Creativity (10 page)

I don’t think there is such a thing as reality. There are widely varying descriptions of reality, and you’ve got to be alert to when they change and what’s really going on. No one is going to truly grasp it, but you have to stay truly active on that end. That implies you have to have a multifaceted perspective.

There is a set of realities that exist at any moment in time. I always have some kind of a model in my mind as to what I think is going on in the world. I’m always tuning that [model] and trying to get different insights as I look at things, and I try to relate it back to what it means to our business, to how one behaves, if you will.

I don’t mean to say there isn’t anything in the center. I just think we can look at it [reality] in so many different ways. Right now, in my business, banks are deemed to be successful based on capital ratios. Ten years ago there was no concept of the “capital ratio.” I failed totally to understand the impact of the savings and loan crisis on Congress, the regulators, and the industry. The world I’m living in today bears little resemblance to the world I lived in ten years ago, with regard to what was thought to be important. So we have defined a reality, which as I say is not empty, but it’
s close to being empty.

Like anybody else, I was slow to recognize the new reality. Knowing these kinds of things turns out to be awfully relevant, because your degrees of freedom get taken away if you’re off base. I went through a massive adjustment to play a game that
was different from the one you saw before. But it’s a changing reality. I know goddamn well that these capital ratios are not sufficiently robust to be long-term, decent leading indicators of things, and five years from now the people who worry about how to price bank stocks are not going to be focusing on those. I describe success as
evolutionary
success.

What Einstein implied about art and science reappears in this account of banking: It is an
evolutionary
process, where current reality becomes rapidly obsolete, and one must be on the alert for the shape of things to come. At the same time, the emerging reality is not a fanciful conceit but something inherent in the here and now. It would be easy to dismiss Reed’s visionary view as the romancing of a businessman who has had one too many encounters with reality. But apparently his unorthodox approach works: A recent issue of
Newsweek
announced: “John Reed might be excused a little gloating
…. Since his darkest days three years ago he’s quietly produced a stunning 425 percent return for investors who bought Citicorp shares.” And one commentator adds that the overseas investments Reed made were considered junk five years ago, whereas now they are seen as a hot stock. “Nothing’s changed but the perception,” the financial expert says, echoing Reed’s take on the reality of the market.

5. Creative people seem to harbor opposite tendencies on the continuum between extroversion and introversion. Usually each of us tends to be one or the other, either preferring to be in the thick of crowds or sitting on the sidelines and observing the passing show. In fact, in current psychological research, extroversion and introversion are considered the most stable personality traits that differentiate people from each other and that can be reliably measured. Creative individuals, on the other hand, seem to express both traits at the same time.

The stereotype of the “solitary genius” is strong and gets ample support also from our interviews. After all, one must generally be alone in order to write, paint, or do experiments in a laboratory. As we know from studies of young talented people, teenagers who cannot stand being alone tend not to develop their skills because practicing music or studying math requires a solitude they dread.
Only those teens who can tolerate being alone are able to master the symbolic content of a domain.

Yet over and over again, the importance of seeing people, hearing people, exchanging ideas, and getting to know another person’s work and mind are stressed by creative individuals. The physicist John Wheeler expresses this point with his usual directness: “If you don’t kick things around with people, you are out of it. Nobody, I always say, can be anybody without somebody being around.”

Physicist Freeman Dyson expresses with a fine nuance the opposite phases of this dichotomy in his work. He points to the door of his office and says:

Science is a very gregarious business. It is essentially the difference between having this door open and having it shut. When I am doing science I have the door open. I mean, that is kind of symbolic, but it is true. You want to be, all the time, talking with people. Up to a point you welcome being interrupted because it is only by interacting with other people that you get anything interesting done. It is essentially a communal enterprise. There are new things happening all the time, and you should keep abreast and keep yourself aware of what is going on. You must be constantly t
alking. But, of course, writing is different. When I am writing I have the door shut, and even then too much sound comes through, so very often when I am writing I go and hide in the library. It is a solitary game. So, I suppose that is the main difference. But then, afterward, of course the feedback is very strong, and you get a tremendous enrichment of contacts as a result. Lots and lots of people write me letters simply because I have written books which address a general public, so I get into touch with a much wider circle of friends. It’s broadened my horizons very much. But that is only aft
er the writing is finished and not while it is going on.

