RUTHERBLOG

This posting starts with a double declaration of love.

I love TED. A TED video is an 18-minute workout in the best mental gym in town.

What marks it out is the practicality of the thinking on display. TED is a virtual venue for genuine innovation – the solving of problems, rather than the stylising of presentation or the academic examination of angels on pinheads.

If the worldwide web only had one site, it would have to be TED.

Second declaration: I love Rory Sutherland.

Let me be clear – this is unrequited, Platonic love from afar. We don’t exchange notes or cards or flowers.

But his two TED pitches make my heart skip a beat.

Sutherland looks at the world with a fresh pair of eyes, notices spaces for new solutions, and asks ‘why not?’

SWEAT THE SMALL STUFF

In the more recent of his talks, he focuses on the inverse relationship between money and effectiveness, his basic thesis being that it’s the small stuff that can make the greatest difference.

Like the example of a World Health Organization inoculation program, and the ‘reward’ of a kilo of lentils for mothers who participated.

As Sutherland says: “in a business or government context,  a solution so trivial as to be embarrassing.”

At 10min30sec he sets out a simple graph (even creative thinkers need a 2-by-2 matrix to sell an idea), charting the relationship between money and effect:

• Big Money / Big Effect = Strategy

• Big Money / Little Effect = Consultancy (a cheap gag, but funny nevertheless)

• Little Money / Little Effect = Trivia

• Little Money / Big Effect = ?

He then sets a challenge: what should we call the activity he’s talking about?

IT’S ALL IN A NAME

Sutherland suggests that an organization needs a Chief Detail Officer to lead the charge on this, to ‘sweat the small stuff’ and to be champion of inverse proportionality.

But what’s the label for their practice? What’s the verb? What’s the banner under which it gets focus?

What’s the question the rest of the organization can ask to check on performance?

The responses posted on YouTube are a list of current words, such as ingenuity, inspiration, tactics, common sense…

Which rather miss the point.

If the deliberate search for this type of solution is going to be formally established, it needs a new label.

(Like ‘Quality’ or ‘Business Process Engineering’ or ‘Six Sigma.’)

So I noodled this over a cup of coffee at lunchtime, in search of a new term.

A ROSE IS A ROSE IS A ROSE

The core principle is the relationship between input and output.

An obvious image is the lever, a simple machine that multiplies force. A little bit of pressure here, a huge amount of force there.

Nope. Can’t use that. Wall Street’s Masters of the Universe hijacked ‘leverage’ a long time ago. And in light of recent events, it really doesn’t carry the most positive connotations.

Then again… a lever needs a ‘pivot point’. But so does a dancer, and that’s too artsy for the business world in tough times.

How about a ‘fulcrum’?

That’s better! Good engineering word, ‘fulcrum’. Sounds scientific. Sounds technical. Sounds practical.

But put it into Google, and it turns out to be an energy company and an Evangelican forum.

So how about using it as the root of a hybrid term, one that links with business and finance:

Fulcrunomics? Fulcrumomics??

(Hey, listen: Entire publishing phenomena have been built on flimsier notions.  Stay with me here.)

The trouble with both words is that they are: a) ugly to look at; b) impossible to say.

Back to the coffee cup.

FOLLOW THE MONEY

The thought of linking to the finance function set another group of mental cogs grinding, and I remember sundry grillings from CFOs and FDs and VCs wanting to know the payback on proposed spend.

Return on Investment.

(We might be on to something here.)

The difference is that Sutherland is directing attention not just to money, but to the quality of thinking, the effectiveness of true creativity.

Return on Idea. R-o-Idea.

THAT’S the question the organization should ask itself everyday:

“What’s our R-o-Idea?”

Language evolves, and R-o-Idea easily morphs into Roidea – which a good phonetic partner to ‘Trivia’ in Sutherland’s grid (like the ‘Strategy’ and ‘Consultancy’ pairing in the other quadrants).

Roidea: n – a collection of high-return actions and programs, initially dismissed as being ‘too simple’

Roideal: n – a single low-cost-high-efficacy solution

Roideate: v – to actively seek and promote low-cost answers to potentially costly problems

Roidish: adj –  deceptively straightforward, easy to underestimate, more effective than expected

And with that, I pass the baton back to Mr Sutherland, in appreciation for challenging some of my perceptions and showing me the world in a slightly different way.

CODA

When I started this posting, I thought it would end there, but I’ve just had another thought: I wonder how much use it would take to ‘roideal’ into the dictionary? How many people need to read it, use it, write it?

So here’s a request for your weekend:

Send a link to this posting to as many colleagues as you can. More importantly, next time you’re writing a report or a presentation -- and if it’s appropriate -- use the word ‘roideal’ to describe your proposal.

If it’s public domain, send me a copy. All examples gratefully received; I’ll keep you up-to-date on further postings.

This could be the start of something big…

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As well as being an interesting data set in itself, this New Scientist graphic is a master class in information design. A rich source of facts and a joy to read:

Source: Exploring the Exploding Internet. New Scientist, April 2009

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Some things are best left unsaid.

