CHALLENGING THE BOTTOM-LINE APPROACH

Valuing process over outcome

On September 23, 1999, a NASA research spacecraft—the Mars Climate Orbiter—burned when it came too close to the red planet. The source of the accident was discovered in the software, which mistakenly based its calculations on the metric system instead of the imperial system. Due to this error, the spacecraft was instructed to orbit Mars at a distance of 60 kilometers instead of the planned and safe distance of 140 kilometers. Considering the fact that the spacecraft had to travel 50 million kilometers to reach Mars, this error in calculation appears negligible. Nonetheless, this made all the difference between a scientific success and a resounding failure. A spacecraft that fails to reach its destination due to a programing flaw is a simple example of a mission that does not meet the test of ultimate outcome.

But not all events are so clear-cut. Intention and outcome entered the world in tandem and sometimes it is even necessary to go to court to separate them. How do we assess the service of a well-intentioned bear (swatting a fly from his master’s face) when this service leads to an unintentional outcome (the master’s broken nose)? Or an operation aimed at freeing hostages that results in a heavy loss of life?

Such puzzling questions also appear in the world of literature. I found a simple example in Through the Looking-Glass, and What Alice Found There by Lewis Carroll. Alice tries to form her opinion of the two heroes of a poem recited to her by Tweedledee, the almost twin brother of Tweedledum. The poem tells about a walrus and a carpenter who gorge themselves on live and helpless oysters while walking along the beach at night. At first, Alice is inclined to favor the walrus from a moral perspective because he felt a bit sorry for the oysters he devoured and even shed a tear for them, as recounted in the poem. But then Tweedledee informs her that the walrus in fact ate more than the carpenter, hiding his face behind a handkerchief in order to prevent the carpenter from seeing how many oysters he ate. When Alice responds by shifting her moral preference to the carpenter, Tweedledum quickly explains that the carpenter ate as many as he could catch. Alice is confused, suddenly facing the moral dilemma of judging by outcome versus judging by intention.

Alice is not alone. Important thinkers in other centuries have wrestled with the question of what is more important—the outcome or the intention? Immanuel Kant (1724–1804) believed that the intention was the more important of the two. The first chapter of his book Groundwork of the Metaphysic of Morals begins as follows: “Nothing in the world, or out of it, can possibly be conceived that could be called ‘good’ without qualification, excepting only a good will.” That is, good intention driven by good will is the determining factor in judging a person’s morality. And an action whose consequences are positive but did not spring from good intention is not considered moral. In contrast, John Stuart Mill (1806–1873) offers an approach that is wholly focused on the outcome and completely ignores the intention. In his view, “pleasure and freedom from pain are the only things desirable as ends,” and every action is judged by its utilitarian result—increasing pleasure or reducing pain.

The relation between intention and outcome is also a possible criterion for examining the spiritual world, as various religions suggest. Catholics, for example, prefer the test of intention to the test of action, as expressed in Paul’s Epistle to the Galatians (and by the prophet Habakkuk): “The righteous will live by his faith.” While observing the commandments is the main test of a Jewish believer, the rabbinic tradition stresses that God takes greater interest in the heart and the heart’s intention. This also explains the importance accorded to the idea of repentance in Judaism.

If we indeed recognize the limitations of assessing the morality of our actions by their ultimate outcome, we are free to grow from situations where we fail in the test of end results. If we look to the East, we also see that even in the context of the “law of cause and effect,” one of the foundations of Buddhism, the intention is important. Karma, which describes a full cycle of cause–effect relations in a person’s life, is based on the intention behind an action rather than its physical expression.

Society uses law as a tool for narrowing the personal interpretation of events in order to secure the social order. According to most of the world’s legal systems, a crime cannot be defined without addressing both the emotional and factual basis; if one of the two is missing, there is no crime. Someone who takes an object from its owner with the intention of returning it later is not a thief, and someone who kills a person unintentionally is charged with manslaughter rather than murder. The emotional basis—a person’s intention during the action—is central to the judicial process.

However, as philosophers are killed over the question of which of the two—intention or outcome—is more important, and as religious wars erupt between those who believe in action and those who believe in intention, and as reams of legal arguments seek to distinguish between outcome and intention, the business world operates as if the discussion has already been decided: salary level, growth rates, return on investment and share price have long become the be-all and end-all. The circumstances, the starting point, the support you received or the ethical path you chose—all these are unimportant. Your economic achievements and how far you’ve advanced in the race for social visibility constitute the bottom line. But those who boastfully claim exclusive responsibility for the outcome are in fact saying, in the same haughty breath, that they are also exclusively responsible for all of the factors affecting that outcome.

Why does a person attribute success to his abilities, while blaming failure on bad luck? Aren’t we failing here by underestimating the power of chance, probably the most important factor in the equation of success? (And this is regardless of whether we measure success by economic profit, social visibility or other criteria.)

