Ethics and the Neuroscientific Study of Leadership

Introduction

I set out this synthesis and rejoinder by offering an unusual assertion: My venturing into neuroscience was inspired by anger. However, the kind of anger typically discussed as anger management issue is not what drives me. Rather, the kind of anger at stake here is “direct and explicit in its projection of our personal values and expectations on the world. Anger, whether expressed or not, is our insistence upon our own ideals . . . oneself as defender of values” (Solomon, 1993c, pp. 227, 229). For me, the anger elicitor resides in the reasoning that we can improve on ourselves by taking recourse to scientific methods or procedures with little or no regard for wider individual, social, and ethical implications. What might appear enriching (as Cropanzano and Becker suggest in their response) can potentially turn out to be impoverishing for individuals and society at large, as suggested later. Thus, the type of anger I talk about is light-years away from more pathological manifestations. In other words, the originating article (this issue), and this rejoinder, would have never come into genesis without anger.

Some readers might now object that scientific inquiry should be value-free, and most certainly devoid of emotional currents. It is, after all, the multiplicity of biases thus introduced that can only distort the real form and nature of reality and what can be known about it (see Antonakis, Cianciolo, & Sternberg, 2004; Mohrman, 2010, for divergent views). But, as I shall argue, it is the positivist attitude to eliminate our emotions from the process of scientific inquiry (cf. Guba & Lincoln, 1994) that maneuvered us into the current situation as far as the neglect of wider ethical considerations is concerned in the burgeoning uptake of neuroscientific theories and methods in management. Other scholars would agree. In an adroit pun, Solomon (1993c) likens the value-freeness of logical positivism to being nothing more than ethical negativism. In a related rendition, Jürgen Habermas is equally adamant that the separation of values and beliefs from the process of knowledge creation is highly problematic, to the extent that “in the course of modern times, contemporary science becomes incompetent to the good life.” ¹ So for him it is insufficient, for instance, to only consult biologists in the debate on stem cells, “since these questions cannot be purely negotiated scientifically.” The ongoing debate about neuroscience raises similar issues as both stem cell research and neural activity can be described as processes and markers “inside the body” (Duster, 2006).

This rejoinder is organized as follows. First, I remind the readers about key points that I raised in the originating article (this issue), followed by clarifications on where respondents misunderstood my intentions and arguments. Third, to elicit the key arguments of this exchange, I synthesize the respondents’ main arguments by way of highlighting both converging and diverging perspectives on my critique. However, given that the latter is likely to be in want of further elaboration, I invest more time and space on the divergent perspectives. Finally, I conclude the article with some thoughts and suggestions for the future development of the debate. For the benefit of the Journal of Management Inquiry (JMI) readership and beyond, I hope that this exchange in toto renders a greater contribution to the debate than any contribution in isolation.

Key Concerns in Originating Article

When the opportunity was presented to me to engage with colleagues in this exchange, what I was hoping for—perhaps optimistically—is that the response articles would explicitly detail whether they perceive any concern when the application of neuroscience is extended from the clinical domain (in which it has valuable therapeutic merit in the treatment of various medical conditions; Sahakian & Morein-Zamir, 2007) to that of enhancement in healthy human beings for managerial purposes. Therefore, whether neuroscience is applied in the clinical domain, or for enhancement purposes, has been a key distinction in my article, one to which I draw attention to earlier on in it (Farah, 2005; Illes, De Vries, Cho, & Schraedley-Desmond, 2006; Sahakian & Morein-Zamir, 2007). So to make very clear, I welcome the application of neuroscience to remedy medical conditions in individuals who suffer the debilitating effects associated with these conditions. Where I am skeptical, if not worried, is when we start accepting that, by way of neuroscience, we can enhance the lives of healthy individuals at work and at home too (a point of view seemingly taken by Cropanzano and Becker). For me, at least two key ethical issues arise in response to this. First, by claiming jurisdiction over managerial behavior, some management researcher and practitioners taking up neuroscientific approaches appear to be keen to establish a new category of (otherwise healthy) managers who are turned into “patients,” whose learning is diagnosed to be deficient and whose symptoms require remedy. Recall what Goleman and Boyatzis (2008) refer to as the necessity to undergo “medical workups” to identify areas of social strengths and weaknesses, whereas Waldman, Balthazard, and Peterson (2011) use words like “brain profile deficiencies.” This logic legitimizes the application of a range of clinical interventions, screenings and classifications, or social exclusions. Second, and relatedly, what several scholars seem to imply by enhancement is often higher performance, be it disguised as inspirational leadership (Waldman et al., 2011) or enhanced learning and cognition (Cohen Kadosh, Levy, O’Shea, Shea, & Savulescu, 2012). What often falls by the wayside, as Solomon (1993a) reminds us, is that our emphasis on competition (for which higher performance is a desideratum)—at least in the Western world—coupled with an amoral conception of business has potentially disastrous consequences on corporate stability and personal security of employees. These are no “bleeding heart” issues (a criticism often leveled at scholars with dissenting views), but issues of immense practical significance (cf. Flyvbjerg, 2001). For instance, in defining uninspirational leadership in terms of brain profile deficiencies, one defines business goals in terms of a pathology that has to be remedied. Whether this legitimizes interventions is an ethical question neglected thus far.