To be more precise, all things are best left unsaid – because they cannot be said. Or, at least, cannot be said with any accuracy.

It quite possible that already you have no idea what I’m on about, and are still scratching your head over the paradox in the title of this post.

Bear with me; while this is about to get a little more conceptual it will, eventually, end up in the real world and daily life. Indeed, it is about the very stuff of daily life: words.

That’s how we manage to connect with our fellow human beings. Common sense, right? As plain as the nose on your face. (Why is he going on about this? And why doesn’t he get to the point?).

Well, in truth, I’m putting off using the next word, which was supposed to be  the next word at the beginning of the previous paragraph, but I got cold feet. It’s too intimidating.  And I don’t want you to think I’m pretentious. Because the next word was to have been…

Wittgenstein.

See? That’s completely shifted the tone, hasn’t it? It’s gone all philosophical now. I don’t want you to think that I’m underestimating people, but 50% of those who made it this far have now clicked to another website.

Or maybe they haven’t, because I challenged them not to by saying that they would in that previous sentence. (But now I’ve pointed that out, they’ve rumbled me, seen that they’re being manipulated, and have moved on. Or not).

All this will make sense. I promise.

In 1921, Ludwig Wittgenstein published his magnum opus, Tractacus Logico-Philosophicus and then spent the next 30 years trying to explain  it’s seven core propositions, such as: The general form of a truth-function is [p, ξ, N(ξ)]

That’s why University professors have tenure. Explaining that previous sentence is a lifetime’s work. Think of it as a philosophical annuity stream.

He died (in 1951) before his next book was published (“Philosophical Investigations”1953). In that book, he came out with an extraordinary premise, which philosophers have been arguing about ever since. The reason why Tractacus – indeed, all modern philosophy – was so hard  to understand was due to a fundamental flaw in the tools of the job; namely, language.

Language, he postulates, is context dependent. The words we use accumulate meaning, forming concepts which he likens to ropes, woven together from multiple strands. Some of those stands may be of different colour, texture, content than the majority, but they can still be gathered under a single linguisitic umbrella.

Take these concepts out of context, and they become meaningless.

Philosophers are supposed to solve problems like ‘truth’. But is this legal truth, ethical truth, mathematical truth or religious truth? Philosophy then finds itself reduced to a series of word games that play with terms like ‘meaning’, while, in turn, rendering them meaningless.

“Ah-ha!” says Wittgenstein. “This is the wrong type of game. It’s not word games we should be focusing on, but a higher order of game. Language games.”

These are games in which individual meanings of words, phrases or propositions are a set of informal rules – a consensus – adopted in and by certain players who enter the game. That may be an elite group or it may be everyone.

To give a simple example: ‘memory’. Take a moment to think of that concept and what it means for you.

Now consider what you have just been thinking about in the context of the following related concepts: psychology; computer; funeral. Different language games, different set of associations, different meaning.

The difficulty comes when the game changes, and you don’t know that it’s been changed.

Try these terms: ‘compliance”, “discipline”, “tradition”, “childhood”. Pretty straightforward to define. Except, in educational circles they carry very specific, technical meaning. So you can listen to a conversation on the Today programme that you think you understand, but actually you are completely detached because you don’t know the rules of the game being played.

More to the point, neither does the interviewer.

Fred Inglis, Emeritus Professor of Cultural Studies at Sheffield University, highlights this in his new book ‘Key Concepts in Education“. For example, “Skill” may sound like a good, positive term:  for a while the DoE was the Department of Education and Skills, before being split into the Department for Children, Schools and Families and the Department for Innovation, University and Skills.

(Already, you can see the language game being shifted just by changing the scope of the departments).

But, Inglis argues, in this particular language game ‘Skills’ focuses on the acquisition of techniques, rather than the development of craft or the outcome of achievement. It omits the length of time it takes to learn, apply and master those techniques. So two people can have a debate about Skills – ‘up-skilling’, ‘re-skilling’ – and actually be talking about very different problems and solutions.

Why does this matter? I think it matters for two reasons:

First – as I have mentioned on previous Blogs -  we are becoming increasingly lazy in our use of language, surrendering much of public discourse to commercial agendas (different language games), and devaluing the currency of communication;

Secondly, because the greater our awareness of language games, the more sensitive we will be about the agenda of a conversation, and the fact that there is an agenda at all. In all conversations, no matter how innocuous.

And the greater the awareness, the greater the understanding of the dissonance between what ‘they’ mean and what we hear.

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Direct Line sent me a gift yesterday. Or rather, it didn’t.

The size of a chequebook, it’s full of pictures of things I can insure (a ‘fridge, a car, a pet) with my name on each: ‘Paul’ integrated into the photos as if it were actually on the item. It’s a very clever piece of digital printing.

And on the first page, they thank me for choosing them again, and as a token of appreciation here’s this ‘handy booklet in which you’ll find our gift to you’:

“Discounts across their range of products”.

That’s not a gift; that’s an offer. Putting aside the legal difference , what really irritates about this hand-tooled, finely-wrought piece of marketing nonsense is the blatant abuse of meaning.

