Don’t Count on It!: Reflections on Investment Illusions, Capitalism, “Mutual” Funds, Indexing, Entrepreneurship, Idealism, and Heroes — John C. Bogle
The Investor’s Manifesto: Preparing for Prosperity, Armageddon, and Everything in Between — William J. Bernstein
I spent the last week or so reading just about everything John Bogle ever published. And man, is that guy cynical about the investing world! The title of his newest book, Don’t Count on It! is a mantra, almost self-help guru-ish in its repeated invocation, to be dubious about anyone or anything in investing. The book is a sort of “greatest hits” of speeches and excerpts from Bogle’s career. In this, it ebbs and flows—his personal reflections on building the Vanguard funds can be engrossing. But at 603 pages, one wonders about the editing—the book is frustratingly redundant, often repeating whole passages.
Bogle believes investing today is populated with products that overcharge and under-deliver; the system is overrun with marketing and lacks stewardship; and virtually no one can outperform the markets over time. So the best thing to do is get market-like returns via ultra-low cost index funds.
Well, that’s certainly a populist view. And a lot of his proclamations (getting rid of quarterly results for public companies, earnings restatements, etc.) go too far. But there’s much gold to be mined in Bogle’s views too. It’s a jungle out there for novice investors: The proliferation of products, not knowing who to trust…it’s daunting and folks do get burned. Heck, stock brokers at this point don’t even have a fiduciary duty to serve their clients’ best interests! And it’s at least plausible to argue expenses at many plain-vanilla type mutual funds could be lower. Vanguard, if anything, is simply spectacular at providing the public well-constructed index funds at low cost. (For years, my boss Ken Fisher has railed publically about the shortcomings of mutual funds and the like for many of the same reasons Bogle does.)
But there’s a rising tide in the industry countering all this: fee-based separate account management. (Full disclosure: That’s what we folks at MarketMinder do.) Registered investment advisers manage clients’ accounts separately (by far a more efficient thing than pooled mutual funds), have fiduciary duty to serve their clients’ best interests, take compensation as a percentage of assets managed (so there’s a big incentive to do well and right by the client), and can in fact long term beat the markets net of fees. I know this because I work for such a place. This simple framework, to my mind, solves most of the stewardship and cost problems Bogle rails against.
If you can’t (or don’t want to) find a manager you believe will consistently do those things, indexing can be fine enough. Just one problem: you still must decide on asset allocation (a trickier business than it often seems) and have the guts to stick with the strategy. A passive all-equity strategy went down just as much as the market in 2008. In other words, it’s still YOU who must be disciplined and sit tight when the world feels like it might be ending—that might be the toughest thing of all in this business. I, for one, witnessed many die-hard passive investors lose their gumption, sell out, and miss the big rally of 2009—doubly damaging. So, behaviorally, passive investing has its problems.
Actually, the indexers inadvertently prove one of the most important lessons for active portfolio managers and stock investors generally: At a minimum you want a strategy that captures the baseline long-term return of equities. To do that, you have to be in stocks. Most get this backwards: people fear losses way too much (now is a classic era for that). The simple reality is that, over time, stocks run circles around the hesitant. You can’t ease into stocks figuring there will eventually be a lower point to get in. That might feel intuitive after a decade of flat returns, but in practice it fails more than it works. This has been proven statistically over and over, but the investing community consistently turns a deaf ear to it.
Which brings us to Mr. Bernstein. There’s sort of a mutual admiration society between Bogle and Bernstein. You can’t read their work interchangeably, but most of it’s in the same ballpark. They cite each other often as influences. Bernstein’s latest, The Investor’s Manifesto, is really an update from his past books, The Four Pillars of Investing and The Intelligent Asset Allocator.
Bogle righteously emphasizes simplicity in a world of rising complexity. Bernstein says his Manifesto is the simplified version of his views, but a layperson will be befuddled after a few chapters. He seems to mistake brevity (and the book is brief) for complexity of concepts. Statistical explanations of how equity risk premiums are supposed to work, why (to Bernstein’s view) small cap stocks are better than large, and so on, will vex neophytes. Mr. Bernstein seems to sense this—which is probably why he argues it’s so difficult to outperform the market, so few can do it, and most are best served passively investing in index funds, a la Bogle.
But there’s some worthwhile wisdom in there too. Bernstein is one of the few to (rightly) favor being a student of market history and, as such, see that “the more you study market history, the fewer black swans you see.” Absolutely correct. And Bernstein interestingly discusses the “narrative” of a company. He advocates knowing the fundamental macro forces really driving share price—a story of the stock that explains why you hold it—instead of toying with the statistical gerrymandering that is valuation and financial statement analysis these days. Bernstein says investors tend to go for the sexy story, the sexy stock (Apple, anyone?), but often miss the companies that are less popular but really drive the economy—your heavy Industrials, Materials, commercial banks, and so on.
