On hollow management theories and their persistence

I recently gave a talk on why traditional management theories—from strategy to organizational behavior and beyond—fail in the real world and why we shouldn’t rely on them to navigate an ever-more complex world. Later, I couldn’t help but wonder: how is it that, despite their poor track record, people still use them? Do they serve any purpose beyond their initial intended use? Is there an evolutionary reason that not only keeps them around but also leads to their institutionalization in business?

In nature, evolution is a process by which a species adapts and survives in a changing environment. Applying evolutionary epistemology to traditional management theories, one might conclude that, given their failure in the real world, they should disappear and give rise to new and more robust theories to address the growing challenges of our corporations.

According to Karl Popper, the philosopher of science, theories compete for survival, and the winners are not necessarily those that are the most truthful but rather those that best fit the context in which they apply. In other words, nature decides which theory survives. He argued that the acceptability of theories rests on their empirical basis—the surviving theory is the one that works empirically. But here we run into another problem. This assumes that empirical evidence can be easily and unequivocally obtained through observations and studies. I have already mentioned in previous articles that the study of social systems in general, and companies in particular, is very difficult, and evidence tends to be slippery. We can’t trust observational studies in companies to draw conclusions, given the numerous variables at play and the constant changes they undergo.

In nature, there is a direct relationship between a new variety or phenotype and its environment. This relationship is mostly physical; for example, birds born with long beaks can explore available food more efficiently in a new environment, thus increasing their fitness. Unfortunately, we cannot say the same for social systems, which fundamentally suffer from issues such as shallow causality, theory-laden observations, and more. It is very difficult to trace outcomes back to a specific theory that was applied, regardless of what business success authors would have us believe.

The fact that these theories survive in the real world despite their failure to achieve their intended objectives suggests that they persist not because they work as advertised but because they serve another purpose—another fitness function.

A possible explanation for the persistence of management theories can be found in another epistemic doctrine called rhetorical analysis. According to this perspective, managers rely on a set of well-established discourses—drawn from shallow data and evidence and based on metaphors and analogies—to construct an appealingly logical and solid argument that helps them advance their agenda. This reinforces their control, or at least the illusion thereof, over the company and its employees. In this case, strategy is no longer a set of actions that help a company achieve its vision but rather a discursive tool that allows managers to persuade their teams. It’s about power. It gives the impression that managers know what they are talking about—that they are knowledgeable strategists—since their discourse appears rational and grounded in an ambient epistemic foundation or some fundamental science. When they fail to achieve their objectives, they shift the blame to implementation rather than questioning the “rightness” of their arguments.

In the 19th century, the founding father of sociology, Auguste Comte, developed the law of three stages, which states that knowledge progresses through three phases: theological (or fictitious), metaphysical (or conceptual), and scientific (or positive). As knowledge matures, it moves through these stages toward a scientific status, as physics did during the scientific revolution. Based on this maturity scale, Comte also proposed a "Hierarchy of Sciences," from the most general to the most particular and from the simplest to the most complex. He argued that mathematics is the most general discipline, followed by astronomy, chemistry, biology, and sociology. A similar hierarchy was later put forward by physicist Murray Gell-Mann in the late 20th century, based on a fundamental scale. The most fundamental disciplines, he argued, are those that are not only more general but also encompass the laws of less fundamental ones. Mathematics, though not a science per se, would thus be regarded as the most fundamental, followed by physics, chemistry, and biology.

This hierarchy clearly illustrates the increasing complexity and messiness of social sciences. Sociology and even economics, being the most complex of them all, seem to have not progressed beyond the conceptual phase, as their scientific status has been questioned since their inception. The poor track record of social sciences is well documented—their studies have failed to replicate, to generalize, and to develop robust theories that translate into the real world. The complexity of less mature sciences is overwhelming, and companies, as social systems, are no different.

If we put everything together, we can say that since humans lack the cognitive capacity to fully grasp the increasing complexity of our world—including that of sociology and economics—managers, especially those who are far removed from the direct feedback of their actions (without "skin in the game"), construct an intelligible narrative drawn from their experiences and rooted in conventional management theories to rationalize their actions. In doing so, they convince themselves that they have control over an inherently uncontrollable future. This narrative then feeds into an effective discourse that enables them to influence others and achieve their desired outcomes. Whether these theories work in the real world becomes secondary. This, I argue, is the defining feature of modern managerial practice. Let’s call it discursivism—the philosophical doctrine that serves as the primary fitness function allowing these theories to persist across time and space.

There is, however, another explanation for why some theories stick while others don’t. This explanation applies not only to management theories but also to any persisting ideas in other fields. It is less appealing, lacks the allure of rationality, and is rooted in Epicurean philosophy, and confirmed by early 20th-century discoveries.

According to Epicureans, the world is made up of atoms and void. Atoms move downward relative to the rest of the universe. However, sometimes they change course, swerve, and collide with each other, leading to the formation of the universe. In other words, this random movement of atoms is primarily responsible for the creation of physical phenomena. From this, the concept of fundamental indeterminism was born. According to Epicureanism, things happen without any specific cause—they just happen.

However, this philosophy did not survive the era of classical mechanics when physicists and philosophers alike embraced a clockwork view of the universe. Although the shift did not happen overnight, the advent of quantum mechanics in the early 20th century changed the entire narrative. Since then, it has been accepted that—at least in the microworld—indeterminism is a fundamental feature if our world. Whether this indeterminism is scale-invariant (applying to physical phenomena at large as it does to particles) remains debated, requiring a separate discussion. Yet, determinism was not a doctrine easily abandoned. Even Einstein struggled with it for most of his life. Accepting that things happen without a specific reason is difficult for a rationally educated mind to grasp.

Returning to the question at hand: sometimes, theories persist not because they "work" (whatever that may mean) but simply because they can.