Once upon a time, you and I might have had a conversation like this:

     You: “Well, obviously, the world is flat.”

     Me: “Of course it is. Just look around you!”

     You: “I mean, it’s just common sense!”

To us, this conversation would have sounded rational, with your use of ‘common sense’ seeming entirely appropriate. Nowadays, it just looks silly.

I was once interviewing dieticians for a qualitative research study on children’s health. When a participant said, “a good breakfast is essential to a child’s health,” I asked her how she knew that. After some back-and-forth, during which she was unable to cite evidence, she snapped, “for God’s sake, it’s common sense! Everybody knows this!”

And that’s the problem with ‘common sense.’ It’s a term that can make something seem rational and correct, even when it might be neither.

I once wrote a post on being skeptical of intuition, and those principles apply here. Common sense can be useful, but can also lead you astray. Here’s why you should be skeptical of common sense, whether it’s your own or somebody else’s.

The term has a broad range of meanings:

Practical wisdom. Knowledge of how the world works gained through everyday experiences, leading to better problem-solving and decision-making. In other words, street-smarts.

Intuitive understanding. A grasp of basic truths without the need for topic-specific knowledge or education.

Sound judgement. An ability to assess situations based on critical thinking and sensible reasoning.

Cultural norms. Shared values and beliefs within a specific society, creating unwritten rules and expectations governing behavior.

And, its meaning can be difficult to pin down because:

It’s heavily influenced by culture. Members of an ethnic or religious community might see certain moral principles as common sense, while outsiders might consider them bizarre.

It’s subjective. My common sense could be your nonsense. Common sense is informed by pre-existing biases and assumptions. Also, if you hear something frequently enough, it could start to make sense, no matter how crazy it might be.

It’s less reliable in complex or highly technical situations. If you’re fixing a screen door, common sense can help, particularly if you’ve done it before. But, in the control room of a nuclear plant, common sense alone isn’t going to be enough.

This is not to say that common sense is of no value. It can be reliable, particularly with familiar and straightforward matters. However, in complicated and unfamiliar situations, common sense could lead to errors or misconceptions. Common sense might tell you that you’re healthy, as you look and feel okay. But lab results might say otherwise.

Common sense can be where your assessment of a situation begins, but probably shouldn’t be where it ends. It’s important to seek reliable evidence to support our conclusions. Ultimately facts – not gut feeling – must carry the day.

“Show me the incentive, I’ll show you the outcome.”

I was speaking with a qualitative research recruiter at the recent QRCA conference in Denver about the role monetary incentives play in qualitative recruiting. She said, “Look, you have to pay participants so they feel that their time is being valued – they won’t participate otherwise. But that’s not the main reason most of them do it.” She went on to say that people are primarily motivated to participate in qualitative because they think it sounds fun and interesting, and because they genuinely want to help.

This conversation made me think of Charlie Munger – the longtime investor and vice-chairman of Berkshire Hathaway quoted above – who passed away recently at the tender age of 99. He was a savvy businessman who had a way with words. His famous remark that I quote above about incentives and outcomes is a foundational principle: if you see something as being in your interest, you’re likely to do it, even if it conflicts with your own moral compass.

When I worked in brand management, I marveled at the ability of our salespeople to play the company’s bonus program like a piano. They found no end of ingenious schemes to maximize their bonuses, even if they weren’t actually good for the business. The problem – the company’s performance incentives weren’t aligned with the ultimate desired outcome (bottom line profitability) but with an interim metric (unit volume).

Incentives strongly influence our decisions and actions. They’re one of those powerful tools I was thinking about when I wrote a recent and popular post. They can be instrumental in achieving goals. But, if you’re not careful, they can have disastrous, unintended consequences – like salespeople selling product at a loss to make their bonus target.

One of the reasons we conduct qualitative research is to understand how incentives drive consumer motivations and influence decision-making. It’s important to realize that incentives create biases. So, using qualitative tools to identify and understand incentives and biases can help us to understand opinions and behaviors.

This principle applies to qualitative in another important way. How we interact with research participants – specifically, how we provide affirmation during conversation – can lead to honesty and respectful participation. In other words, if we make participants feel good about themselves for being candid, we’ll incentivize that behavior. If, on the other hand, through body language, tone of voice and facial expressions, we encourage them to tell us what they think we want to hear, that’s probably what they’re going to do.

