Excerpts from Chapters 3 & 4 of "Breaking Out: How to build influence in a world of competing ideas"

Chapter 3  Expression 

 Infecting

On the subject of expression, let me offer the thoughts of Leo Tolstoy (1828–1910). As the reader is no doubt more than aware, Tolstoy was the author of two great novels—War and Peace and Anna Karenina—but he was also an essayist. In his 1897 work, What Is Art?, Tolstoy offers a definition of art that is applicable to the idea entrepreneur’s act of expression.

“Art is a human activity,” Tolstoy writes, “consisting in this, that one man consciously, by means of certain external signs, hands on to others feelings he has lived through, and that other people are infected by these feelings, and also experience them.”²

If we substitute the word expression for art (and mentally replace the word man with person), this is a useful and telling description of what the idea entrepreneur seeks to do.

Let me deconstruct the statement a bit. The word consciously is important, because it suggests that the artist/expresser is deliberately and intentionally embarking on the act of expression. This distinguishes it from another definition of art that Tolstoy, in the same essay, defines as “the manifestation of some mysterious Idea of beauty”—and which he put no stock in.³ In other words, the idea entrepreneur makes a deliberate decision to go public with a major expression; it does not mystically emerge.

Tolstoy goes on to say that this activity is about the handing on to others certain feelings that the artist/idea entrepreneur has lived through—not those he or she has heard about or observed or invented or borrowed from others. And, for our purposes, I think we can broaden the word feelings to include thoughts and ideas. I equate this with the “handing-on” of the personal narrative that is essential for the idea entrepreneur.

Although Tolstoy, as a writer, was partial to writing as his favored form of expression, he was generous in accepting that the handing-on of emotions could be accomplished through other modes of expression, too, including “movements, lines, colors, sounds, or forms expressed in words.”⁴ And, with that, he has pretty much covered the waterfront of the idea entrepreneur’s available forms: writing, speaking, and, to a lesser degree, creating images or, as I call them, emblems.

The key phrase now arrives. Tolstoy says the purpose of this activity of art (expression, for us) is to hand on these feelings such that others are “infected” by them. (Although I have also seen the Russian translated as “affected.”) Shades of virality! Ideas as a kind of virus (think of Seth Godin and the “idea virus” and Everett Rogers’s “diffusion of innovations”), a contagion that spreads among groups in more or less predictable ways.

There’s one more important piece of Tolstoy’s statement to be considered, and then we’ll return him to the shelf. Not only are others infected by the words or movements, they also experience the feelings for themselves. This is precisely what the idea entrepreneur would like as a response to his or her expressions: for others to experience the revelations and iconic moments such that they become embedded in their minds. Tolstoy continues, noting that when this handing-on, infecting, and experiencing takes place, art/expression operates as “a means of union among [people], joining them together in the same feelings.” And finally, says Tolstoy, it is “indispensable for the life and progress toward well-being of individuals and of humanity.”⁵

Life affirmation. Improvement. Making a difference. The starting of movements. Changing the world. 

Sacred Articulation

As I’ve said, it is likely that the nascent idea entrepreneur has expressed (or tried to express) the idea, or at least parts of it, many times and in many forms during the period of accumulation.

The expression that enables a person to go public, however, may indeed emerge with a different kind of energy than all the others that came before and, usually, all those that follow. Most often, but not always, this going-public expression is the one that comes to be seen as the idea entrepreneur’s sacred expression. I use the term just a bit facetiously, but it is apt, because this expression is the one in which, for the first time, the idea is clearly and completely articulated and the personal narrative is openly related and connected to the idea. This expression is the definitive version, the original source, the final authority. To paraphrase and differently apply the thoughts of Victorian art critic John Ruskin (1819–1900), the sacred expression is the one that contains the greatest number of the idea entrepreneur’s greatest ideas.

Writing, particularly the writing of a book, has long been the most common form of sacred expression for the idea entrepreneur, but today the book is just one of many forms. The fifteen- to eighteen-minute TED talk, or its equivalent in other eduinfotainment venues, has become a common form of sacred expression for the idea entrepreneur and other forms—including the video, the blog, and an extended Twitter presence (which is a favored form in China)—can play that role, as well.

Still, the book continues to be an important expression for the idea entrepreneur, even when it is not the sacred one, for a number of reasons. The most obvious is that writing a book forces you to think more comprehensively, holistically, and rigorously about the idea than does any other form of expression. A friend recently suggested to me that many ideas are better expressed and comprehended in a shorter form of writing, such as an article—in print or online. “I can get the entire idea, at least as much as I need of it, in a good piece in the Harvard Business Review,” he said. “Too many books are just puffed-up articles.”