Some Necessary Clarifications

Despite the many interesting extensions and perspectives shared by the respondents, there are several occasions where my original arguments have been misunderstood, with some inferences drawn from my article contrary to what I intended to say. For instance, Ashkanasy seems to view my article as an “appeal to ditch the neuroscientific approach altogether,” adding that my use of the term “management fad . . . is especially worrisome.” In terms of the former, the reader will see that I have not advocated such a restrictive blanket verdict. On the contrary, bearing the key distinction between clinical and enhancement applications in mind, I have been candid that “some clinical applications of neurofeedback therapy or the use of cognitive-enhancing drugs may help individuals in light of neuropsychiatric disorders” (Sahakian & Morein-Zamir, 2007). In terms of the latter, it is true that at the beginning of my originating article (this issue), I made a generic reference to “technological fads.” Yet, in the following paragraph, I proffer a crucial qualification of this, arguing that neuroscience is a “complex science” and, albeit one might construe it as a management fad,

there are profound differences insofar as these changes are more likely to resemble paradigmatic changes . . . This is because the field of study is radically revised when both the objects of study (i.e., the human brain rather than attributions) as well as the methods of investigation change (i.e., hard and objective brain scans rather than interviews).

Ashkanasy then moves on to exemplify his criticism at length by referring to the emotional intelligence construct (since I have referred to it myself as a management fad). ² On this terrain he is, of course, an uncontested authority. I wonder, however, whether his example is a suitable one for the current debate. Key issues in emotional intelligence research concern its construct validity, convergent/divergent validity, and predictive/incremental validity (Joseph & Newman, 2010). My article, by contrast, seeks to articulate the potential ethical and social implications if neuroscientific approaches are applied for purposes of enhancement in healthy individuals. To me, this issue lacks the necessary convergence to Ashkanasy’s concerns about emotional intelligence. On this point, he and I talk about different issues. Therefore, I am not convinced that his caution to “not repeat the excesses” witnessed in the emotional intelligence field is an appropriate reflection on my article, and neither is his reference to “knee-jerk reaction” as a caution that we should not overreact in this debate.

Another important clarification is required in response to Cropanzano and Becker’s article. They reason that I “appear of two minds regarding the possibilities of neuroscientific methods.” They discern a contradiction when I argue that “published work is methodologically flawed,” while elsewhere I presented neuroscience as being capable of reading private thoughts. That contradiction, however, does not exist in my article. Again and more generally, I do believe that neuroscience has a role to play in remedying neuropsychiatric disorders, so I have not termed the entire science methodologically flawed. Specifically, when I used the term methodologically flawed, I was referring to the study of Waldman et al. (2011), in which they reached conclusions about the merit of neurofeedback sessions that are difficult to defend given the underlying design of the study. In that case, it pertained to the lack of a control group and measurements at Time 1 and 2. This issue is matter of sequencing the correct steps in the design of a study, not a “blanket condemnation” of the entire science as they put it.

Elsewhere, Cropanzano and Becker lament that I excluded “large parts of the technical literature” and that this was not “advisable” to “at least understand the validity of a method before making ethical judgments about its use.” In this respect, I welcome their insightful clarifications highlighting that very different ethical issues arise depending on whether neuroscience can explain or diagnose leader behavior. I insist, however, that the approach taken in the originating article was suitable. After all, the issues that Cropanzano and Becker raise (however valid in their own right) do not affect the focus of my article (i.e., the application of neuroscience to identifying and developing inspirational leader for the purpose of enhancement). More generally, I disagree with them when they suggest that the validity of a method is prior to ethical judgments of its usage. Does one need to understand how doping releases its performance-enhancing effects before one can make an ethical judgment on it?

