I read a story on Medium recently called, “Why Thomas Edison Required Job Applicants To Eat Soup In Front Of Him”. According to the article:

The reason for this soup test was that the famous inventor wanted to see if the applicants added salt and pepper before tasting what was in their bowl, or if they waited until they tasted it before proceeding with the seasoning. Edison immediately rejected the premature seasoners, as he reasoned he didn’t want employees who relied on assumptions. In his opinion, those who were content to abide by preconceived notions had no place in his business because the absence of curiosity and willingness to ask questions were antithetical to innovation.

Reading that — and learning about Edison’s aversion to preconceptions and habitual suppositions — reminded me of a little-known philosophy.

Yeah, But …

SASS (self-absorbed self-satisfaction), is a philosophy, not to be confused with its homonymic variant: SaaS (software as a service). SASS is the twin sibling of stubbornness. It’s also the bane of creative productivity. It can be stated in one simple sentence: “We do it this way because this is the way we do it.”

Unlike other philosophies, SASS requires no founding figures, no manifestos to serve it, no books to be written about. College courses need not be dedicated to it. It’s entirely self-contained and utterly self-limiting. There is nothing more to it because its adherents won’t allow anything else. And those adherents are perfectly happy about all of that, thank you very much.

The source of this philosophy is as simple as its expression and as dangerous as its manifestation. It’s simple because we have just two fundamental motivators: hope and fear. SASS might appear to derive from hope. Its devotees might seem to possess the self-confidence to do as they see fit to do, without doubt, hesitation, second-guessing, or the need to entertain options or other points of view. Look again.

On Further Review …

Would a hopeful person refute differing perspectives? Would hope compel one to disdain alternative activities or methods? Could hope engender close-mindedness? Could hope explain the anger that typically ensues from challenging practitioners of SASS to try something new or different — or, more illustratively, to trustfully delegate the authority to try something new or different? No. And what do SASS adherents fear?

1. Change. Most people fear change. The devil you know beats the devil you don’t know in every race. And one of the most perverse aspects of human psychology is preferring the known to the unknown, even if the known is miserable.
2. Being exposed. Most people think they’re getting away with something or just getting by. Change the status quo, and the new light might show a chink in the armor or a lack in performance. Result? We’ll stay right here and keep doing it this way.
3. Being bettered. If what we do is the only thing we do and the only way we do it, we resist the idea that we might be able to do it better. We put up the shields, retract into the shell, and hope no one does it better than we do.

First we make our habits, then our habits make us. (Charles C. Noble)

What if …?

Until we break our habits — or permit something different to be done on our behalf — how do we know what will happen? Why do we think we can or should know? Why are we so sure it won’t be positive? Why don’t we imagine it’ll exceed our craziest expectations, rather than assuming it’ll crash and burn?

It’s not about certainty, it’s about hope. And adherents to SASS fail for fear of changing.

That’s why a seat in the proverbial comfort zone is likely to put you in the soup.

I’m fortunate enough to be connected with a gentleman on LinkedIn named Dr. Barry Brownstein. Dr. Brownstein is professor emeritus of economics and leadership at the University of Baltimore and the author of The Inner-Work of Leadership. His essays have appeared in publications such as the Foundation for Economic Education and Intellectual Takeout.

Dr. Brownstein recently wrote an article for the American Institute for Economic Research — “Taming the Dictator Within, Part 1” — in which he cited the disconnect between leaders’ political views and their leadership styles. He wrote this:

Some understood that central planning is a failed approach to economic policy and yet did not understand that strict hierarchical management practices often cause businesses to run inefficiently and unhappily. Employees don’t enjoy being ordered around or feeling blocked from using and developing their skills.

In other words, invitation is better than domination. I’ll explain.

The Culture Effect

Hierarchies are inevitable because they’re effective for ensuring structure and order. But organizational hierarchies need not be rigid or imperious. They need not work against cultures of cooperation and innovation. They need not preclude senses of trust, security, and fulfillment. In fact, hierarchies can foster and nurture healthy and productive cultures. As I wrote in an earlier post:

Culture is not a cause. It’s an effect. It’s a symptom, a result. It’s the product of treating individuals with respect, of giving them senses of belonging, of encouraging their participation, of giving them responsibility and the commensurate decision-making authority.