Bogle and Bernstein recognize that most folks planning for retirement (or are in it) need a lot of stocks to fight the effects of fees and inflation and achieve any decent return. Yet, they recommend a lot of bonds. This conventional wisdom has always been tough to justify when really scrutinized. It’s about as close as investing gets to a physical law (to my mind) that the long-term return on stocks is better than bonds. So, by definition, the more of a lower returning asset you hold, the lower your total expected return. Period. Yes, stocks are more volatile—a feature of the higher expected returns. But if your time horizon is long (which it is for most folks even in retirement), that can be ok. A good adviser, even if they don’t call every market environment rightly, should be able to help you navigate those times of rough volatility—not allowing you to get too high when stocks soar, but also not allowing you to panic when they fall a lot.
In the end, indexing can be a viable and low-cost way to get a well-diversified portfolio. But it doesn’t relieve individual investors of decision-making responsibility—no getting around it. For those who don’t want the onus, seek the help of a good advisor. Contrary to today’s cynicism, there are in fact many fine and responsible stewards who can help build your wealth over time.
*The content contained in this article represents only the opinions and viewpoints of the Fisher Investments editorial staff.
Well, Halloween passed, and I couldn’t let it go without doing some reading of the macabre variety. So I read about the history of US autos. There’s enough zombies, witches, and Frankensteins (The Ford Expedition! It’s alllliiiivee!!!) in there to keep you from sleeping for a week.
Of particular, gory interest is the way US autos came to be politicized and unionized through a decades-long decline. It’s not atypical for big industries, closely thought of as national assets to become so. Pundits hemmed and hawed over this in the US the last few years, but on the global scene nationalization and “protection” of jobs via big companies is about as old as the corporation itself. Still, the plight of the US auto industry is truly a unique tale. Make no mistake—these companies should have been bankrupted, totally refashioned, de-pensioned and de-unionized, and generally revamped years ago, and would be far more competitive today if they had. We’re not talking 3 years ago, we’re talking 25 or 30. The ironic part is that while politicization surely contributed to the inexorable decline of US autos—awkwardly and lumberingly and often bizarrely—it also helped these undead zombies stave off true death for a very long time.
The US automakers—between CAFE laws and scores of costs heaped on by the United Auto Workers (UAW)—just don’t have a fighting chance and haven’t for a long time. Foreign automakers totally missed the SUV craze of the ‘90s, and Toyota dealt with braking system fiascos in the last couple years—a misstep means lower earnings for them, not doom. These days, a bad product offering or an economic downturn means utter catastrophe for GM. So when you hear auto execs and politicians saying they need tariffs or better negotiations to buy parts to remain competitive, or when they whine it was the recession and financial crisis that caused their ruin…don’t believe any of it. US automakers’ cost per car manufactured is higher than basically anywhere else because of politicization and the costs of unionization. Toyota makes a lot of cars here too—they just don’t have the same UAW-related costs GM does.
All of this is starkly apparent in Paul Ingrassia’s Crash Course. The book’s bulk centers mostly on the last 10 years and emphasizes the bailouts, but the first few chapters are a sort of “CliffsNotes” to US auto manufacturing history—tightly written and often entertaining. This concise history provides a necessary framework for understanding the bailout. Crash Course argues the seeds of US auto death were planted decades ago and calls the “corporate oligopoly and union monopoly” of US autos a “recipe for disaster.” Indeed. Ingrassia adeptly recreates the feeling that so many still hold: the very fabric of the US economy is tied to GM, Chrysler, and Ford. That view hails from when the US economy was less diverse and manufacturing still king. These days autos aren’t all—not even close—but our attachment to the auto legacy drives them to be heavily politicized.
Crash Course is filled with fun details. To read about Robert McNamara’s start at Ford before he got to the Pentagon, the Corvair debacle and the rise of Ralph Nader as a political persona, important industrial innovations like the catalytic converter, the machismo and hubris of Lee Iacocca—these and many other tidbits we all know but don’t frequently remember are vital to understanding the state of automakers today.
By contrast, Steven Rattner’s Overhaul skips those details and speaks directly to the transactions and politics of the 2009 auto bailouts. Put the two books together, and it’s a ripping good (but often harrowing) tale.