John Reed builds the alternation between inner-directed reflection and intense social interaction into his daily routine:

I’m an early morning guy. I get up at five always, get out of the shower about 5:30, and I typically try to work either at
home or at the office, and that’s when I do a good bit of my thinking and priority setting. I’m a great lister. I have twenty lists of things to do all the time. If I ever have five free minutes I sit and make lists of things that I should be worrying about or doing. Typically I get to the office about 6:30. I try to keep a reasonably quiet time until 9:30 or 10:00. Then you get involved in lots of transactions. If you are chairman of the company it’s like being a tribal chieftain. People come into your office and talk to you.

Even in the very private realm of the arts the ability to interact is essential. Nina Holton describes well the role of sociability in art:

You really can’t work entirely alone in your place. You want to have a fellow artist come and talk things over with you—“How does that strike you?” You have to have some sort of feedback. You can’t be sitting there entirely by yourself and never show it. And then eventually, you know, when you begin to show, you have to have a whole network. You have to get to know gallery people, you have to get to know people who work in your field who are involved. And you may want to find out whether you wish to be part of it or not be part of it, but you cannot help being part of a fellowship, you know?

Jacob Rabinow again puts into clear words the dilemma that many creative individuals face:

I remember once we had a big party and Gladys [his wife] said that I sometimes walk to a different drummer. In other words, I’m so involved in an idea I’m working on, I get so carried away, that I’m all by myself. I’m not listening to what anybody says. This sometimes happens. That you’ve got a new idea and you feel that it’s very good and you’re so involved that you’re not paying attention to anybody. And you tend to drift away from people. It’s very hard for me to be objective. I don’t know. I’m social, I like people, I like to tell jokes, I like to go to the theater. But it’s pro
bably true that there are times when Gladys would have liked me to pay more attention to her and to the family. I love my children, they love me, and we have a
wonderful relationship. But it could be that if I were not an inventor but had a routine job, I’d spend more time at home and I’d pay more attention to them, and the job would be something that I wouldn’t like to do. So maybe people who don’t like their jobs love their home more. It’s quite possible.

6. Creative individuals are also remarkably humble and proud at the same time. It is remarkable to meet a famous person whom you expect to be arrogant or supercilious, only to encounter self-deprecation and shyness instead. Yet there are good reasons why this should be so. In the first place, these individuals are well aware that they stand, in Newton’s words, “on the shoulders of giants.” Their respect for the domain in which they work makes them aware of the long line of previous contributions to it, which puts their own into perspective. Second, they also are aware of the role that lu
ck played in their own achievements. And third, they are usually so focused on future projects and current challenges that their past accomplishments, no matter how outstanding, are no longer very interesting to them. Elisabeth Noelle-Neumann’s answer to the question “Looking back on all your accomplishments, which one would you say you are most proud of?” is typical:

I never think of what I am proud about. I never look back, except to find out about mistakes. Because mistakes are hard to remember and to draw conclusions from. But I only see danger in thinking back about things you are proud of. When people ask me if I am proud of something, I just shrug and hope to get away as soon as possible. I should explain that my way is always to look ahead, all my pleasant thoughts are about the future. It has been this way since I was twenty years old. I start every day fresh. The most important thing for me is to keep up the research institute, to keep
up empirical research.

Despite her great accomplishments and reputation in the field, neuropsychologist Brenda Milner tells of being very self-critical and of having enormous self-doubts about being creative. The Canadian artist Michael Snow attributes the restless experimentation that led him to so many successes to a sense of confusion and insecurity he has been trying to dispell.

Another indication of modesty is how often this question was answered in terms of the family rather than the accomplishments that made a person famous. For instance, Freeman Dyson’s answer was: “I suppose it is just to have raised six kids, and brought them up, as far as one can see, all to be interesting people. I think that’s what I am most proud of, really.” And John Reed’s: “Oh, God. That’s real…I suppose being a parent. I have four kids. If you had to say what has both surprised and given you a lot of pleasure, I’d say that I’m close to my kids and I enjoy them, and I never would
have guessed that that would be as much fun as it’s turned out to be.”

