How we work together

From me to we

Organisations exist to be more than the sum of their parts. Otherwise, the individuals involved would be better off outside of the organisation than inside it.

To what extent are research organisations superadditive? Historically, scientists congregated to teach students and share experimental equipment. But what about research organisations that neither teach nor do experiments, like the London Institute? Without these two purposes, do scientists benefit from being organised at all?

When it comes to research, most theoretical research centres and university departments are merely additive. When such an organisation recruits a theorist, it chalks up his discoveries. But that’s all the theorist brings to the table—he doesn’t tend to improve the capacity for others to make discoveries. In this zero-sum game, reallocating researchers to different research centres has little effect on the pace of scientific discovery. In other words, theorists would function just as well outside of research organisations as they do inside them.

This weak coupling of scientists and organisations is borne out by scientists’ behaviour. They operate as effective sole traders—corporations of size one. They are much more concerned with their own performance and reputation than that of their institute. Each scientist has his own set of routines for how to get things done, so there’s a lack of coherent organisational culture. This explains why there is so little variation in how research organisations organise science.

One way research centres can be more than the sum of their parts is the division of labour. Instead of one person doing multiple things, multiple people each do the one thing they are best at. For example, in Formula One, the driver doesn’t singlehandedly find sponsorship, build the car, drive the car, broadcast the race and act as his own coach. Instead, a team of specialists do these things, so the driver can focus on driving.

In a similar way, science involves more than doing research. It’s also necessary to secure funding, communicate results, optimise performance and develop a brand. At the London Institute, we provide expert staff to do these things—writers, designers, developers, fundraisers and others—so that researchers can focus on research. But there’s a catch. The staff have to be as talented as the scientists. Both groups must hold each other in high esteem and share a common mission: building a great research institute. Otherwise they risk segregating, buying into negative narratives, and ultimately impeding rather than catalysing each other.

Another way to be superadditive is through collaboration. Research organisations would benefit from more collaborations between people inside the organisation than outside of it. One advantage of collaborating in-house is agility; it is much easier to adapt quickly when all parties are present (see §Agility). Another is shared standards on how to write and submit a paper. The London Institute, for instance, stresses clarity, beautiful writing and quick turnaround times. When authors from other organisations have different priorities, the result can be a paper that doesn’t hit our standards or is slow to appear in print.

Organisational culture

If the people in an organisation are the hardware, organisational culture is the software. It determines if the team is more than the sum of its parts; whether it can quickly adapt to new events; and how much its members will fight to achieve its vision.

Organisational culture has two parts, routines and rituals. Routines are procedures that directly help us achieve our goals—“the way things get done around here”. Examples of routines at the London Institute are how we score our discoveries, how we interview candidates, and how we set research grant budgets. Simple, interoperable routines that are stable over long periods are key to a superadditive and agile organisation. We also want the routines to be modular, in that changing one routine has minimal knock-on effects on the others. That way, we can envisage and test out the adjacent possible, and thereby innovate.

But developing the right routines is only half the battle. They have to be learned and practised by members of the organisation. With new employees coming and going, and new routines being added to the mix, this can be a challenge. At the London Institute, our members learn routines in two ways. The first is by showing up and seeing how other people operate. The second is by creating and sharing evolvable scripts. These are concisely described and easily accessible units of procedure. They are precise enough for a newcomer to do the job consistently, but open-ended enough to allow for individual judgement. Scripts can change, but only slowly relative to the number of times they get used. They need to remain steady over many variations in circumstance so that their efficacy can be assessed before adjusting them accordingly.

The other part of organisational culture is rituals. These are procedures that indirectly help us achieve our goals—by guiding behaviour and cultivating loyalty. Examples of rituals are our prominent use of blackboards, our Friday evening drinks, and showcasing our best research papers on the wall. Showcasing our discoveries doesn’t help us make them. But it does reinforce what constitutes success and recognises those who achieve it—key elements in steering and motivating people. We also encapsulate our rituals using evolvable scripts.