Studies have shown people in organizations in which they’re not beaten over the head are happier, more productive, and more willing to contribute in ways that exceed their positions, their titles, and the expectations their organizations have for them. They also suffer fewer concussions.

Choose Wisely

A Nerf Bat is much more effective leadership tool than a Louisville Slugger.

It’s a much better tool for creating cultures of innovation — of experimentation, of willingness to fail, of determination to learn from failure, of consistent accomplishment, of fulfillment and gratification, and of collegial collaboration — than a Louisville Slugger. The Louisville Slugger will instill more fear, raise more lumps, and cause more serious cranial injuries. But the Nerf Bat will instill feelings of safety wellbeing. And it’ll ensure people will have a greater willingness to contribute and to take chances.

A famous expression says, “No pressure, no diamonds.” That’s true, of course. But human beings are only about 18 percent carbon, give or take. They aren’t refined or rarefied by constant pressure. Rather, they’re wounded and defeated. People who are wounded and defeated will never be innovative. They’ll only be wounded and defeated.

That’s no way to treat people. And it’s no way to run a successful organization.

Use the Nerf Bat. Save the Louisville Slugger for the baseball diamond.

I happened to find a blog post on the website for CRS Automotive entitled, “Bertha Benz: The First Driver in the World”. Bertha was the wife of Karl Benz, who’s credited with building the first car with an internal combustion engine (among other things.) I was probably no more than moderately engaged by the post until I read this:

While Karl Benz was a genius engineer, what he wasn’t was a visionary or a very savvy businessman … no one wanted to buy [his car]! People needed it – Bertha was convinced of that – but they hadn’t realized it yet. And that is where Bertha played a crucial role. She realized that people were wary of everything new, feared it even, and just needed to be convinced that having and driving a horseless carriage would make their lives easier … Bertha realized that what people needed was a definite proof that the vehicle was reliable and could also master long-distance routes. Thus, she devised a plan … a first-ever road trip in the Benz Patent Motorwagen No. 3!

Since the trip took place in 1888, it’s unlikely anyone thought to call Bertha’s undertaking innovation. In all likelihood, if they called it anything — and since they were German, after all — they might have called it die Neueinführung (translated as the new launch). What they called it was marginally important at best.

What Bertha realized was everything.

Wary of Everything New

Bertha was no psychologist. But what she realized about human nature in 1888 remains true today: We resist change. We’ll stick with the familiar even if it’s uncomfortable and undesirable. We’ll play safely in our comfort zones, resisting risk and ignoring the potential rewards. And we’ll miss more opportunities than we’ll ever recognize.

By way of example, consider this from Quote Investigator:

Attorney Horace Rackham … drew up the incorporation papers for Henry Ford’s automobile company in 1903. Rackham was asked to become an investor, but his health was poor, and he feared risking his precious savings. So he visited an unnamed leading banker to obtain advice … The banker took him to a window. “Look,” he said pointing to the street. “You see all those people on their bicycles riding along the boulevard? There is not as many as there was a year ago. The novelty is wearing off; they are losing interest. That’s just the way it will be with automobiles. People will get the fever; and later they will throw them away. My advice is not to buy the stock. You might make money for a year or two, but in the end you would lose everything you put in. The horse is here to stay, but the automobile is only a novelty — a fad.”

That Knocking You Hear is the Future

Every organization needs a Bertha. In fact, every organization that aspires to innovative resilience needs to encourage and support as many Berthas as possible, systemically and systematically. People don’t need to be visionaries to have good ideas. But they do need environments in which their ideas are welcomed and evaluated objectively, in which they’re allowed to make mistakes and to learn from them, in which their failures are forgiven and their successes are recognized and rewarded.

Who are your Berthas? How will you find them? How will you support and encourage them?

Given the rate of change, you should start looking now.

I recently read a blog post about technology (marketing-automation technology, specifically) and finished a book, Great Sky River, by Gregory Benford. The latter opened my eyes to the former.

In Great Sky River, the last of humanity fights to survive on Snowglade, pursued by murderous mechs, robotic creatures that recycle, retain, and evolve remnants of themselves to prevent their passing from temporal existence. In their soulless yet determined desire to self-sustain, I saw the future.

