prosecuting can
get through to audiences who aren’t determined to be in control; and
simplicity can persuade our own political tribe. But even after reviewing
these data points, I still wasn’t sure whether I’d done enough to qualify my
argument.
Then the coronavirus pandemic happened, and I became curious about
how leaders communicate during crisis.
How do they give people a sense of
security in the present and hope for the future? Preaching the virtues of their
plans and prosecuting alternative proposals could reduce uncertainty.
Making a political case might rally the base around shared goals.
For me, the most instructive example came from the governor of New
York. In an early speech in the spring, as his state and the nation faced an
unprecedented crisis, he announced, “It is common sense to take a method
and try it: If it fails, admit it frankly and try another. But above all, try
something.”
The New York Times quickly eviscerated the governor’s speech, noting
that “something unspecified is no better than nothing.” Whereas other
leaders were “precise, concrete, positive,” the governor was “indefinite,
abstract, irresolute.” It wasn’t just the media that trashed the speech—one
of the governor’s own advisers apparently described it as an act of political
stupidity.
It’s easy to see the appeal of a confident leader who offers a clear
vision, a strong plan, and a definitive forecast for the future. But in times of
crisis as well as times of prosperity, what we need more is a leader who
accepts uncertainty, acknowledges mistakes, learns from others, and
rethinks plans. That’s what this particular governor was offering, and the
early critics were wrong about how his proposed approach would unfold.
This didn’t happen during the coronavirus pandemic, and the governor
wasn’t Andrew Cuomo. It occurred the last time unemployment in America
was so high: during the Great Depression. It was 1932, and the governor of
New York was Franklin Delano Roosevelt. He delivered his “try
something” message as the country was reeling from the Great Depression,
in a commencement speech at a small university in Georgia. In the most
memorable line from the speech, FDR argued that “the country demands
bold, persistent experimentation.” That principle became a touchstone of his
leadership. Although economists are still debating which of the resulting
reforms lifted the country out of a historic depression, FDR’s trial-and-error
method of formulating policy was popular enough that Americans elected
him president four times.
In his commencement speech, FDR wasn’t preaching, prosecuting, or
appealing to politics. He spoke with the same kind of confident humility
that you’d expect from a scientist. There’s a lot we don’t know about how
to communicate confident humility. When people lack knowledge about a
complex topic—like stopping a pandemic or reinvigorating an economy—
they might be comfortable with leaders admitting what they don’t know
today and doubting the statements they made yesterday. When people feel
more informed and the problem is simpler, they might dismiss leaders who
acknowledge uncertainty and change their minds as flip-floppers.
I’m still curious about when each mode is most effective for
persuasion, but on balance, I’d love to see more people do their rethinking
out loud, as FDR did. As valuable as rethinking is, we don’t do it enough—
whether we’re grappling with the pivotal decisions of our lives or the great
quandaries of our time. Complex problems like pandemics, climate change,
and political polarization call on us to stay mentally flexible. In the face of
any number of unknown and evolving threats, humility, doubt, and curiosity
are vital to discovery.
Bold, persistent experimentation might be our best
tool for rethinking.
We can all improve at thinking again. Whatever conclusion we reach, I
think the world would be a better place if everyone put on scientist goggles
a little more often. I’m curious: do you agree? If not, what evidence would
change your mind?
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