Showing up for work is essential to rituals. In fact, one way to define rituals is the things that we couldn’t do if we didn’t show up. By this definition, they involve a shared place and being together. Rituals resonate with our tribal instinct: our desire to belong, the satisfaction of shared adventure, and ultimately our search for meaning beyond ourselves. Rituals also can have a symbolic purpose. We tend to perform them when confronted with things that we believe to be true, beautiful or good.

Showing up

One of the London Institute’s core beliefs is showing up to work during business hours. While for our staff this tends to be business as usual, for many of our scientists it is countercultural. This is because they are used to operating like sole traders rather than being part of a team (see §From me to we).

Showing up for work has several benefits, some of which are touched upon elsewhere: routines and rituals (§Organisational culture); adapting quickly (§Agility); and superadditivity (§Interaction). Here we talk about two others: a vibrant atmosphere, and bringing discovery back to the Royal Institution.

“Great atmosphere.” That’s the most common compliment we get from visitors. What they mean is that they sense a beehive of activity and commitment to teamwork amongst our members. This is in contrast with most research centres, in which the halls are conspicuously quiet and most people don’t know what their colleagues are up to. Being part of a bustling team in which everyone is pulling in the same direction is more fun. It’s also more effective. Emotions are contagious, and being surrounded by others intent on doing great work inspires us to do great work too.

Our reputation for a vibrant atmosphere has had an unintended consequence. It attracts a stream of serendipitous visitors: artists, innovators, writers, designers, scientists and donors. This has played a significant role in raising money, recruiting talent and forging new collaborations. And because our visitors go away and spread the word, they form a self-reinforcing feedback loop.

Where does a bustling atmosphere come from? It certainly doesn’t emerge spontaneously. Rather, it requires a lot of discipline: consistently showing up, keeping our doors open, and taking an interest in others. It requires our scientists to step away from their research to help our staff find funding and communicate results. It requires our staff to take the time to understand the gist of our scientists’ research and what compels them to do it. This coherence needs constant vigilance, because the natural tendency is for these two groups to segregate.

The second benefit to showing up is specific to the space we occupy. During the 19th century, the Royal Institution emerged as the country’s leading experimental powerhouse. But as experimental science grew more complex, it required ever larger laboratories which were not practicable in the heart of Mayfair. During the 20th century, discovery in the Royal Institution slowly declined, and by 2008 it ceased to employ any researchers at all.

The London Institute moved into the Royal Institution to bring discovery back into the building—but in the form of theory rather than experiment. Because theory requires nothing more than a blackboard and a place to think, it is perfectly suited to the historic space. Being present keeps the building dedicated to discovery instead of being lost to trade. It’s also a source of inspiration: working in rooms once occupied by Faraday, Tyndall and Bragg impels us to aim higher in our own pursuits.

Agility

Agility is the ability to adapt quickly. For organisations operating in a changing environment, with unexpected opportunities and obstacles, adapting quickly is crucial to their success. A changing environment alters the best path forward. Adjusting course faster than others allows us to surpass them, even if they have a higher top speed.

Showing up to work improves agility for two reasons. The first is awareness. People who are present have an implicit understanding of an organisation’s opportunities and obstacles. They sense these by overhearing conversations, gauging people’s moods and bumping into visitors. What’s more, unplanned interactions can unearth new opportunities, when one person discovers his solution is the answer to another person’s problem. Such interactions begin as non-transactional, since the two discovered something they were not in quest of. These opportunities wouldn’t arise if people were not present, because offsite workers engage only for transactional reasons.

The second reason showing up improves agility is accessibility, especially in flat organisations in which there is less command and control. In flat organisations, things tend to get done through alignment rather than by diktat. When everyone is present, there is immediate access to the skills and information required to take action. But when some of these things are missing, action is delayed. And it’s not just the lag time that’s annoying. There is also the cognitive effort of having to upload the details of the problem multiple times, as and when others chip in.

The agility quotient is a simple way to quantify agility. Imagine you need to do a task that takes x units of time, and let y be the number of business hours that transpire before you get it done. Then the agility quotient is y/x. For example, if you need to spend an hour reviewing a paper, and you get it done in a day, your agility quotient is 8. But if you take a week, it’s 40.

