Where did the term “collectivism” even come from? From a camel. More precisely, from communist ideology. Collectivism is a myth, and managers who rely on collectivism, on the mythical “team spirit,” are counting on a fantasy. Some managers may even perceive this “team spirit.” Sure. From their own perspective, forgetting that employees will show managers what they want to see.
I had an example. The manager says, “I have a team!” I have no secrets from anyone, and I discuss the company’s problems with each person. And we are all for one and one for all! Haha. When you ask “each” person separately from the boss, their perspective is completely different from what they expressed in front of the boss. Who would argue with the boss? If the boss believes in miracles, then we’ll show miracles, while hiding the whole game deep under the carpet, since everyone knows the boss doesn’t like egotists.
So, let’s take a closer look at this myth. Let’s start with the motto “one for all.” Is that really an example of collectivism? Or maybe it was just more convenient for the guys to protect each other in a group of four? In other words, each had their own individual goal—to survive—and to make that goal more achievable, they covered the back of the one who was covering theirs. But let’s set aside the people for now and examine the roots of the society we live in. And those roots trace back to a troop of baboons.
If we wanted to demonstrate a striking counterexample to altruism, it would be hard to find a better illustration than a constantly fighting troop, struggling for hierarchy, females, and bananas. However, baboons still gather in troops rather than living alone. Why is that? Similarly, the idea of collective security is based on probabilities.
Let’s say we have a baboon. And there’s a hungry lion. The lion sneaks up on the baboon from behind and eats it. The outcome of this encounter — the probability of death for the baboon — is about 100%.
What if we have two baboons? The probability drops by half. It’s already 50%. It’s a good idea to stay close to someone after that.
If there are 20 individuals in the herd, the chance of not surviving is only 5% — that’s manageable. Moreover, you can’t sneak up from behind anymore — there are eyes looking in all directions.By the way, this is where the roots of human conformism come from — “wherever everyone goes, I go too.” This is also the origin of the crowd syndrome in moments of danger — “wherever everyone goes.”
A beautiful illustration of this approach is the speed at which a herd runs across the prairie. bison or zebras. They always run at the speed of the slowest member of the herd. Altruistic collectivists, unwilling to leave a comrade behind? Yeah, right. It’s a simple selfish calculation— I don’t need to run fast. I just need to run a little faster than the weakest one, and then the predator will catch him first, not me. Running at the speed of the slowest is just a straightforward, unprincipled economic calculation.By the way, this is also a measure of employee effectiveness in the company. People will work not at their full potential, but just a bit better than the weakest link. After all, the weakest will be the first to be let go. This, of course, is if people want to keep their jobs rather than achieve something more. result If you want more effective work, fire the weak link who is essentially a spoonful of tar, rather than hire a strong one. 🙂
However, ungulates, unlike us, are more humane. They have less developed intraspecies competition. They don’t perceive their herd mates as competitors unless it’s mating season. There is enough grass for everyone. Among humans, in… absence In predators, intraspecific competition is heightened to the limit. Where could collectivism possibly come from here?
The third factor is social. Yes, people once lived in communities, clans, and large families. Everyone had brothers and sisters, and each person learned two laws of life: “you have to share” and “it’s easier to fight with a group.” There were grounds for induced collectivism, exemplified by our musketeers. Such induced collectivism quickly and productively develops in groups where danger to life is a daily reality: military personnel, climbers, rescuers.
However, the rest of the population mostly consists of the only descendants of their parents, raised not by society but by television (now children play outside less often than before), who have never faced death, never shared anything with anyone. The egoist has become the standard of behavior. The miser has become the standard of success. This is especially true when it comes to office workers rather than steelworkers.
If someone with a fancy folder tries to sell you “team building” after all this, take their “offer” and shove it back in their folder. No team building will do what a manager is supposed to do — understand each person’s individual goals, align them with the company’s objectives, and then help people achieve their own goals, which in turn supports the company’s goals.
Until recently, it wasn’t clear, based on the above, why social insects have the desire to work not for themselves and their offspring, but for the offspring of the single queen in the colony. This was a serious mystery, the explanation for which turned out to be quite simple. One just needed to look not at the worker individual, which is sterile, but at its genes, which are essentially a program for optimal transmission of themselves to the next generation.
So, from a genetic standpoint, if an individual is unable to reproduce, it will strive to ensure that its genes are passed on to the next generation. Considering that all bees/ants/termites are essentially siblings and their genomes are, on average, 50% identical, caring for siblings leads to an increased chance of passing on one’s own (or exactly the same) genetic information to the next generation. The last stronghold of collectivists has fallen.