Converging Perspectives

All responses suggest that they share some of the concerns I have articulated. However, they do so in significantly varying degrees. For instance, while Ashkanasy agrees that there are moral issues emanating from the use of neuroscience in the study of leadership, Cropanzano and Becker concur that “taking away freedom, denying privacy, and altering the functioning of a person’s brain are very serious matters.” Likewise, they are to be applauded when they “caution against aggressive workplace applications until we have learned more.” And of course, I could not agree more with their example of “a victim of a traumatic head injury or one suffering from bipolar disorder,” in which case neuroscience may proffer invaluable therapies. Finally, McLagan’s response is conspicuous by considerable convergence in terms of our opinions. Although simply duplicating each of her insightful observations would be pointless here, the issues that stood out for me are that (a) “ethical/moral standards and controls lag behind” technological advances, (b) it is of concern when “practitioners in the field might use brain scan data once they become more broadly available outside the more protective and rule bound clinical arena,” and (c) “reductionist uses (e.g., ‘your brain scan does not show charisma, therefore you are not a leader’) are dangerous (see also Lindebaum & Zundel, 2013).” Her paper also stands out as she made explicit a point I should have probably made in the originating article as well, namely, that evolution compels us to extend knowledge in any possible way. In her words, “If we can do something, we will do it,” followed by the crucial questions, “How do we use new tools and insights?” and “How do we coevolve an ethical and moral framework that maximizes common good and minimizes harm?” I added the italics to her statement owing to its teleological relevance to any ethical debate. We cannot—and should not—be satisfied with only reasoning about, and articulate justifications for, our intentions. At some point, we must be clear on what our final purpose, our telos is. Put differently, a chain of motivations must be anchored, it must be hung somewhere (Solomon, 1993b). I fully concur with this view, and appreciate her insightful premonition, as it goes beyond mere self-interests (e.g., Why do you want to be happy?). Rather, her account points to desirable ends in themselves, the ultimate purposes toward which our actions and reasons are geared. For me, in the context of the current debate, this entails that crossing the line between clinical and enhancing applications of neuroscience at work is more likely to have impoverishing, rather than enriching, consequences for individuals and society—and how they interact. What is particularly at stake is our appreciation of personhood, autonomy, individual accomplishment, and the freedom of individuals to choose whether they subject themselves to enhancement interventions. To caution against that, in my view, is a meaningful telos.

On the whole, even though some modest convergence is apparent between my originating article (this issue) and the response articles, there is a great deal of divergence, particularly between my article and the contribution by Ashkanasy and the article by Cropanzano and Becker. My reading of McLagan’s article suggests that she would probably beg to differ with Cropanzano and Becker on a number of points too, as elaborated later in this article.

Diverging Perspectives

As mentioned earlier, the exchange probably comes most to life when one dissects the divergent arguments that manifest themselves across all articles. And there is quite a bit of divergence evident. Starting with Cropanzano and Becker, they note that my “ethical inquiry does not go far enough,” noting that “a more complete analysis suggests that there are additional matters” in the “interests of parties who could be positively affected by neuroscience.” The reader will probably glean by now that I would agree with this if applied to clinical applications to remedy health problems, some of which are illustrated by Cropanzano and Becker. However, if applied to healthy individuals, I beg to differ. Foremost here is their assertion that “a scientifically valid neuroscience could boost the functioning of organizations, improve working conditions for employees, and help individuals achieve personal growth.” To paraphrase, first legitimacy is bestowed on the method (i.e., “a scientifically valid neuroscience”) and then it is taken as a departure point to achieve the myriad aspirations of modern organizations (i.e., boost organizational functioning, improver working conditions, and generate personal growth). We can see how this kind of reasoning is already capturing the imagination of policy makers in the realm of family policies in the United Kingdom (see Wastell & White, 2012, for an insightful critique). There are two important issues that spring to mind. First, do other modes of inquiry have any less legitimacy and applicability to examine and understand these aspirations—even though they would raise different kinds of questions? And second, the rhetoric used by Cropanzano and Becker resembles the kind of language used “to even make organizations more existentially meaningful than the traditional home” (Fleming & Sturdy, 2011, p. 184). In consequence, we need to ask ourselves what kind of world we want to live in, and how we continually shape and negotiate the ethical parameters that affect us at work and home. To encourage the application of neuroscience to foster the above aspirations—as Cropanzano and Becker seem to—is to ask for trouble in my view.

