I hope my last post didn’t give the impression that I don’t like the genre of leadership literature. I love it and am too easily seduced by its promise that it’s the qualities and skills of individuals that can effect great change rather than, say, luck and events.
One of my favourites of the genre is Ronald A. Heifetz and Martin Linsky’s Leadership on the Line, despite or because of its only slightly paranoid sub-title Staying Alive Through the Dangers of Leading.
The most useful concept from that book is the distinction between adaptive and technical challenges.
Technical challenges are those for which there are standard operating procedures, a set of available know-how, or authorities and experts at hand.
[Warning: the following paragraphs contain graphic scenes of leadership training that may be upsetting to some readers. None of it happened at the organisation that currently employs me. Neither at the last one I worked for. The organisation where it did take place is now a very different organisation under very different, erm… leadership.]
Picture a generic conference venue. Between 100-200 “Senior Leaders” of the organisation are dotted around the big room trying to eke out a few more minutes of their tea break, grabbing another free cup of tea and another cookie.
But there’s no such thing as a free tea. The Leadership Coach paid to deliver the next session has other ideas. She strides onto the stage and sends a piercing whistle across the room. Not for her the more customary way of calling the meeting to order – that would be grabbing a microphone and saying things like, “er, excuse me, could you all… excuse me… could we get back to our tables please? Hello… everyone?” for a while.
No, the Leadership coach has a purpose, a can-do attitude, she’s not a conformist and so she whistles at people. It certainly has some kind of effect. People are back in their seats as she talks, punctuating certain words with a shouty rise in volume: “You have a RECEPTIONIST in your organisation who RECOGNISES me when I come in and KNOWS MY NAME!” This is good work, underlining her point that everyone in every organisation can be a leader in some way or other, and at the same time subtly hinting that she is a frequent visitor to the building, leaving it to the imagination what important talks she’s having at the most senior levels on those occasions.
And that wasn’t the only such occasion. A few months earlier or later, at another “Senior Leaders Conference” much the same group of people was told to by a different leadership expert to “be themselves, but more” as a path to charismatic leadership. And this time the speaker underlined his point by putting up a slide showing Nelson Mandela in the famous rugby shirt episode. It’s not like coming up with this example took a PhD in leadership studies. The episode had only just been a focus of a major motion picture. But to be more like Nelson Mandela was a big ask of the audience – pale, stale and prone to fail, as one unkind and overly cynical colleague described it.
Cutting through Spiritual Materialism by Chögyam Trungpa
Yes, it was Steve Jobs, sometime in the seventies, according to his biographer Walter Isaacson. Isaacson tells us this, not least because it provides the intellectual – or maybe better spiritual – background for the minimalist aesthetics of what was to be Jobs’ global brand.
That spiritualism though was messy, often troubled and occasionally troubling compared to the clinical and secular mindfulness approaches we are more used to these days.
This post starts with a discussion between philosophers. That’s not as bad as it might sound to some. One of the philosophers involved is Bernard Williams (who made a cameo appearance in my previous post about psychopaths). The other one – to whom I owe this useful concept – is Harry Frankfurt, a philosopher who thinks and writes about things not many philosophers find worthy of great thought. His bestseller is the book “On Bullshit” which has made him a sought after authority in recent political discourse. But he also has published articles and books about love, not a topic that philosophers naturally gravitate towards.
In my previous Useful Concepts post, I mentioned that Adam Phillips was responsible for two of my favourite useful concepts. The second one is the “transformational object.”
Phillips made me aware of this concept, but he actually quotes Christopher Bollas, a professor of English, psychotherapist, and – according to his Wikipedia profile – “one of the most widely read authors in the field of psychoanalysis.”
As their name suggests, transformational objects are things that change our lives.
There are concepts that I find so useful that I would like them to be circulating more widely.
For two of these useful concepts, I rely on Adam Phillips, the prolific essayist and psychotherapist who is responsible for some of the best book-titles in recent publishing history – On Kissing, Tickling and Being Bored; On Flirtation; Going Sane. But he also makes some insightful points about success and failure.
It’s a commonplace of popular psychology to analyse instances of failure as self-sabotage. That is the idea that the person failing is not only complicit in his own failure but somehow orchestrating it, in order to satisfy a psychological need below the surface. In other words, the failing not only need to cope with their failure but also need to come to grips with the fact that they are to blame for it.
(This blog-post became much too long for a blog-post as I was writing it. But as it’s really my writing practice and not written for any particular readership, I didn’t attempt to shorten it. But because I like readers anyway, I put some sub-titles in. If anyone reads this, you can treat the sections as individual blog-posts, as necessary.)
Do Philosophical Questions Ever Get Answered?
Do big philosophical problems ever get solved? I mean, does humanity progress in its understanding of the deepest, most persistent questions about our world and our lives? Or do we just occasionally reformulate the questions and nibble away some crumbs of understanding at the edges of the big problems?
I despair sometimes over the fact that while other disciplines have unleashed energy from splitting atoms, landed people on the moon, found cures for diseases and spun off masses of benefits for everyday human life from their discoveries, philosophers haven’t come much closer in the last two thousand years to reaching agreement on some fundamental and all-important questions, for example, whether we have free will or are fully predetermined in our actions.
One really big challenge in philosophy has been put to bed in recent years though. That is how to deal with the amoralist. The amoralist is the person who – while others discuss what would constitute moral behaviour – asks the question: but why should I act morally at all?