to fire the president would turn out badly. His decision-making behavior going forward reflected the belief that he made a mistake. He was not only resulting but also succumbing to its companion, hindsight bias. Hindsight bias is the tendency, after an outcome is known, to see the outcome as having been inevitable. When we say, “I should have known that would happen,” or, “I should have seen it coming,” we are succumbing to hindsight bias.
Those beliefs develop from an overly tight connection between outcomes and decisions. That is typical of how we evaluate our past decisions. Like the army of critics of Pete Carroll’s decision to pass on the last play of the Super Bowl, the CEO had been guilty of resulting, ignoring his (and his company’s) careful analysis and focusing only on the poor outcome. The decision didn’t work out, and he treated that result as if it were an inevitable consequence rather than a probabilistic one.
In the exercise I do of identifying your best and worst decisions, I never seem to come across anyone who identifies a bad decision where they got lucky with the result, or a well-reasoned decision that didn’t pan out. We link results with decisions even though it is easy to point out indisputable examples where the relationship between decisions and results isn’t so perfectly correlated. No sober person thinks getting home safely after driving drunk reflects a good decision or good driving ability. Changing future decisions based on that lucky result is dangerous and unheard of (unless you are reasoning this out while drunk and obviously deluding yourself).
Yet this is exactly what happened to that CEO. He changed his behavior based on the quality of the result rather than the quality of the decision-making process. He decided he drove better when he was drunk.
Quick or dead: our brains weren’t built for
rationality
The irrationality displayed by Pete Carroll’s critics and the CEO should come as no surprise to anyone familiar with behavioral economics. Thanks to the work of many brilliant psychologists, economists, cognitive
researchers, and neuroscientists, there are a number of excellent books that explain why humans are plagued by certain kinds of irrationality in decision-making. (If you are unaware of these books, see the Selected Bibliography and Recommendations for Further Reading.) But here’s a summary.
To start, our brains evolved to create certainty and order. We are uncomfortable with the idea that luck plays a significant role in our lives.
We recognize the existence of luck, but we resist the idea that, despite our best efforts, things might not work out the way we want. It feels better for us to imagine the world as an orderly place, where randomness does not wreak havoc and things are perfectly predictable. We evolved to see the world that way. Creating order out of chaos has been necessary for our survival.
When our ancestors heard rustling on the savanna and a lion jumped out, making a connection between “rustling” and “lions” could save their lives on later occasions. Finding predictable connections is, literally, how our species survived. Science writer, historian, and skeptic Michael Shermer, in The Believing Brain, explains why we have historically (and prehistorically) looked for connections even if they were doubtful or false.
Incorrectly interpreting rustling from the wind as an oncoming lion is called a type I error, a false positive. The consequences of such an error were much less grave than those of a type II error, a false negative. A false negative could have been fatal: hearing rustling and always assuming it’s the wind would have gotten our ancestors eaten, and we wouldn’t be here.
Seeking certainty helped keep us alive all this time, but it can wreak havoc on our decisions in an uncertain world. When we work backward from results to figure out why those things happened, we are susceptible to a variety of cognitive traps, like assuming causation when there is only a correlation, or cherry-picking data to confirm the narrative we prefer. We will pound a lot of square pegs into round holes to maintain the illusion of a tight relationship between our outcomes and our decisions.
Different brain functions compete to control our decisions. Nobel laureate and psychology professor Daniel Kahneman, in his 2011 best- selling Thinking, Fast and Slow, popularized the labels of “System 1” and “System 2.” He characterized System 1 as “fast thinking.” System 1 is what causes you to hit the brakes the instant someone jumps into the street in
front of your car. It encompasses reflex, instinct, intuition, impulse, and automatic processing. System 2, “slow thinking,” is how we choose, concentrate, and expend mental energy. Kahneman explains how System 1 and System 2 are capable of dividing and conquering our decision-making but work mischief when they conflict.
I particularly like the descriptive labels “reflexive mind” and “deliberative mind” favored by psychologist Gary Marcus. In his 2008 book, Kluge: The Haphazard Evolution of the Human Mind, he wrote, “Our thinking can be divided into two streams, one that is fast, automatic, and largely unconscious, and another that is slow, deliberate, and judicious.”
The first system, “the reflexive system, seems to do its thing rapidly and automatically, with or without our conscious awareness.” The second system, “the deliberative system . . . deliberates, it considers, it chews over the facts.”
The differences between the systems are more than just labels.
Automatic processing originates in the evolutionarily older parts of the brain, including the cerebellum, basal ganglia, and amygdala. Our deliberative mind operates out of the prefrontal cortex.
Colin Camerer, a professor of behavioral economics at Caltech and leading speaker and researcher on the intersection of game theory and neuroscience, explained to me the practical folly of imagining that we could just get our deliberative minds to do more of the decision-making work.
“We have this thin layer of prefrontal cortex made just for us, sitting on top of this big animal brain. Getting this thin little layer to handle more is unrealistic.” The prefrontal cortex doesn’t control most of the decisions we make every day. We can’t fundamentally get more out of that unique, thin layer of prefrontal cortex. “It’s already overtaxed,” he told me.
These are the brains we have and they aren’t changing anytime soon.* Making more rational decisions isn’t just a matter of willpower or consciously handling more decisions in deliberative mind. Our deliberative capacity is already maxed out. We don’t have the option, once we recognize the problem, of merely shifting the work to a different part of the brain, as if you hurt your back lifting boxes and shifted to relying on your leg muscles.
Both deliberative and reflexive mind are necessary for our survival and advancement. The big decisions about what we want to accomplish recruit the deliberative system. Most of the decisions we execute on the way to
achieving those goals, however, occur in reflexive mind. The shortcuts built into the automatic processing system kept us from standing around on the savanna, debating the origin of a potentially threatening sound while its source devoured us. Those shortcuts keep us alive, routinely executing the thousands of decisions that make it possible for us to live our daily lives.
We need shortcuts, but they come at a cost. Many decision-making missteps originate from the pressure on the reflexive system to do its job fast and automatically. No one wakes up in the morning and says, “I want to be closed-minded and dismissive of others.” But what happens when we’re focused on work and a fluff-headed coworker approaches? Our brain is already using body language and curt responses to get rid of them without flouting conventions of politeness. We don’t deliberate over this; we just do it. What if they had a useful piece of information to share? We’ve tuned them out, cut them short, and are predisposed to dismiss anything we do pick up that varies from what we already know.
Most of what we do daily exists in automatic processing. We have habits and defaults that we rarely examine, from gripping a pencil to swerving to avoid an auto accident. The challenge is not to change the way our brains operate but to figure out how to work within the limitations of the brains we already have. Being aware of our irrational behavior and wanting to change is not enough, in the same way that knowing that you are looking at a visual illusion is not enough to make the illusion go away.
Daniel Kahneman used the famous Müller-Lyer illusion to illustrate this.
MÜLLER-LYER ILLUSION
Which of these three lines is longest? Our brain sends us the signal that the second line is the longest, but you can see from adding the measurement lines that they are the same length.
We can measure the lines to confirm they are the same length, but we can’t make ourselves unsee the illusion.
What we can do is look for practical work-arounds, like carrying around a ruler and knowing when to use it to check against how your brain processes what you see. It turns out that poker is a great place to find practical strategies to get the execution of our decisions to align better with our goals. Understanding how poker players think can help us deal with the decision challenges that bedevil us in our workplaces, financial lives, relationships—even in deciding whether or not passing the ball was a brilliant play.