So, whether you’re a qualitative researcher or not, it pays to be aware of incentives. They can often be the hidden factor driving decisions and actions.

During 2023, I conducted several research studies that involved interviewing participants with serious medical conditions.

Research such as this isn’t easy. Participants can be depressed and distracted, and might be lonely and in pain. They tend to view these interviews, not unreasonably, as an opportunity to unburden themselves to a sympathetic stranger.

These conversations can be emotional and intense. I’ve had participants tell me things they have never said to anybody else. A day of this type of work is tiring, and a week is thoroughly exhausting – with the experience leaving you physically and mentally spent. In fact, if you don’t feel that way after several days of this, you’re probably doing it wrong.

At times like this, it’s easy to focus on the load you’re carrying – serving as an interlocutor between patient and client, as a source of insight to the client, and as a confessor and confidant to the patient. This is a hard set of roles to play, and it’s easy to feel overwhelmed.

However, it’s important to remember that conducting such research is a privilege. A privilege for clients to trust you with their research. A privilege that participants are willing to make themselves vulnerable to you.

The thing is, burden and privilege are two sides of the same coin – you can’t have one without the other. This principle applies to most aspects of our lives. Nursing a loved one through a period of infirmity is both a burden and a privilege. Every civil right enumerated in the Bill of Rights to the US Constitution carries a corresponding responsibility.

Just think about free speech – one of the fundamentals of a free society. You only need to spend a little time on social media to see what happens when this privilege is abused. Participating responsibly on social media platforms can feel onerous, but it’s part of the bargain.

Anytime you shoulder a burden, it means that somebody is trusting and depending upon you. In qualitative research – as in any consultative field – trust is essential to doing your job.  If clients and participants don’t trust you, there isn’t much you can accomplish. So, the ability to earn trust is a key factor that separates experienced, professional practitioners from beginners and amateurs.

So, when facing a burdensome responsibility, ask yourself why you should feel fortunate  – and find the privilege contained within.

There’s an adage that you never get a second chance to make a first impression. And there’s no better way to make that first impression than by introducing yourself with a story. Stories have many uses –as a qualitative researcher, I use them to build engagement and connection. When it comes to introducing yourself, stories are indispensable.

I once had a participant in a focus group of parents introduce herself by saying “my father says that, when I was a little girl, I was already a mother.” Talk about a first impression. In just 15 words she told us something that went to the core of how she saw herself.

Stories are how we talk about important things: the things we love and hate, our hopes and fears, things that are central to our self-image. So, when you introduce yourself with a story, you’re sharing something significant, creating a deeper connection than if you just provide facts. By sharing this information as a story, rather than in a more matter-of-fact way, you’re tapping into the strengths of stories:

They’re human. Telling stories may be the most human thing people do. And we’re the only animal that does this.

They’re engaging. Stories are more interesting and evocative than a recitation of information. It’s easy to arouse emotions in others with stories, and almost impossible without. There’s a reason so much of the entertainment we consume is built around stories.

They’re memorable. Because stories connect with people on an emotional level, they are more likely to recall what you’ve said.

They’re articulate. Stories can often say complicated things far more eloquently and efficiently than a more matter-of-fact description. If that mother described above hadn’t told that story, think of how much longer and less powerful her introduction would have been.

They create trust. When we share stories, they make us approachable, even vulnerable – important factors for engendering trust.

One great thing about introducing yourself with a story is that modeling this behavior encourages others to tell stories as well. There’s no better way to get to know somebody than by swapping stories.

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So, if you’re trying to make someone you’ve just met understand and remember what you’re about tell them a story.

This could be helpful in a job interview or when meeting a potential client. For instance, if you want to get across your ability to empathize with others, rather than saying “I’m the most empathetic person on the planet!” – introduce yourself with a story about a time you showed empathy.

When I want research participants to understand that I’m open to anything they might say, I’ll tell them they shouldn’t worry about hurting my feelings, and furthermore, I’m from New Jersey so they couldn’t hurt my feelings if they tried.

Introductory stories are great in healthcare settings – anything that can make a medical professional connect with you on a personal level will create a bond and improve your quality of care—don’t leave it to them to connect with you, create the connection yourself.