To begin with, there is a significant body of research that demonstrates the detrimental effects on individuals’ personal lives when organizations become “existentially empowering” arenas (Kunda, 1992; Lindebaum, 2012). In addition, I keep wondering (as I do already in the originating article) about the “freedom to decline participating” in neuroscientific interventions aimed to enhancing individual capacity for work purposes. Of course, I doubt whether overt coercion is what we need to worry about. Rather, it is the covert coercion, built on the anxiety that individuals lag behind or lose out in the competition (i.e., a race to the top) with those who do partake in these interventions, that worries me. I am particularly reminded here of Scheff’s (1990) reanalysis of the famous Asch conformity experiments, where he concludes “that the response occasioning the conformity was induced by shame, such that “the fear that they were suffering from a defect [italics added] and that the study would disclose this defect” (p. 90). This type of coercion would elude Cropanzano and Becker’s premonition that “taking away freedom” is a serious matter.

Divergence in opinion also manifests itself when Cropanzano and Becker argue that it would be unethical if neuroscience would not be harnessed in applications at work for the benefit of society or organizations. I must stress that this point eludes the clinical/enhancement dichotomy that I used to navigate this rejoinder so far. To explain, what they seem to have in mind, first and foremost, is to use neuroscience to create a safe workplace, which reflects a more fundamental human desire to be able to exercise control (Wieland-Burston, 1992). They justify this ambition by arguing that the selection process for a “senior leadership position” should involve valid neuroscientific methods if it can help determine whether that individual has “violent, sexual fantasies about women,” which in turn, are then related “to abusive leadership or even violent assaults.”

I wonder why Cropanzano and Becker, scholars of highest caliber, take recourse to such a contrived example. Let me scrutinize their claims. They begin with a contradiction when they say that abusive “thoughts and preferences” can be detected (yes, they advance their argument as a presupposition) with “a valid neuroscientific test.” Yet, elsewhere they allude that neuroimaging is “likely never be capable of the mind reading.” More importantly, I am not convinced that the example has the explanatory power needed to instill the necessary confidence in it. For one thing, it is a leap of faith from having specific thoughts to specific corresponding behaviors. As Wyland, Kelley, Macrae, Gordon, and Heatherton (2003) point out, it is an intrinsic capacity of healthy individuals to control and regulate their thoughts and behaviors, a capacity greatly diminished in individuals with mental disorders (Purdon, 1999). One might say that Cropanzano and Becker have a point here then. However, perhaps such conclusion would be premature, because to single out individuals with “violent sexual fantasies” entails that all individuals (even the “healthy” ones) would be screened. And why limit ourselves only to “senior” leadership positions given that individuals at any level within the organizational echelons may have “thought patterns” that potentially pose a risk to the health and safety of staff (whether female or male)? And why should we limit ourselves to screening for violent thoughts? How about screening for “unwillingness to work overtime,” or “organizational loyalty”? To my mind, there is a real danger here that this thinking opens up Pandora’s Box, but Cropanzano and Becker seem to be comfortable with the idea that a valid neuroscientific test should be put to such use with a view to attain near-perfect control over human behavior in socially complex settings. It strikes me that Cropanzano and Becker have an economic benefit in mind when they tout the utility of neuroscience to the study of management issues, but that does not necessarily equate with societal benefits. So, if we follow their suggestions, are we at risk of inching toward what George Orwell in his novel 1984 termed Thought Police? That is, a police whose task is to expose and punish thought-criminals and thought-crime? ³

To put things into perspective, some scrutiny is in order. Cropanzano and Becker refer to Meloy’s (2000) study on characteristics of sexual homicide. This kind of intentional killing, as Meloy argues, only “occurs in less than 1% of homicides in the United States” (p. 1). I am not aware how the remaining 99% translate into actual total figures in terms of homicides, but would not be surprised if that total figure, in relation to the overall population of the United States, is vanishingly small. The question is “What do we gain by doing so?” And, equally important, what do we lose? I would like to know what advocates of organizational neuroscience actually perceive as beneficial or good for society? These are highly contested value issues, which are interpreted significantly differently among members of organizations and societies (cf. Learmonth & Humphreys, 2011). Cropanzano and Becker are right to suggest that we need to explore ways to single out individual that pose severe risks (for whatever reason) to colleagues at work or society at large. But is the neuroscientific approach, which constitutes no less than a paradigmatic change in the social sciences, the best or only approach? I harbor my doubts about this, and so do others within other social science debates (Wastell & White, 2012).

