SMOOTH PEER RELATIONS

SMOOTH PEER RELATIONS

The degree of resistance to randomness in one’s life is an abstract idea, part of its logic counterintuitive, and, to confuse matters, its realizations nonobservable. But I have been increasingly devoted to it—for a collection of personal reasons I will leave for later. Clearly my way of judging matters is probabilistic in nature; it relies on the notion of what could have probably happened, and requires a certain mental attitude with respect to one’s observations. I do not recommend engaging an accountant in a discussion about such probabilistic considerations. For an accountant a number is a number. If he were interested in probability he would have gotten involved in more introspective professions—and would be inclined to make a costly mistake on your tax return.

While we do not see the roulette barrel of reality, some people give it a try; it takes a special mindset to do so. Having seen hundreds of people enter and exit my profession (characterized by extreme dependence on randomness), I have to say that those who have had a modicum of scientific training tend to go the extra mile. For many, such thinking is second nature. This might not necessarily come from their scientific training per se (beware of causality), but possibly from the fact that people who have decided at some point in their lives to devote themselves to scientific research tend to have an ingrained intellectual curiosity and a natural tendency for such introspection. Particularly thoughtful are those who had to abandon scientific studies because of their inability to keep focused on a narrowly defined problem (or, in Nero’s case, the minute arcane details and petty arguments). Without excessive intellectual curiosity it is almost impossible to complete a Ph.D. thesis these days; but without a desire to narrowly specialize, it is impossible to make a scientific career. (There is a distinction, however, between the mind of a pure mathematician thriving on abstraction and that of a scientist consumed by curiosity. A mathematician is absorbed in what goes into his head while a scientist searches into what is outside of himself.) However, some people’s concern for randomness can be excessive; I have even seen people trained in some fields, like, say, quantum mechanics, push the idea to the other extreme, only seeing alternative histories (in the many-world interpretation) and ignoring the one that actually took place.

Some traders can be unexpectedly introspective about randomness. Not long ago I had dinner at the bar of a Tribeca restaurant with Lauren Rose, a trader who was reading an early draft of this book. We flipped a coin to see who was going to pay for the meal. I lost and paid. He was about to thank me when he abruptly stopped and said that he paid for half of it probabilistically.

I thus view people distributed across two polar categories: On one extreme, those who never accept the notion of randomness; on the other, those who are tortured by it. When I started on Wall Street in the 1980s, trading rooms were populated with people with a “business orientation,” that is, generally devoid of any introspection, flat as a pancake, and likely to be fooled by randomness. Their failure rate was extremely high, particularly when financial instruments gained in complexity. Somehow, tricky products, like exotic options, were introduced and carried counterintuitive payoffs that were too difficult for someone of such culture to handle. They dropped like flies; I do not think that many of the hundreds of MBAs of my generation I met on Wall Street in the 1980s still engage in such forms of professional and disciplined risk taking.