Malcolm Gladwell recently reviewed Overhaul in the New Yorker. He points out that Rattner, the “Car Czar” of the Obama administration, is two things: A finance guy (a dealmaker) and a political wannabe. A third thing: As the Car Czar, he was the Van Helsing to GM’s Dracula. But those two facts explain a lot about Overhaul. As accounts of financial deals go, Overhaul is adequate. But it’s a very “safe” book. It reads like a political memoir of someone who expects to hold office again. To Rattner, Larry Summers and Tim Geithner are really nice guys, Obama is nothing but brilliant and courageous, and no one is much of a bad guy except Rick Wagoner—the former GM CEO whom Rattner deposed and the safest guy to trash. Maybe it’s all true, but don’t we read these “insider” accounts to get insight on how these folks really operate and speak? It’s too much to believe they’re all angels.
Those who’ve written professionally know that editors can sometimes give odd instructions to gussy up the prose (finance writing isn’t generally as exciting as romance novels). One envisions Mr. Rattner’s editor asking for more gritty details folks will relate to. Rattner seems to have complied by recounting the things he and his colleagues ate. Every couple pages we’re told about McDonald’s sandwiches that were scarfed or breakfast burritos consumed in the wee hours. But otherwise, personal detail is scarce. That’s probably because Mr. Rattner published this book in the midst of a personal legal battle, so he sticks to the facts.
All this no doubt defangs the book some, but doesn’t fully nullify it. Big Macs aside, Rattner describes complex capital structures, negotiations with unions and bondholders, and the process of finding a new CEO for GM precisely but in terms non-finance wonks will understand. It’s striking, in fact, how similar Rattner and Ingrassia’s adjectives describing the nonchalance and arrogance of GM management are.
Chrysler is now basically owned by Fiat and the unions, a revamped GM will go public soon, and Ford managed to survive and seems to be okay. A frightful tale. Autos have done pretty well in 2010—at least they’re on the mend—but I’d wager trouble’s in their future again. Maybe the next recession, maybe not. But sometime. Defined benefit pension plans and powerfully influential unions rank among the most ambitious social experiments of the 20th century, but they’re still far overwrought today. Unless US autos can reform those parts, they’ll rank among the undead again.
*The content contained in this article represents only the opinions and viewpoints of the Fisher Investments editorial staff.
How We Decide proves Jonah Lehrer ranks among the best active science writers, while Sheena Iyengar’s The Art of Choosing is a sometimes cluttered but broader meditation on the act of choice in our lives.
When you get right down to it, most newfangled studies of behavior are getting at a single thing: choice. How do we choose, and why? If you can figure that out, understanding why we make mistakes and similar questions are easier.
Of course, understanding choice is the $64,000 question of the neuroscientific era (but it’s nothing new—philosophers have grappled with it forever too). We don’t even all agree that we get to choose at all! To this day, some psychologists contend choice is instinctual, unconscious, out of our control.
In my own investing travails, I’ve less asked the question, “How are we irrational?” and instead asked, “How do we choose?” Of course we’re all irrational at times, but why? It’s a question for the individual as well as the crowd. As often argued in this space, the crux of the issue, ultimately, is self knowledge. Psychology (the kind that doesn’t include pill-popping) is at core about exploration and understanding yourself, and that’s the thing leading to greater control and awareness. We too often shun this basic fact because a dominant feature of irrationality is the illusion of control—we believe our reason, our consciousness, can rule the roost. It can’t. Our minds are much larger than just our awareness. From where does love or hate come? Surely not reason. Yet those are as important as any datum and foundational to choice, whether we like it or not.
Enter Jonah Lehrer’s fantastic, and pithy, How We Decide. Like his debut, Proust Was a Neuroscientist, this book is a tour de force of lucid, simple explanations about how our brains work, yet is bursting with ideas and insight. Lehrer is one of the only popular authors to consistently offer deep thinking on contemporary neuroscience, not just reductive conclusions. Anyone interested in the psychology of investing, or popular psychology in general, should read this book.
Lehrer, unlike behavioral economists, doesn’t care about explicit irrationality. That is, he doesn’t have an agenda to disprove classical economics. This frees him to tackle issues of behavior in ways economists mostly don’t. He tells us the subconscious brain also “thinks,” and emotions are in fact a kind of thinking—they are “messages” from the unconscious parts of our brain delivered to our awareness. More, that the neocortex (where reason happens) is one of the weakest and smallest parts of the brain! In fact, the unconscious works faster, and is often more right, than reason (à la Malcom Gladwell’s study of intuition, Blink). To access the vast power of the full brain, there must be room made for the emotional unconscious—to actually listen to, but not necessarily follow, those messages.