I have heard this argument many times and I don’t disagree. However, it may be more accurate to think of the best idea-driven articles—the ones that present a strong narrative, clear framework, and useful set of practices—as un-puffed books. They are condensations or summaries of a book-length piece of writing and are so powerful and clear precisely because the rigorous thinking has been accomplished in the act of creating a book.

Emblems

To writing and talking, we can add one other, slightly less essential expression: emblems. An emblem, according to the Oxford English Dictionary, is “[a] picture of an object (or the object itself) serving as a symbolical representation of an abstract quality, an action, state of things, class of persons, etc.”

House in the Woods

An emblem may seem tangential to an idea or too superficial to have the ability to transfer feelings to others, but the right emblem can bring a lot to the idea and can also serve as a potent mnemonic.

Over time, especially, emblems can build up tremendous resonance. Such is the case with the image of Thoreau’s self-built house at Walden Pond, which appears on the cover of the original edition of Walden. It is a signature emblem and it expresses the essence of Thoreau’s idea: the individual, alone, in nature, living deliberately. It’s hard not to be drawn in by it.

Particularly because Thoreau himself is not pictured, the emblem of the house seems ready to open its doors to us and our thoughts. I, too, have always wished to live deliberately. I, too, could imagine myself living apart in the woods. I, too, am a creature of nature who feels disaffected from, yet unable to completely separate myself from, the comforts and delights of civilization. The cabin image does not mean more than the book, nor does it dumb down the idea. It leads the reader into the narrative, takes on more and more meaning through the reading of the book, and stays in the mind long after engagement with any of Thoreau’s expressions. It is even more meaningful when you learn that the black-and-white image was created by Thoreau’s sister, Sophia, rather than by a commercial artist commissioned by the publisher. It is the genuine article. Plus, as no doubt pleased Thoreau, it cost nothing to create.

Boundary Objects

Like the image of Thoreau’s house, the powerful emblem is not only expressive and memorable, it is also flexible and adaptable and can accommodate many interpretations. It is porous or, in the parlance of experts in social change, an emblem such as Thoreau’s house might be called a “boundary object”— that is, a tangible that appeals and beckons to people across disciplines and ideologies, and brings them together.

In that house, many different kinds of people—including writers, naturalists, survivalists, social justice liberals, builders, teachers, environmentalists, scientists, and antitax conservatives—find meaning. The house celebrates American individualism. It suggests self-sufficiency. It is a writer’s garret, a naturalist’s outpost, the iconoclast’s declaration of separation. It is a blow to the conformity of the typical life path of family and work. It’s a shrine to the importance of community. Almost whatever you wish it to be, it is.

Clarity of expression is important for the idea entrepreneur, but porousness—the ability for an expression to embrace many meanings and messages—is also valuable.

Deliberate or Found

Emblems can be deliberately created, but they are more often found or generated during the course of accumulation, and become emblematic through use and constant application. Not every idea entrepreneur has an emblem, or at least not one that really strikes a chord, but those who do are blessed, because an emblem has a remarkable ability to encapsulate, represent, and embody an idea and an idea entrepreneur in an efficient way.

This is the case with the pyramid image usually associated with Maslow’s hierarchy of needs framework. Maslow himself did not create or use the pyramid emblem; it developed into the signature emblem for his central idea that human needs are arranged in a kind of escalating stack, with the most difficult to achieve at the pinnacle.

Another example of an emblem that is at the very center of the idea is the black swan, which is also the title of Nassim Nicholas Taleb’s book, The Black Swan. His idea is that anomalies and highly improbable phenomena, such as black swans, have a far greater impact on us than we think and we should spend more time learning about them, preparing for them, and taking advantage of them.

Idea entrepreneurs often deliberately attempt to create an emblem for their idea, but it’s difficult to do. An emblem is not a logo or a symbol. It has to connect with the idea in a way that is instantly understandable and deeply resonant on a number of levels.

Mireille Guiliano attributes some of the appeal of her books to the cover image, which serves as an emblem for the French sense of joie de vivre. It depicts a perky, slim young woman prancing along a street, the leash of her perky slim dog in one hand, a roller bag containing the essential elements of the French lifestyle—champagne, baguette, and flowers—in the other. It is an image that Guiliano commissioned (having rejected the publisher’s design), and it has become her signature emblem.

