Think Again

DR. JEKYLL AND MR. HOSTILE
Some years ago, a Wall Street firm brought me in to consult on a project to
attract and retain junior analysts and associates. After two months of
research I submitted a report with twenty-six data-driven recommendations.
In the middle of my presentation to the leadership team, one of the
members interrupted and asked, “Why don’t we just pay them more?”

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I told him money alone probably wouldn’t make a difference. Many
studies across a range of industries have shown that once people are earning
enough to meet their basic needs, paying them more doesn’t stop them from
leaving bad jobs and bad bosses. The executive started arguing with me:
“That’s not what I’ve found in my experience.” I fired back in prosecutor
mode: “Yes, that’s why I brought you randomized, controlled experiments
with longitudinal data: to learn rigorously from many people’s experiences,
not idiosyncratically from yours.”
The executive pushed back, insisting that his company was different, so
I rattled off some basic statistics from his own employees. In surveys and
interviews, a grand total of zero had even mentioned compensation. They
were already well paid (read: overpaid), and if that could have solved the
problem, it already would have.
*
 But the executive still refused to budge.
Finally I became so exasperated that I did something out of character. I shot
back, “I’ve never seen a group of smart people act so dumb.”
In the hierarchy of disagreement created by computer scientist Paul
Graham, the highest form of argument is refuting the central point, and the
lowest is name-calling. In a matter of seconds I’d devolved from logic bully
to playground bully.

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If I could do that session over, I’d start with common ground and fewer
data points. Instead of attacking their beliefs with my research, I’d ask them
what would open their minds to my data.
A few years later, I had a chance to test that approach. During a
keynote speech on creativity, I cited evidence that Beethoven and Mozart
didn’t have higher hit rates than some of their peers; they generated a larger
volume of work, which gave them more shots at greatness. A member of
the audience interrupted. “Bullsh*t!” he shouted. “You’re disrespecting the
great masters of music. You’re totally ignorant—you don’t know what
you’re talking about!”
Instead of reacting right then, I waited a few minutes until a scheduled
break and then made my way to my heckler.
Me: You’re welcome to disagree with the data, but I don’t think
that’s a respectful way to express your opinion. It’s not how I was
trained to have an intellectual debate. Were you?