My Dissenting Voice
Ground Control to Major Tom
Years ago, I didn’t know about behavioral biases. I didn’t know what they were, and I didn’t know they were so massively pervasive. While scholars and researchers had long been studying them, typically biases were not a concern for the rest of us. Certainly not for me.
Then, at some point, academics started publishing papers and receiving Nobel Prizes for theories stating that, due to biases, humans don’t really behave rationally. A whole new branch of economics, called behavioral economics, flourished. Forget the dear old framework where, if A happens, then humans, collectively, react in a certain rational and predictable way, they said. Now humans were suddenly such a complex concoction of emotions, beliefs, and preferences that if A happens, they may react in unpredictable ways. Each in a different, unpredictable way. Duh.
And so, books came out and became best sellers, launching a race to enlighten us common mortals about how we consistently blunder when making decisions or exerting judgment or doing other things. The number of known biases multiplied, with subtle variants emerging every day. Once, in a bookstore, I found myself staring at the cover of a book titled Encyclopaedia of Biases and Heuristics. As I skimmed the table of contents, I noticed a hundred different biases, and I’m sure each of them included variants like Loss Aversion on a Thursday Morning or Cognitive Dissonance for Blonde People. I didn’t look further, but I might not be far off. The last chapter was labeled Behavioral Toolkit.
Today, everybody knows about behavioral biases; it’s impossible not to know. Everybody knows that we unconsciously do these things that distance us from rationality (provided that we all agree on a definition of ‘rationality’). Is it interesting to know that? Certainly. Is this fixable? No, biases are intrinsic to human nature. Am I better off now that I know about biases? Also, no. I actually would argue that, now that I know about biases, I’m worse off, because I pay too much attention to what I do, how I do it, and how I react. There’s a bias for every single action we may take, every single day. Biases are humanness. They are life. And the scary thing is, now that I learned about so many of them, unlearning is abysmally complicated.
During my college days, most final exams were conducted orally. I'm not sure if this still holds true today, but back then, apart from Math and Stats or any of those quantitative subjects, everything involved sitting across from the professor and fielding their questions. And you could go watch other people’s exams, like going to the theater. You'd sit there, witnessing the drama of some poor soul being grilled and often publicly humiliated. The objective was to gather intel, essentially -- noting down the types of questions a professor might throw at you and observing their demeanor, especially since you'd be up next term. Some professors had a knack for making students squirm with impossible questions and yelling at hesitant answers. Knowing about such professors made you extra cautious when your own turn arrived.
I followed this practice of intel gathering for a while, but at some point I abandoned it. It was as if knowing more beforehand made me anxious, nervous, uncertain, rather than confident and prepared. I’d go in, sit down and dread the simple act of uttering words in fear of getting a nasty reaction and being yelled at. The professor would sense that, and play accordingly. It never paid off for me. So I quit the practice. And things got way better. Once, I sat in front of a professor famed for being a real jerk, but I didn’t know it. It was an Economics exam. Without even looking at me, the first thing he said was “Kaldor” (the name of a famous Hungarian economist from the post war period -- he obviously meant “Talk to me about Kaldor, please”). Now, you should know that, in Italian, the sound of the word “Kaldor” is very similar to the word “Caldo”, which means “Hot”. And so of course I thought this guy was complaining about it being too hot in there (it was July in Milano, usually very hot), and I said “Oh yes, too hot. But it’s mostly humid, wouldn’t you think? Maybe I should go open the window”. A spectral silence fell in the room, as everybody knew the guy was very temperamental. Everybody, except me. But he laughed, and I didn't know what he was laughing about. Later, everyone I knew confirmed that he had never been seen laughing before. Anyway, he very politely said that he meant “Kaldor” and I started with my answer. The exam went well, amidst the general astonishment of those present.
Ignorance is bliss, they say. But this wasn’t really ignorance, as I had studied hard for my exam. I was just not in the know about what kind of questions he would ask and how many decibels his voice would raise at disappointing answers. Maybe I caught the professor on a good day, or maybe I was just relaxed and unaware of anything except the subject at hand.
Many people are writing about writing. And maybe it’s me, but lately I’ve noticed an abnormal number of essays about the rules of good writing. Good stuff, well constructed, thoughtful, and insightful. I subscribe to a bunch of substacks who put out this type of content, and they’re all very good. And who doesn’t feel the urge of reading about the ten most recurring mistakes that we humans make when trying to write well? Yet, the other day I decided I wouldn’t be reading this stuff anymore. Is this a mistake (the eleventh)? Maybe, but I noticed that I was becoming too writing-conscious. That I was no longer enjoying a process that was slowly turning into a box-checking exercise. I understand that, if we want to be published, we have to somehow appeal to the publishing industry, and that the publishing industry has frameworks and guidelines and (unwritten) rules (or else, their selection process would get close to impossible). But (and this is one of the ten mistakes -- never start a sentence with a conjunction) I believe in taking risks and being judged for what I am, as horrible as I may be. Maybe no one will ever notice my stuff, and that’s okay. That’s okay because I enjoy doing something that to me doesn’t feel like work or a burden or painfully tiring. Writing shouldn’t feel like a lot of work, I believe. If it does, something’s wrong.
I read somewhere that David Sedaris completely rewrites his pieces twenty times before being comfortable and declaring them publish-ready. This is remarkable, I thought, because as much as this could be seen as a ton of work from the outside, I’m sure for him it isn’t. For him it is just a natural process. Something he enjoys and needs based on how well he knows himself. Should I feel bad that I don’t do the same amount of rewriting as him? I don’t think so. I’m not being disrespectful to those who work hard at their craft. I just think that if it were essentially a matter of hard work, it would be easy. There’s an element of mystery to what makes some writing attractive. A black box I don’t know the content of. Probably nobody does. But I’m pretty sure hard work and compliance to rules aren’t in there.
We writers are proud to remark that ours is a form of art. I agree. Let’s treat it as such. I always think of Bob Dylan when entertaining these reflections. Bob Dylan is Bob Dylan because he (unconsciously) took a risk on himself. Although a not really pleasant voice by any standards, with lots of controversial lyrics, long ago somebody took a risk on him, believing in his uniqueness. I’m not sure that in today’s world of rules and recipes, of X-Factors and America’s Got Talents, where the comfort of sounding like and resembling bears an unjustifiable high value, Bob Dylan could emerge as Bob Dylan.
Sometimes knowing too much may be damaging. Or being aware of too much. It’s the illusion that well-preparedness and abundance of information and laser-sharp attention automatically deliver a proportionately superior output, no matter its intrinsic nature. That being imperfect, unfinished, distracted, and abandoned to emotions equals sub-optimality. Work your ass off, don’t leave anything to chance, be in complete control, and results will materialize. Let me clue you in on something here: they won’t.
Not necessarily.
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Beautiful Silvio. Big yes to taking risks, daring to do so with ease, and that delicious sense of mystery
I loved the story about Kaldor. It reminded me of something I may have already written about, namely that at university I did not attend other students' orals because I did not want to be influenced by them, i.e. I did not want to have expectations either in a positive or negative sense. I have never regretted this choice. You could say that there are inherent biases and induced biases: the former we learn unconsciously and they influence our actions but the latter we can control, like deciding that we do not want to be influenced by something. Often - I reflected - we cannot distinguish information and influence. Specifically: to have information about something is important but to be influenced by something is different, like you with the terrible professor you then faced with great and natural naivety. You have to try to be informed and never let yourself be influenced, even if it's not easy.