THE HALO EFFECT
Why society must stay alert to
Are we witnessing the erosion of expertise, or the democratisation of important knowledge, asks Conor Skehan
YOU are not alone, if you have ever found yourself listening to a famous actor advising you about an environmental crisis and thought, ‘What the hell does he know about nitrate levels in lake waters?’.
There’s a phrase for it. The assumption that the wellknown are conferred with greater wisdom is called the halo effect. It’s a problem that is only getting bigger as we find our lives being pushed this way and that by people in the media trying to make new rules about our lives, while claiming to save us.
The halo effect can be harmlessly silly or deeply misleading. The halo around celebrities is easy to spot — it can be more difficult to notice when it surrounds someone who is famous in science or business. The latter happens when someone, who is justifiably renowned for their achievements in one specialist field, begins to make pronouncements about matters in which they are less expert.
In these circumstances even the most elevated scientists can be sensationally wrong, as when, in 1883, Lord Kelvin, the president of Britain’s foremost scientific group the Royal Society, firmly said: “X-rays will prove to be a hoax”. So, too, when Albert Einstein predicted in 1932 that: “There is not the slightest indication that nuclear energy will ever be obtainable. It would mean that the atom would have to be shattered at will.”
The record of the bosses of some of the world’s largest companies is even worse. IBM’s boss got it spectacularly wrong in 1943 by saying that: “I think there is a world market for maybe five computers”, before adding in 1959: “The world potential market for copying machines is 5,000 at most”.
In 2007 Microsoft’s CEO Steve Ballmer predicted: “There’s no chance that the iPhone is going to get any significant market share. No chance,” before going on to predict a 2pc or 3pc market share at most.
The original research on the halo effect uncovered simple truths — that people were more inclined to trust others who were deemed to be more fortunate, beautiful, successful or famous.
Since that time, it has been observed much more widely, particularly in broadcast media and especially in those news and analysis shows that relentlessly demand short answers to glib questions about complex issues.
In these circumstances,
real experts are no fun because they tell you about complexity and uncertainty, as they stress the difficulty of making predictions and the unlikelihood of calamity. The
real expert also probably has little hair, bad teeth, a stutter and a fine collection of unfashionable clothing.
By contrast, the pop-up experts — with the big hair, dazzling teeth, wicked grin and smooth, deep voice — are sexy and exciting; they love to tell you, with great certainty, about drama, dangers and what you must do. It is not uncommon for a panel discussion about a serious scientific matter to consist solely of a celebrity activist, a politician, a writer and a science journalist. Note the lack of any actual scientist.
Where scientists do participate it raises the more troubling question of science as a business, in which ‘research impact’ measurement (societal impact and engagement) is increasingly being used as a basis for continued academic funding. Fame and funding concerns are emerging because funding may begin to disproportionately flow towards more media-savvy or media-sexy research topics. An even deeper concern surrounds the framing of research to disproportionately favour work that supports more socially acceptable findings.
‘Mission creep’ was originally a military term describing gradual expansion beyond its original aim — often stimulated by initial success. Soldiers learn about this, because creep usually ends badly. Not so in the media. “As you are here to talk to us about the budget, minister” — says the smiling interviewer — “could you also give us your views on the blue-green algae in Galway Bay?”
What minister ever replied truthfully: “I haven’t a clue. What made you think I’d know?”
Are we witnessing the erosion of expertise, or the democratisation of knowledge? The spectrum of talking heads ranges from rich, famous or beautiful celebrities to those in authority, such as politicians and senior civil servants through to scientists and finally, if rarely, to specialists. Danger increases across this list. A very stupid claim by a very famous movie star will get huge publicity that can quickly enter the realm as ‘common knowledge’, while the officials and politicians need to cleave to consensus and say ‘the science is settled’. Only the true specialists will seek to provide context while drawing attention to uncertainty. In reality, most people have a pretty good understanding of the need to treat celebrities and politicians with a pinch of salt.
Once we venture into the realm of the great and good, things get tricky. Public intellectuals are an important part of the national dialogue in much of Europe — especially France. Here there are frequent influential interventions by articulate, intelligent and successful people in fields or on topics about which they have little or no expertise. This is defended — especially by polymath public intellectuals — on the grounds that either they can see a bigger picture than mere specialists, or that the specialist issue is actually a manifestation of a wider/ larger societal issue which justifies commentary by a generalist.
A classic example of the halo effect was published recently in an extended (4,000+ word) article about housing by the renowned businessman Dermot Desmond. It conformed perfectly, beginning with a 100-word, nine-line bio endnote that accurately described how successful the man has been as an innovator and financier.
His Irish Times article wisely advises: “I am not an expert in housing but a quick analysis of what happened in 2019 illustrates the complete failure of our housing policies.” Before going on to give a detailed, and mostly wrong, analysis of housing failures and his proposed solutions.
They are mostly wrong because of the article’s first line and central premise, that: “Everyone has a right to a home.” Continuing by making the two classic mistakes of conflating ‘home’ with ‘house’ and ‘occupancy’ with ‘ownership’. It then goes on to propose an elaborate scheme to promote that most out-ofdate quest, namely building more new houses for sale, when the reality is that what is needed is large numbers of properties to rent.
These proposals are made almost entirely in terms of investors and fiscal measures, never discussing the cause of the cost of the units — instead focusing on providing even more finance (through second mortgages!) to try to buy the already unaffordable.
More remarkably the proposals are founded on the utterly misguided notion that society is ‘forcing potential owners into the rental market’, when the reality is that globally between 30pc and 50pc of all near-city housing is rented. It also indulges, throughout, in the trope that decries the emergence of institutional landlords — at a time when every expert housing commentator is shouting from the roof tops about the need for large-scale professional landlords of scale.
So, how are we to regard this arguably wrong-headed contribution by an undeniably intelligent, articulate and well-informed individual? It is undoubtedly better than the many recent pop-up contributions about housing by celebrities and ‘I’ specialists who are hungry for attention. But is it worse because of the plausibility assigned to it by the halo effect of Mr Desmond’s evident success in so many other fields?
These pages have recently recalled John Philpot Curran’s 1790 advice: “It is the common fate of the indolent to see their rights become a prey to the active. The condition upon which God hath given liberty to man is eternal vigilance” — stressing the need to be especially vigilant about ‘the active’ — those who seek to change us.
Perhaps we all need to learn to be especially vigilant that advice from the great is on a subject that they know about.