At the same time, of course, no matter how modest these individuals are, they know that in comparison with others they have accomplished a great deal. And this knowledge provides a sense of security, even pride. This is often expressed as a sense of self-assurance. For instance, medical physicist Rosalyn Yalow mentioned repeatedly that all through her life she never had any doubts about succeeding in what she started out to do. Jacob Rabinow concurs: “There’s one other thing that you do when you invent. And that is what I call the Existence Proof. This means that you have to assume that it
can be done. If you don’t assume that, you won’t even try. And I always assume that not only it can be done, but
I
can do it.” Some individuals stress humility, others self-assurance, but in actuality all of the people we interviewed seemed to have a good dose of both.

Another way of expressing this duality is to see it as a contrast between
ambition
and
selflessness
, or competition and cooperation. It is often necessary for creative individuals to be ambitious and aggressive. Yet at the same time, they are often willing to subordinate their own personal comfort and advancement to the success of whatever project they are working on. Aggressiveness is required especially in fields where competition is acute, or in domains where it is difficult to introduce novelty. In George Stigler’s words:

Every scholar, I think, is aggressive in some sense. He has to be aggressive if he wants to change his discipline. Now, if you get a Keynes or a Friedman, they are also aggressive in that they want to change the world, and so they become splendid public figures as well. But that’s a very hard game to play.

Brenda Milner claims that the she has always been very aggressive verbally. John Gardner, statesman and founder of several national grassroots political organizations, describes well both the peaceful and aggressive instincts that coexist within the same person:

I was the president of the Carnegie Corporation. I had a very interesting life, but not a lot of new challenges, not a tumultuous life. I was well protected. When I went to Washington I discovered a lot of things about myself that I didn’t know. I discovered that I liked politicians. I got along well with them. I enjoyed dealing with the press, as much as anyone can enjoy dealing with the press. And then I discovered that I enjoyed a political fight, which was about as far away from my self-image as you can get. I’m a very peaceful person. But these things come out. Life pulls them out of y
ou, and as I say, I’m a slow learner, but in my midfifties I learned some interesting things.

Several persons mention that in the course of their careers motivation has shifted from self-centered goals to more altruistic interests. For instance, Sarah LeVine, who started out as an anthropologist and then became a fiction writer, has this to say:

Up until quite recently, I used to think of production only for the greater glory of myself, really. I don’t see it that way at all anymore. I mean, it’s nice if one gets recognition for what one does, but much more important is to leave something that other people can learn about, and I suppose that comes with middle age.

7. In all cultures, men are brought up to be “masculine” and to disregard and repress those aspects of their temperament that the culture regards as “feminine,” whereas women are expected to do the opposite. Creative individuals to a certain extent escape this rigid gender role stereotyping. When tests of masculinity/femininity are given to young people, over and over one finds that creative and talented girls are more dominant and tough than other girls, and creative boys are more sensitive and less aggressive than their male peers.

This tendency toward androgyny is sometimes understood in
purely sexual terms, and therefore it gets confused with homosexuality. But psychological androgyny is a much wider concept, referring to a person’s ability to be at the same time aggressive and nurturant, sensitive and rigid, dominant and submissive, regardless of gender. A psychologically androgynous person in e
ffect doubles his or her repertoire of responses and can interact with the world in terms of a much richer and varied spectrum of opportunities. It is not surprising that creative individuals are more likely to have not only the strengths of their own gender but those of the other one, too.

Among the people we interviewed, this form of androgyny was difficult to detect—no doubt in part because we did not use any standard test to measure its presence. Nevertheless, it was obvious that the women artists and scientists tended to be much more assertive, self-confident, and openly aggressive than women are generally brought up to be in our society. Perhaps the most noticeable evidence for the “femininity” of the men in the sample was their great preoccupation with their family and their sensitivity to subtle aspects of the environment that other men are inclined to dismiss as u
nimportant. But despite having these traits that are not usual to their gender, they retained the usual gender-specific traits as well. In general, the women were perfectly “feminine” and the men thoroughly “masculine,” in addition to having cross-gender traits.