There is also one occasion where I beg to differ with McLagan’s view, namely, the view that deterministic and reductionist “views are being challenged by more a probabilistic, participative, co-evolutionary view and assumption set.” It would be an enriching development for social science inquiry more generally if that would be the case (Flyvbjerg, 2001). However, the fact that advocates of organizational neuroscience have succeeded, in a relatively short period of time, to position several publications in top-tier management journals does not seem to be an indication that McLagan’s view (however much I would like to agree with her) is reflected in ongoing developments. And there is an even stronger argument residing in a review by Duster (2006). His study provides a range of examples highlighting the mounting authority of reductionist science over sociological accounts, partly reflected in what he calls a striking imbalance in the “allocation of research funding for ‘causes’ of wide-ranging problems—from disparities in health and educational achievement to explanations of alcoholism and violence” (Duster, 2006, p. 1). He continues by relating that development to an expansion of databases on the processes and markers “inside the body.” In this context, we can see already that the U.K. Government is commissioning reports to explore the utility of neuroscientific evidence as a tool to inform family policies (see Wastell & White, 2012).

Conclusion

In this rejoinder, I have taken up the opportunity to reiterate key issues in the originating article (this issue) to clarify subsequently where response articles have misunderstood my original arguments. Based on my reading of the response articles, I have illustrated where there are converging and diverging perspectives, respectively, in the main arguments presented across all articles. I hope the reader shares my view that it was worthwhile to center more on and disentangle the diverging perspectives.

What this is pointing toward is nothing more than an imperative to open up and enter a dialogue on this contested issue. In this regard, I welcome Cropanzano and Becker’s call for an open dialogue among the various voices that contribute to the debate on the role of neuroscience in management studies. It speaks to their professional integrity to do so, and I unequivocally could not agree more with them. However, when the need for dialogue is posited, then one would expect that a level-playing field exists among advocates and skeptics in terms of their ability to publish in leading management journals. Based on prior experience, I believe that such a level-playing field, at present, does not exist. JMI, a leading and uniquely thought-provoking management journal, clearly deserves considerable credit for not only accepting my originating article (this issue) but also to invite this exchange. But other outlets proved remarkably more immune to the scrutiny of fundamental assumptions underpinning the field of organizational neuroscience. In one case, together with a colleague, I submitted such an article (previously presented at a highly esteemed organization studies/management conference) to a top-tier journal. From the feedback (no prizes for guessing that it was a rejection), we could see that the editor decided to send it out to two reviewers. One of whom did not even bother sharing his or her comments with us. The editor provided only fractions of the confidential message directed to him or her in this case of this reviewer, saying the reviewer deemed it too detailed in the philosophy of science domain that the readership of that journal is unlikely to be able to relate to it. The second reviewer, while sharing several pertinent suggestions for the improvement of the article, was decidedly an advocate of organizational neuroscience. Thus, to revisit the idea of a dialogue, we need to be clear that any credible dialogue must be based on the possibility for both advocates and antagonists to voice their concern in outlets of similar standing and impact. As the current state of the debate suggests, vital moral debate is silenced on the topic (Wastell & White, 2012). In this respect, I believe the debate would be enriched if advocates would be clear on how they intend to take ethical concerns more visibly into account, and how this is communicated to practitioners to avoid “aggressive workplace applications” as Cropanzano and Becker rightly caution against.

In the end, what I hope this exchange will contribute to a more acute and reflexive engagement with ethical issues on the part of scholars and practitioners in the emerging field of organizational neuroscience. And yes, the way we feel about ethical issues that have potentially immense implications for individuals and society should be an integral part of our engagement. One might contemplate Solomon (1993b) in this context, when he posits that “ethics without reference to particular actions and feelings is empty, but action and feeling devoid of ethics are blind” (p. xii). In addition, I argue that is useful to revisit some oftentimes forgotten—yet meaningful—contributions in the philosophy of science to calibrate our ethical and moral compass. In contrasting the traditions of explanation versus understanding in the process of scientific inquiry, Von Wright (1971) argues that virtually any explanation can be said to advance our understanding of phenomena. And yet, he observes that understanding has a psychological ring which ‘explanation’ (Von Wright, 1971, p. 6) has not, namely, in the sense of Einfühlung (German for empathy). This, according to Von Wright, pertains to a recreation in the mind of the researcher “of the metal atmosphere, the thoughts and feelings and motivations, of the objects of his study” (p. 6). So if I may draw in analogy on the movie Gattacca, where the usage of genetic screening creates a society of “valids” and “in-valids” (see Murry, Wimbush, & Dalton, 2001), I wonder how scholars and practitioners would feel themselves if they were wired up with electrodes, or stuck in a functional magnetic resonance imaging (fMRI) scanner, to be informed later that the findings suggest that one does not have the desirable brain profile (i.e., that of an “inspirational” leader) researchers or organizations are looking for. To be declared invalid yourself, how would you feel?