At most research centres, moving fast is not a priority. Their typical agility quotient is in the hundreds. At the London Institute, we try to keep it in the tens. This applies to everything we do, from hanging a picture to improving our website to resubmitting a paper.

To see the effect of showing up on agility, consider three people who need to spend 15 minutes together to discuss a candidate. They get it done in a half day, and their agility quotient is 16. Now imagine they come into work three days a week instead of five. On average, they will be in the office together (⅗)3 of the time, or one day a week. In this case, their agility quotient jumps to 164. If they come in two days a week, it’s 516. The point is, it’s nearly impossible to quickly build consensus and take action when people aren’t present and interacting.

Symbolic discipline

Pushing the boundaries of human achievement requires an extreme amount of discipline. This applies to technological achievements, like putting a man on Mars, or physical achievements, like breaking the two-hour marathon, or intellectual achievements, like solving the Riemann Hypothesis.

What is discipline? “Consistency of action” is how the company strategist Jim Collins describes it in his book, Great by Choice. “Consistency with values, consistency with long-term goals, consistency with performance standards…. Discipline is not the same as regimentation…, measurement…, or adherence to bureaucratic rules. True discipline requires the independence of mind to reject pressures to conform in ways incompatible with values, performance standards, and long-term aspirations.”

When people talk about discipline, they tend to mean self-discipline. Self-discipline is inward-looking and it takes a long time to notice the results. Examples are writing a book and consistently hitting the gym. But there is another, overlooked kind of discipline which is also important, which we call symbolic discipline. Symbolic discipline is outward-looking and the results are noticed immediately. Examples are creating a beautiful room and being on time.

Symbolic discipline is important for a few reasons. First, as its name suggests, it is symbolic. The disciplined neatness on a yacht symbolises disciplined routines at sea. The disciplined dress of soldiers symbolises disciplined military operations. The discipline of state occasions symbolises the discipline of enduring rule. Because symbolic discipline is apparent whereas self-discipline is concealed, it plays a dominant role in determining brand. Ultimately, self-discipline must deliver on the promise of symbolic discipline. But perception is determined by the latter.

Second, symbolic discipline is a catalyst for self-discipline. Like self-discipline, it is grounded in constraints—conditions on our actions that narrow the scope of possibilities. But because symbolic discipline is easy to measure, there is less scope for self-delusion.

Third, symbolic discipline tends to be a leading indicator of self-discipline. The results of symbolic discipline are immediately apparent, unlike the delayed results of self-discipline. When Toto Wolff took over the middling Mercedes Formula One team in 2013, he thought it didn’t feel like a winner. There were used cups and old newspapers lying around the team headquarters. His insistence on symbolic discipline paid off. From 2014 to 2020, Mercedes won seven consecutive Championships titles, making it the most successful team in Formula One history.

Symbolic discipline exists for organisations as well as individuals. For organisations, however, it requires coordination between the people within it: many people must pull in the same direction. This requires a strong organisational culture. But at the same time, symbolic discipline reinforces that organisation culture, creating a positive feedback loop.

At the London Institute, we place a high premium on symbolic discipline, from publicly tracking our discoveries, to the meticulous symmetry of our website, to being on time for work. ​​Symbolic discipline plays a vital role in building a culture of pushing the boundaries of achievement.

Deep work

Creative work requires intense and sustained focus. The writer and computer scientist Cal Newport calls this deep work. In his book Deep Work, he defines it as “professional activities performed in a state of distraction-free concentration that push your cognitive capabilities to their limit. These efforts create new value, improve your skill, and are hard to replicate.”

By contrast, shallow work is “non-cognitively demanding, logistical-style tasks, often performed while distracted. These efforts tend to not create much new value in the world and are easy to replicate.” This is not to say that shallow work should be avoided altogether. It is a necessary part of human life. But deep work is how we achieve results of enduring value.

At the London Institute, enabling and encouraging deep work is one of our main goals. We do this through the design of our physical space, communicating our daily routines, and minimising the need for shallow work.

