I worked 15 years for a strategy consultancy, then 4 years for a change management firm. They were wildly different. The first celebrated raw brain power. The second focused on emotional alignment. (This explains my schizophrenia).
I then went off on my own to do trust work.
A few years later, I collaborated with an ex-strategy colleague, an excellent consultant. Call him Ishmael. He was in Boston, me in New Jersey; we met in Stamford to spend the day working together.
He began, “Let’s first spend a few hours discussing what it is the client wants.” A classic strategy question. I settled in to the old easy chair.
Then it hit me. “No, Ishmael,” I said, “let’s just call the client and ask them what they want.”
Ishmael was not impressed, but that was OK. I knew I’d just discovered something.
David Maister has a medical metaphor to describe professional services firms. There are Nurses, Pharmacists, Family Doctors, and Brain Surgeons.
Many firms aspire to be Brain Surgeons. The market says the true number is far smaller. Brain surgeons, as Maister points out, are known for two things. One is great technical mastery; the other is a low degree of client interaction.
There are great examples of the “brain surgeon” model. Think of the leading strategy firms, used-to-be investment banks, think tanks, many top law firms. They are high-margin businesses, pay high salaries, and cultivate a mystique of envy and status.
And—I would argue—they are grossly under-achieving.
Why? Because of the cult of intellect. We revere IQ in this culture; it is more important to cite Goleman’s Emotional Intelligence than to read it–much less practice it.
Malcolm Gladwell punctures this cult of intellect in talking about innovation:
Ideas weren’t precious. They were everywhere, which suggested that maybe the extraordinary process that we thought was necessary for invention—genius, obsession, serendipity, epiphany—wasn’t necessary at all.
He describes Nathan Myhrvold’s first Innovation Session, bringing together a half-dozen brilliant people:
"He thought if we came up with a half-dozen good ideas it would be great, and we came up with somewhere between fifty and a hundred. I said to him, ‘But you had eight people in that room who are seasoned inventors. Weren’t you expecting a multiplier effect?’ And he said, ‘Yeah, but it was more than multiplicity.’ Not even Nathan had any idea of what it was going to be like."
The finest law firms and strategic consultancies are great in large part not because of brilliance, but because of brilliance shared. The pity is, their very ethos denigrates the “share” part of the equation.
As Maister says, part of the “brain surgeon” model is the image of high-on-a-mountain solo thinkers who occasionally interact—and only with each other—to create brilliance.
How much enormous value is left on the table because of the celebration of an heroic myth of solo cogitation, rather than of direct intellectual, collaborative contact with the client? Two bright people working collaboratively can usually out-think one very bright person. Make it four people, and there’s no contest.
The answer is to focus not on getting better and better at solo cognitive manipulation, but also on sharing that brilliance in a way that is ego-less, collaborative, and enthusiastic. Brilliant 1 plus brilliant 1 makes not 2, but 5. As Myrvohld said, it’s way beyond multiplicity.
The absent-minded professor, the eccentric genius are respected, even revered. But this just lets them off the hook. By idolizing such anti-social behavior, we are rewarding mediocrity relative to what they are capable of accomplishing.