In the 13-years since The Tipping Point shot Malcolm Gladwell onto the map and America’s bookshelves, his brand of counter-intuitive wisdom has occupied a strange and relatively stable corner of pop culture. Even though his schtick is supposed to be drawing unseen connections in scientific literature and translating the academy for the masses, social scientists mostly loathe the writing wunderkind and his self-serving approximations of their research. Still, every few years comes another Gladwell book and every few years it ricochets, relatively unscathed, into the bestseller charts. It’s easy to see why. Like a porous pastry, Gladwell’s books are easily digestible, and they’re affixed with the gold star of The New Yorker. They’re filled with seductive cocktail party tidbits that make his readers feel smart, the bearers of privileged information.
But in the weeks since the release of his latest sugar-bomb, David and Goliath, a book explaining the unusual success of underdogs, Gladwell has faced unusually firm critics. Skeptical critiques of David and Goliath have run in the Atlantic,Slate, The New Statesman, and even a parody—David and Goliath in 600 words—from the Guardian. On Tuesday at the Knight Science Journalism Tracker, Paul Raeburn summed up the perfect storm of criticism with a question: Should we stop believing in Malcolm Gladwell?
According to Christopher Chabris, the answer is: yes. Chabris, a psychologist and neurologist, wrote a 2,500-word Wall Street Journal review that cycles through the regular arguments against Gladwell’s manipulative logic—namely, the writer’s penchant for reporting correlations as causations—a move he uses so regularly he’s made it iconic. (“I’ve long wanted to write a parody Gladwell about how having a meth addiction or getting pregnant when you’re in high school makes you an awesome retail worker,” a former colleague wrote when I brought up Gladwell. “Could illegitimate children be the hidden success factor in low-wage jobs?!”)
The critique gets juicier when Chabris begins ripping into Gladwell’s sources, study by study. Like 2007 paper that Gladwell reports shows a group of subjects reading with 29-percent greater accuracy when confronted with an italic font—convenient proof for his hypothesis that challenging situations promote excellence. According to Chabris, it’s more complicated: “The study involved just 40 people, or 20 per typeface,” he writes, “a very small sample on which to hang a big argument.” Moreover, Chabris points out, the recounting fails to give basic context of the rest of the field:
Mr. Gladwell doesn’t tell readers that when other researchers tried just that, testing nearly 300 people at a Canadian public university, they could not replicate the original effect. Perhaps he didn’t know about this, but anyone who has followed recent developments in social science should know that small studies with startling effects must be viewed skeptically until their results are verified on a broader scale.
Chabris sums up Gladwell with a well-argued and cutting conclusion: “He excels at telling just-so stories and cherry-picking science to back them.”
Though the debate’s reached fever pitch this time, the allegations against Gladwell aren’t particularly new. In 2008, CJR contributor Daniel Luzer interrogated a Gladwell trope on teaching reform that ran in The New Yorker in advance of the release of the book Outliers. In the essay, Gladwell compares hiring teachers to recruiting a football team: a task with no reliable predictor, and thus doomed to fail in certain instances.
The problem, as Luzer points out, is there is a reliable predictor, it just doesn’t fit into Gladwell’s argument:
The Lewin Career Forecast is a tool that predicts professional success based on a collegiate quarterback’s completion percentage and games started—and does so rather well. Gladwell makes much of the 1999 NFL draft, in which five quarterbacks selected in the first round ultimately enjoyed varying degrees of professional success. He uses this as an example of how choosing a good quarterback is a crapshoot. But the two great busts from that draft—Akili Smith and Cade McNown—fare poorly in the Lewin Forecast; the two relative successes—Donovan McNabb and Daunte Culpepper—fare well.