First, physical space plays an important role in our ability to do deep work. In an ideal world, we would provide all of our scientists and staff with their own office as a base camp for focusing. This is not a pipe dream—a back-of-the-envelope calculation reveals that doing so costs an order of magnitude less than their salaries. In practice, however, we occupy a building with small rooms and big rooms of varying historical importance. Where possible, we subdivide big rooms into smaller offices for individual use. Some big rooms shouldn’t be altered, so multiple people share them. However, the arrangement of furniture, and earmuffs and noise-cancelling headphones, can help to make them deep-work friendly.

As well as fixed office spaces, we have common areas for added privacy or a change of scene. Our third-floor annex and long balcony garden are quiet zones for dedicated focus, and converted closets are handy for calls or knuckling down.

A second tactic for doing deep work is forming daily routines and telling others about them. In his book Daily Rituals, Mason Currey records the daily work patterns of 160 great minds. They stick to their daily routines religiously, consistently putting in the hours rather than waiting for inspiration to hit. Colleagues are surprisingly willing to accept our daily routines without resentment, so long as they are predictable and somewhat permeable. For example, one of our members does his creative work in the mornings from 7 to 11. He is accessible during this time, but only if people have something special to say—or he signals that he’s up for interaction (see §Interaction).

Third, we minimise the amount of shallow work that needs doing. We do not teach, which tends to be shallow work: it is replicable, as evidenced by the option of buying it out at many universities. Most scheduled meetings are also shallow work. They tend to be correctives to a lack of either awareness of what others are up to, or accessible and up-to-date information. At the London Institute, we have one scheduled meeting a week. We aggressively minimise the time spent on forms and record-keeping. We continually optimise our routines and rituals so that, on the one hand, there are few of them and, on the other, we don’t reinvent the wheel when performing standard tasks (see §Organisational culture).

Interaction

In any organisation—from a tech start-up to a magazine to a research organisation—the primary tool for solving problems is solitary focus. Whether you’re crafting a pitch, writing an article or solving an equation, focus is the engine that drives it.

Some problems, though, are too complex for just one person to solve, so you need a team. A fair definition of an organisation, in fact, is a team of people who achieve more together than they would independently. If focus is the engine of an organisation, its rudder is interaction. It is interaction with others that adjusts our direction of focus and gets us unstuck by providing a skill or insight we lack. This is the magic ingredient that makes an organisation more than the sum of its parts.

The tricky bit, though, is knowing how to combine focus and interaction. At one extreme, there is the open plan office, which invites us to do both at the same time. But this is vulnerable to the so-called greedy algorithm, in which everyone makes the locally optimal decision. In other words, every worker interacts whenever and with whomever they want, regardless of the effects.

At the other extreme is scheduled alternation between focus and interaction: for example, working in the office one day and off-site the next. Yet this is also flawed, since we don’t know in advance when the need for interaction will arise. Because most organisations are making something new or operating in an uncertain environment, it is often difficult to predict what we will focus on, much less when we’ll want to interact.

The ideal way to combine focus and interaction is to interact with others as the need arises, but only in proportion to how much we need them and how open they are to being interacted with. Here the mathematical analogy is known as the Stable Marriage Problem, extensions of which earned a Nobel prize in economics in 2012. It looks at how to find the best pairings of men and women, so there are no two people who both prefer each other over their current spouses. When it comes to interacting at work, the variables are how much someone wants to interact at any moment, and who is open to interacting with them—but the principle is the same.

To assess these variables, and judge when others can help you and when they could use your help, we rely on cues that range from the obvious, such as when a colleague closes their door, to the subtle, such as how quick they are to make eye contact. Humans are incredibly skillful at telling if those around us are aligned with our intentions. But whether clear or nuanced, the cues for this are invariably situational. You cannot read the room unless you’re in it. Technology will struggle to help us do this better than 300 million years of mammalian evolution.

Interaction makes organisations more agile, which we talk about in §Agility. It also makes them more efficient, since everyone is coordinated in their activity. It also reduces the need for meetings. Most meetings are really just a miniature version of the scheduled alternation between focus and interaction described above. That explains why they’re so boring. They are out of sync with the real-time needs for interaction of those who attend them.