The Napoleon Drawing

Perhaps the most striking emblem associated with the idea entrepreneurs in this book is the “Napoleon drawing” that has become closely associated with Edward Tufte. It appeared in Tufte’s first book, The Visual Display of Quantitative Information; he still discusses it in his one-day course; and it has become a durable manifestation of his ideas—so identified with Tufte (despite the fact that he didn’t create it) that even people who haven’t read a word of his books often identify him as the “guy with that Napoleon chart.”

The drawing depicts the march of Napoleon’s army into Moscow in the winter of 1812. It was created by Charles Joseph Minard (1781–1870), who was not an artist, but a civil engineer. From the image on that 20" x 22" sheet, in just two colors, tan and black, you quickly comprehend the horrifying story. A thick, optimistic line of French soldiers marches toward Moscow; a rapidly narrowing line of defeated, dispirited, dying soldiers retreats. It’s a map, spreadsheet, narrative, and work of art all in one. Tufte writes, “It may well be the best statistical graphic ever drawn.”⁵⁰

Many of Tufte’s ideas and practices are evident in the Minard drawing, and now he and it are inextricably connected.

Chapter 4 – Respiration

Classical Path

Nierenberg is a particularly intriguing example in this regard. He is the creator of a live program called the Music Paradigm, and its animating idea is that the group dynamics and leadership skills that make for a successful symphony orchestra are precisely those that can improve other kinds of organizations, such as businesses, not-for-profits, and government agencies.

The Music Paradigm is a combination of a talk, a live music performance, and a demonstration that puts the audience in the midst of the expression as it is being created. The program, which runs about two hours, features a symphony orchestra of as many as sixty-five professional players—hired especially for the occasion—with Maestro Nierenberg on the podium. The audience members seat themselves in chairs that have been placed among the sections of the orchestra—managers cheek-by-jowl with cellists, executives side by side with bassoonists. The audience becomes part of the orchestral “organization” and can observe and engage in the dynamics of performing together.

Nierenberg leads the group—orchestra and audience—through a series of exercises that involve the orchestra playing sections of a classical work in response to Nierenberg’s leadership. Not only is it quite an experience to sit in the middle of an orchestra as it plays at full volume, the variations in the quality of the performance that result from Nierenberg’s experiments are striking. As his website describes, the exercises “demonstrate basic and important truths about the functioning of an organization.”

Nierenberg has been leading sessions of the Music Paradigm since 1995 for many kinds of organizations in locations around the world, and the ideaplex has taken notice. In 1997, Nierenberg, working with the London Philharmonic Orchestra, was featured on the BBC television show The Money Programme. In 2001, the New York Times featured him in an article titled, “Allegro, Andante, Adagio and Corporate Harmony; A Conductor Draws Management Metaphors from Musical Teamwork.” It ends with the story of one attendee who resolved to use a baton, instead of a croquet mallet, in his role as an executive—to work with a “lighter touch.”

The Music Paradigm became so successful that, in 2004, Nierenberg left his post with the Stamford orchestra to focus on it full time. He published a book based on the program, called Maestro: A Surprising Story About Leading by Listening (Portfolio, 2009). In 2011 alone, he led some fifty sessions in cities throughout the United States as well as in Spain, the Netherlands, the Czech Republic, and Switzerland.

I have worked with Nierenberg at various points in his path to idea entrepreneurship, advising him on his book efforts, and traveling to see him conduct orchestras and lead the Music Paradigm in Stamford, New York, Boston, Prague, Stockholm, and Helsinki. Anna and I also interviewed him in his apartment in New York for this book.

The Oboe Line

Nierenberg did not set out to be an idea entrepreneur. His fascination is classical music and his education and training both led him toward a traditional career in music. He earned his BA in music from Princeton, a postgraduate degree in conducting at the Mannes College of Music (part of the New School in New York City), and a Master of Music from the Julliard School. He set off on a more-or-less standard path for a conductor, leading a chorale and eventually holding positions with two symphony orchestras—as music director of Connecticut’s Stamford Symphony Orchestra and director of the Jacksonville Symphony Orchestra in Florida.

As he was building a successful career in this rarefied profession, however, Nierenberg felt there was something more he needed to do. People simply did not get classical music the way he did, were not as transported by it, as fascinated by it, as he was. They almost seemed unable to listen to it.

Nierenberg, in his role as conductor, also came to the realization that he was as fascinated by the process of conducting as much as he was by the music itself. How is it that one person, equipped at most with a baton (sometimes only hands), can evince from a group of musicians a performance of such dynamism and meaning that it evokes an emotional response from an audience? What does a conductor actually do? Nierenberg began to think beyond music, and consider conducting as a form of leadership. Might that be the different context within which people could better hear and understand classical music?