In one sense, that future is here. We already conduct financial transactions in which no currency changes hands. Computers exchange digital data, debits and credits are processed, records are logged. So, it’s no leap to imagine your computer tracking mine. Mine will know what it wants, when it wants it, and what it wants to pay for it. Yours will sell it to mine via electronic automation. Even though you and I won’t be involved at all, we’ll be tickled pink about the whole, disembodied business.

That’s precisely what the technologists of all stripes want us to believe.

But Great Sky River makes it clear why the mechanized dehumanization of marketing and sales (among other things) can’t succeed long term: We’re human beings. It’s a matter of nature and definition that we’ll never escape, defy, or surrender our tendencies to interact as human beings. Neither will we forego our social sensibilities or our need to engage each other emotionally and to be so engaged, even in commercial contexts. No emotion, no brand. No brand, no sale (except at Walmart).

Imagine a salesman in the not-too-distant future scorning the technological gimcrackery of inbound marketing and its logic-defying, pie-in-the-sky ilk, sneering in the face of Marketing Rockstars, striding boldly into the office of a flesh-and-blood prospect, and saying, against all prevailing wisdom, popular voodoo, do-it-yourself fantasies, and self-service nonsense:

“Hi. What do you need?”

Then imagine the salesman having this telepathic exchange with his boss through the chips in their heads:

Boss: Good God, Man! What have you done?
Salesman: I made a sale.
Boss: But how … the database … connectivity … technology …?
Salesman: I asked him what he needed.
Boss: But you’ve nullified the machines!

Like the mechs in Great Sky River, inbound marketing does what every techno-utopian scheme does: It precludes humanity. It must. If Utopia were conducive to the vagaries of human nature, we’d have achieved it by now. Inbound marketing is just another siren song, seducing us with the promise of more sales with less work in less time with fewer people. We chase that siren with the feverish derangement of Ulysses’ mutinous men, overthrowing objectives and outcomes in the pursuit of output: leads, numbers, statistics, trends, patterns, scoring, behavior — more, more, more!

Innovation is certainly necessary. But tails wag dogs. Horses precede carts. And in the search for binary connections — “Analyze the data!” — we ignore the humanity that binds us all. In the process, we elevate Henry David Thoreau to the status of prophet:

But lo! men have become the tools of their tools.

Thoreau and Benford would have gotten along famously.

There are countless examples of solidly established companies that reinvented themselves. They developed successful new products or business models. Most times, they were seeking new ways to solve customer problems. Many times, their reinventions were seemingly unnecessary. Many of these companies held enviable industry positions with cash-cow products or services. Some examples are:

• Corning Glass – Evolved from producing glass for light bulbs, to producing Pyrex cookware, to producing optical fiber for telecommunications, to producing Gorilla Glass for cell phone screens.
• Netflix – Pivoted from delivering DVDs via US Mail to offering streaming movies.
• IBM – Migrated from producing computer hardware to offering business and technical consulting services.
• Microsoft – Shifted from selling software licenses to offering software subscriptions.
• Hilti – Changed from producing and selling high-end construction tools to leasing construction equipment to contractors.
• Dow Corning – Adjusted from producing high-cost customized silicone products to developing commoditized silicone products.
• Apple – Advanced from producing personal computers to producing handheld devices to offering streaming music, movies, and TV programming.

In hindsight, these innovations are easy to recognize as winners. But at the time they were being developed, they seemed to threaten the successful business models or products from which they evolved.

Why did the companies that innovated in those ways do it? They did it because they’re resilient. And resilient companies understand constant innovation is necessary to their survival. They don’t innovate because they feel threatened. They innovate to preclude the possibility that they will be threatened. They innovate to make sure they won’t be threatened.

Foresight seems to be built into their DNA. Since their markets, their suppliers, their competitors, their customers, and technologies are constantly changing, those companies recognize they have to keep changing, too. They’re resilient because they change in ways that continue to provide value to they customers. The fact that their changes also create new markets and new customers doesn’t hurt, either.

Whether you call what those companies do reinvention, innovation, change, evolution, or just good business, it’s required for resilience.

That’s why they’re all still here.