Nassim Taleb (author of Fooled by Randomness and The Black Swan) is certain that economic success is largely a matter of luck, and that great success is the result of a lot of luck. Indeed, the capital market—Taleb’s main frame of reference—is the preferred playing field of randomness, the place where coincidence and tailwind are the determining factors, more than professional ability. We crown (and depose) business heroes primarily because of our flawed understanding of the laws of statistics and the very human need to attribute meaning to random events, and less because of their business acumen. Just as one of a million monkeys equipped with typewriters and with unlimited time on their hands may compose Hamlet, an investment manager, one of a great many, may beat the market for 30 consecutive years—but both will do so through sheer chance.

The economist John Kay does not subscribe to the approach that focuses on the ultimate outcome. In his book Obliquity: Why Our Goals Are Best Achieved Indirectly (2010), he argues that the most profitable companies are not necessarily those that pursue profits at any cost; the wealthiest people in the world are not the most materialistic; and the happiest do not necessarily chase happiness. An approach that is not directly results-oriented is liable to yield more than a targeted approach. For example, the credo of the pharmaceutical and medical equipment company Johnson & Johnson, which describes the values that guide its decision-making, places responsibility toward consumers and medical personnel above its commitment to shareholders. Nonetheless, Johnson & Johnson has achieved better long-term results than any other company in the medical field, creating the highest value for its stockholders. And let’s not forget—most of the important discoveries in medical history were discovered by chance: X-rays, penicillin, the tuberculosis bacterium, insulin, Valium and Viagra (although, as Louis Pasteur noted: “Chance favours the prepared mind”). The test of outcome for these discoveries would primarily examine their effectiveness (and the preparedness of the mind).

The world of sports has long been used as a metaphor for the more competitive dimensions of our lives, those which are often judged by the end results (“winning isn’t everything; it’s the only thing”). Therefore, it is not surprising that the language of the business world draws a lot from the experience of competitive sports, without noting that many professional athletes are driven by the process no less than by the result.

Scott Molina, a winner and coach in international Iron Man competitions, says that he tries to teach his students that if they learn to love the challenge in daily training, the desired results will follow on their own. The legendary volleyball coach Terry Pettit thinks that a good coach focuses on the process and not on the final result. If a basketball player thinks about his final shot as determining the fate of the game, he may become stressed and miss it. If, on the other hand, he thinks about the familiar touch of the ball, the deep breath before shooting and the support of his teammates, which is not conditional upon the shot’s outcome, he’ll have a better chance of scoring the decisive basket. Tennis players know that they should concentrate on winning the particular point they’re currently playing or on improving their success rate on opening serves rather than focusing on winning the entire match. And a baseball player who perfectly times a fastball hurtling toward him at 100 miles per hour and smashes the ball to the deepest corner of the outfield, only to be robbed of a home run by a spectacular catch, can hardly be considered a failure, though the bottom line is that he made an out.

In the Alexander Technique, which I’ve practiced for years, there is a concept called “end gaining”—rushing while focused on the end result, without enjoying the process at all. Professional athletes know the formula: the way to generate results is actually by focusing on the process. Creators in all fields concur that the process is no less important than the final product. The process is where they spend most of their time and invest most of their emotional resources. Thus, they expect it to be enjoyable, satisfying and inspiring. Correct emotional management of the process is the real key for improving their level of work in the future. And those who arrive at a different outcome than planned, often discover that it offers them important possibilities for enriching their inner world.

When it comes to the education of our children, the great danger in applying a bottom-line approach to this process is that it reinforces the simplistic view of the world as essentially a competitive place. Studies show that parents who praise their children for their effort (process) contribute more to their success in adulthood than parents who praise them for their accomplishments. The ability to succeed is largely the ability to cope with failure, and those who won praise for effort in childhood are able to mobilize the resources to tackle a challenge a second time after failing in their first attempt. Those who won praise for achievements are liable to give up when facing unanticipated difficulty. Parents who impose excessive demands for achievement on their children and level undue criticism when they fail to meet these expectations are raising future perfectionists—people who cannot distinguish between a mistake and failure.

After all, the fear of making a mistake is the greatest threat hovering above a child who was taught that parental approval and acceptance are conditional upon their performance (rather than on their effort).

The modern test of outcome, the shortcut of a culture drowning in numbers and information, completely disregards the process as a basis for analysis and development. It is difficult to grow within our comfort zone, the place that is familiar and secure. But stepping outside of this zone is impossible when there is no room for making mistakes and even failing sometimes. Thus, the current outcome becomes the sole predictor of the outcome in the future, with no room for improvement. Moreover, in a culture where the bottom-line view prevails, we become forgiving vis-à-vis the means used to achieve the ends, even when these means are dubious.