This thinking was sparked by a revelation Nierenberg had in the early 1980s, when he attended a performance of Amadeus on Broadway. The play, written by Peter Shaffer, is about the relationship between Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart and Antonio Salieri, a Mozart contemporary and also a composer, although of far lesser skill and renown. In one scene, Salieri listens to Mozart’s Serenade Number 10, also known as the Gran Partita, a work for a woodwind and brass ensemble. Salieri has read through the score but is not prepared for the experience of actually listening to a performance, especially a passage for the oboe. “Salieri describes the oboe line,” Nierenberg told us, “and describes his ecstasy at hearing this thing that he had never imagined before.”

This struck him deeply. “The play had a way of creating context in which the music was more beautiful,” he told us. “I wanted to create the context in which that experience can happen for other people.”

The result, almost a decade later, was the Music Paradigm.

The Wrong Question

I asked Nierenberg what, if anything, he learned from conducting his sessions. Did he see the engagements as exercises in listening as much as in expressing his own idea?

He said that he looks forward to his sessions precisely because he does not know who his audience will be, how they will react, or what he will learn from them. He did a program for members of the National Automobile Auction Association, for example, essentially used-car redistributors and salespeople. As he was preparing for the engagement, Nierenberg said he was wondering, “Oh my God, what are they going to think of this Mendelssohn symphony? And just before they came in, I thought, I don’t know whether this is going to work.” To understand his audience he listened carefully to their comments and questions. “You have to find out who the people are,” he said, “and play with them.” In the end, the session worked “splendidly.”

There is always a delicate balance in the room. In most sessions, Nierenberg achieves a feeling of openness and receptiveness, largely because he listens carefully and responds perceptively. The importance of doing so was brought home to Nierenberg at a session in Wellington, New Zealand, that proved to be a revelation for him.

The topic of the day was alignment. “We talk about how there are right angles in the way people play,” Nierenberg said, “and about how the alignment of the body to the instrument, and the way the instrument plays, is critical.” To kick off the discussion, he asked the audience members to observe the musicians near them as they played, looking for manifestations of alignment between body and instrument—right angles and parallel lines.

Nierenberg sometimes calls on people rather than waiting for volunteers to answer. In this session, he posed the question to an audience member who had not raised his hand. Unfortunately, the person could not come up with any examples of alignment as manifested in the angles of violin bows or bassoons. “He got very self-conscious,” Nierenberg said. Finally, “I had to tell him the right answer.” The atmosphere in the room changed. The audience could see that correct answers were expected and, since classical music was hardly their area of expertise, there was opportunity for embarrassment, failure, and being wrong. Although the session proceeded well enough and received praise at the end, Nierenberg knew that it could have been better.

Nierenberg was so upset by the session that he spent an hour reviewing every mistake that he might have made, the lessons he had learned, and writing them all down. “I learned that you never ask a closed question, you ask an open question,” he said. Rather than ask, “Did you see right angles and parallel lines and where?” the question should be “What did you see?” This is a fundamental shift in live engagement, from the one who wishes to deliver an idea to the one who is helping a group consider that idea. It’s as if to say: I’m trying to understand the idea, to figure this out, along with you. (Eckhart Tolle is a master at this.)

One goal of the Music Paradigm is to help people feel comfortable with content (the practices of classical music) that is unfamiliar to them. It takes a good deal of emotional intelligence on the part of the idea entrepreneur to enable people to have a new experience and feel safe enough to fully participate in discussion about it.

Surreptitious Intent

When Roger invented the Music Paradigm, he did so to create a context that would help people experience classical music, but in a “surreptitious” way—that is, within the context of a business setting with a clearly defined business goal. He would not announce to his clients that his goal was to further the cause of classical music, but rather to enlist classical music in the cause of organizational improvement.

However, the more Nierenberg listened to his audiences (he also survived a life-threatening illness along the way, and that may have emboldened him), the more he understood that almost everyone—including used-car salespeople—could respond to the music itself, and he freed himself enough so that he now can reveal his fascination more openly. No longer is his intent surreptitious, no more does he bend his narrative away from the feelings he really wants others to experience. “I always announce it now at the end of a session,” he told Anna and me. Yes, he tells his audiences, he loves doing what he does, but helping their businesses is not his main objective. “My real agenda is that I’ll feel successful if a lot of you now want to go to concerts,” he confesses to them. As he said to us: “The fact that the Music Paradigm helps businesses—and I know it does—that’s great and that’s what pays me. But that’s not what really drives me.”

As Nierenberg learned, listening is not only a way to engage an audience so they will pay better attention, it is also a way to explore, enrich, and free yourself.