When I give a gift (see; use of the word give is a clue), it doesn’t come with conditions. I don’t expect the recipient to have to give me something back so that they can realise the value.

“Happy Christmas, son. Here are some batteries. Given me £150 and I’ll let you have the remote control car to go with them.”

That’s a deal, an exchange, a contract, a bargain, a sale. It’s not a gift.

Interesting to note that there is some precise language on that first page: ‘we’re giving you this handy booklet in which you’ll find our gift to you’ (my italics). So, the company is clear that the  booklet isn’t the gift. There is nothing tangible here. Indeed, the only way of realizing the ‘gift’ is to make another purchase.

Which means that not only is this a jaw-tensing abuse of  language, it’s also a lie. They are not making me a gift at all. They’re making a promise of a gift if I make another transaction.

With wobbling bottom lip he recounts: “My present was under the tree. I was so excited, I tore off the paper, and found that the box was empty, save for an IOU.”

Thank you, Direct Line.

CAUSE FOR CELEBRATION

While we’re here, at the first virtual meeting of “Pedants’ Anonymous”, have you noticed how the word celebrate has changed its meaning?

You probably grew up thinking that celebrate meant to mark an achievement or a milestone of some sort; a marriage, a coming-of-age, exam results, a sporting success.

Not any longer. Now we’re being offered the chance to celebrate the release of a DVD.

Celebrate now means plug.

But again, take a moment to unpack the sentence in which it appears on your local radio station: “We’re giving you the chance to celebrate the release of ‘Now That’s What I Call High School Musical 58′ with our fun competition / ‘phone-in / organ donation scheme / whatever.”

Oh THANKS. You’re giving me the opportunity to mark the fact that I can now buy something from you. Truly, I am blessed.

Look – I know that I sound like a grumpy old man on this. That’s because I am. And I am, because it matters.

Language defines us. Along with opposable thumb, it puts space between us and pondlife. As a friend recently posted on his Facebook wall: “We do not describe the world we see; we see the world we describe”.

Language is the toolkit with which we make the world. The greater our vocabulary, the greater the granularity with which we can see and understand. The meaning of words matters because they give common currency with which to share understanding.

And if we let words like gift and celebrate get hijacked and subliminally redefined without even noting that it’s happening, we’ll be much the poorer for it.

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In the web world, what is the difference between private and public? Where is the boundary between what I want you to know and what I want to keep to myself, or maybe share with others but not you?

I was speaking to a couple of friends over the weekend. G had finally signed up to Facebook, rationalised his decision by saying it was voyeuristic, then ended the week – after three of four people had tracked him down and he was getting messages from all points – stating he felt that he had boarded a runaway train.

Last night, J happened to mention that he had noticed a group I had set up for a couple of other friends. Not really a problem other than it gave me the sense of being watched, and I woke up to the public-ness of my online profile.

PASSING STRANGERS

Isn’t that why a blogger blogs – to be watched? If not, then may as well keep a diary. The blogsphere IS public; Facebook IS public. Certainly, it’s possible to limit access (only four people can access the group I mentioned) but to start, one wants to attract as many readers as possible. I want you to read me.

Of course, as long as the readers are the RIGHT readers. Like a film star who starts to resent privacy intrusion after years of chasing fame, I’m starting to wonder where the barriers are. Having strangers get close is uncomfortable. Should I have taken a nom de web before starting out on this integrated path of social networking?

J told me that users under 30 have understood this from the off. They think nothing of adapting 10, maybe 20 online personae – and hide behind them all. Don’t ask me how they keep track: there’s probably a software app to help. But it gives them freedom to express what they really think and feel, even if it’s non-attributable.

A neat solution for those wanting to do or say things they won’t do in the physical world. And great for younger folk trying to find out who they are – like trying on different styles in a shoeshop.

THIS AND THAT, HERE AND THERE

But for G and J and I, we’ve chosen to be ‘ourselves’, which means that the social filters are already on. Even so, there are some things that we say to our friends that we wouldn’t say to a business colleagues, and vice versa. In the physical world, that separation is straightforward to keep – I see colleagues in THIS location, I meet friends in THAT location. But in the websphere, that’s much harder.

(Even the physical boundaries are blurring: in my first 10 years in business, I always wore a collar and tie to work. Always. Even if I was working at home, I’d still put on a collar and tie, just to remind myself that I was working. And when I’d finished the day I’d remove the vestments of work and ‘become’ someone else. Now that it’s dress down Friday every day of the week, that differentiation has gone too).

Technology tools have done a lot to take each of us through the private/public boundary. The first time I saw an executive at IBM take his laptop on holiday I was astonished: surely he wanted a break from work? His reply: “There are no longer vacations, just different locations”.

SET OF TOOLS

The physical mobility and the access to information certainly makes for a different relationship between work and play, and has received a lot of coverage and debate. Everything from EU directives on working hours to work/life balance. It’s not easy to find an answer, but at least we have a vocabulary and set of tools with which to think about the problem.

The exchanges over the weekend have highlighted for me that on the subject of the virtual boundaries of privacy, we have barely begun the conversation.

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