It’s important to remember that stories don’t need to be long. In fact, the shorter the better. I’m a great believer in the power of what I call ‘micro-stories’ which I define as having fewer than 50 words. Micro-stories generally include something personal – something about your past, your family, your faults, your anxieties and so forth. They don’t need to contain such traditional story elements as a hero, a villain, or a beginning/middle/end structure. Here are a few micro-stories I tell regularly:

My grandmother used to tell me that the road to hell is paved with good intentions.

My mother says I was the worst sleeper of any child she ever knew.

We have two kids who are grown and out of the house and more-or-less independent. Let’s just say that they’re as independent as we dare to hope.

I play the piano. I took it up again during the pandemic after having stopped for a number of years, so I guess you could call that a covid benefit.

I teach martial arts, and am the classic example of the saying that “those who can’t do, teach.”

We’re recording this focus group because I’m the world’s worst note-taker.

The holidays are almost upon us. With all the socializing that goes on this time of year, we’re all likely to be meeting new people. So, consider this an opportunity to try out some introductory stories. Then, having modeled that behavior, encourage others to do the same.

Maybe We’re Not All Completely Greedy and Evil.

Recently, at a local coffee shop, my wife – who had been keeping count – told me that I‘d consumed six cups of coffee over two hours for one low price of $2.89. She observed that I would never have done that if the shop charged for refills. My inner economist called out: “moral hazard!”

You might not have heard of moral hazard, but it strongly influences our thinking. It’s the assumption that we act irresponsibly when there are no negative consequences – in other words, if we know somebody else will absorb the cost, we act recklessly, and even antisocially. It’s a pervasive mindset in our culture, and is at the heart of a lot of our disagreements.

• When elected officials demand that public assistance programs be time-limited and linked to work, a moral hazard mindset is probably driving that rhetoric. They are assuming that, without restrictions, participants in these programs will exploit them indefinitely.

• When parents or child-rearing experts espouse the necessity of setting ‘firm boundaries,’ or clear consequences for children, moral hazard thinking is probably lurking beneath the surface. The idea is that, without boundaries and consequences, kids will just take advantage of their parents.

This idea frequently emerges in the qualitative research I conduct. I once moderated several studies on health insurance, conducting over 150 interviews and groups with healthcare providers, administrators and consumers. I found a widespread perception that, if healthcare services and products are too easily accessible, people will use them wastefully.

I also encounter this idea frequently in social situations. Listen to conversations these days about things like bank bailouts and the social safety net. The opinions people express are strongly informed by a moral hazard mindset.

Where does this idea come from? And, more importantly, is it true?

Let’s start with its origin. The concept of moral hazard comes to us from the field of economics, dating back to the 17^th century. Since then, it has been widely studied as a source of economic inefficiency.

And, is it true? The accurate answer is ‘it’s complicated.’ It’s clear that, in the context of health insurance, the influence of moral hazard is – according to healthcare economist Uwe Reinhardt – ‘overblown.’ He points out that people dislike going to doctors and taking medication, making it unlikely that being insured will lead them to consume healthcare excessively. There is also quite a bit of data that backs him up.

And yet, there’s no denying that moral hazard is a real thing.

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Why do I bring all this up? Because moral hazard is a highly influential idea. I encounter it – usually unspoken – all the time when conducting market research, it frequently arises in conversation with friends and family, and it plays an enormous role in formulating government policies.

It’s undeniable that moral hazard exists. Remember the six cups of coffee? Clearly, coffee isn’t healthcare. Jeff, the café owner, told me that he was fine with this – the economics of a cup of coffee are so favorable that he still makes good money on freeloaders like me. If he didn’t, he would limit refills. He also finds that his loyal customers like the policy, and believes that it creates an atmosphere of trust and shared purpose among his customers and employees.

It’s important to understand that moral hazard is a mindset – a set of assumptions that shape our interpretation of the world around us. Specifically, it’s a moral mindset – it assumes that people are inherently wicked and greedy, and that they will engage in antisocial behavior if they are insulated from the consequences of that behavior.

Those for whom this mindset plays an important role assume that people will invariably act immorally given the opportunity, and that we gain little from having faith in others. Others tend to be more trusting of their fellow humans. Furthermore, as evolutionary biologists have observed, selflessness and altruism clearly exist across many species.  So, if you find yourself disagreeing with a friend, family member or politician, consider the possibility that different assumptions about moral hazard are the source of that disagreement, and take this as an opportunity to engage in some thoughtful conversation.