In a shrewd move, Lehrer describes the brain’s neocortex (where our “reason” resides) as being the regulator of our brains—to provide a circuit breaker for emotional impulses that might be wrong. It’s less likely our neocortexes were designed for actual forward-thinking reason, though that’s what we generally use them for. This idea of regulation rather than reason is a hugely important perspective for investors. True masters, with reason and experience on their side, understand how to allow all parts of their brains to have their say. Different parts of the brain will disagree with each other; the brain sends mixed signals and is rarely harmonious. Simple awareness of this ought to allow us to override what “feels” right but we know isn’t.
For investors, intuition sometimes serves us well, but more often leads us astray. Why? For one thing, intuition tends to fail because the stock market is a really tricky feedback mechanism—it prices in what people learn and anticipate, so it’s tough for a brain’s lower functions to really home in on anything consistently right. Nevertheless, Lehrer reminds us that over-thinking can lead to as many wrong decisions as relying on the gut alone. But at times, he can be too reductive—it’s not right to say Garry Kasparov makes all his chess judgments based on past experiences. Though it’s certainly true that great chess players use their intuitions, their faster-computing unconscious minds, to quickly pare available moves down to a set of the best choices.
Lehrer finds that the brain can’t handle the complexity and non-intuitive parts of the market, and therefore no one should ever try to beat it. He would’ve done better to examine the psychology of those who have in fact consistently beat markets as opposed to speaking to the lowest common denominator. Still, he offers a handful of worthy insights: Fear of losses (loss aversion), for instance, makes people more willing to accept a measly rate of return directly after they feel losses (like a big bear market). This is why investors often miss the first parts of stock bull markets even though that’s a spot where the biggest gains can be.
Meanwhile, Sheena Iyengar’s Art of Choosing is a broader meditation on the issue of choice in everyday life. Iyengar is adept at weaving current psychological findings into little stories and anecdotes, but often veers too far from topic. Too much time is spent on cultural relativism, issues of equality, and so on, that can be tangential to choice but aren’t explicitly about it. Still, in relief to Lehrer, the book is quite a good complement, offering reinforcement and treading territory Lehrer doesn’t. Perhaps Iyengar’s best contribution is the idea that interpretation of information is as important to choice as anything. Simple perspective can make two people interpret the same event differently. Investors should always keep this in mind, and it is specifically why MarketMinder’s front page links to perspectives from a variety of sources each day—both those we agree with and ones we don’t. You can’t make a good choice if you interpret the situation wrong to begin with.
*The content contained in this article represents only the opinions and viewpoints of the Fisher Investments editorial staff.
After a long business trip, a few reading suggestions.
New Yorkers get a bad rap. They aren’t jerks, they just want things to keep moving—quickly. They mind their own business, and when/if you need something or get in their way, they don’t mind telling you about it. Otherwise, they’re as courteous (often more so) as anyone. But in their own way. They’re the most self-interested folks on the earth, but they respect that the many millions around them are self-interested too, all going about their day. So let’s keep it moving; we’ve got things to do, and so do you—NOW. There’s no better place for the epicenter of capitalism.
Anyway, I had the privilege of spending a week recently in Manhattan meeting with clients, and, between two long flights and a little downtime, got some reading done.
The Pleasures and Sorrows of Work—Alain de Botton
I assumed I’d hate this book, but didn’t. It’s a philosophical discourse on work. But it’s not overly abstract or conceptual—Mr. de Botton scrutinizes the workplace via real offices, warehouses, and people. Thus, it’s often more like journalism—and about half of the story is told through pictures.
De Botton doesn’t just deride modern work, as many in his position (intellectual outsider) might. He spends quite a lot of time on the aesthetics of business—the sheer grandeur of a giant warehouse, the elegant complexity of a logistical center, the creative genius behind today’s robotics, the grit and stamina of those who do repetitive tasks all day yet with high quality results. He could tell us what to think of these things but doesn’t, preferring to appreciate and analyze—a clever move because didactics here would only produce disdain from working readers. But he does also take time, in quite lively and well crafted prose, to highlight work’s inherent absurdities. (Just what, exactly, does an accountant actually do in that tiny cubicle all day? Moving numbers from one side of the ledger to the other? Has anything, you know, existentially, really changed?) He’s still a philosopher, after all.
Ultimately, the effect is to raise the idea of work and industry in our consciousness; to really see these mundane things (the biggest and often most transparent parts of our lives) in a new way. The effect is well worth the while. A favorite passage on the problems of socialism upon the author touring a cookie factory:
Their self-indulgence has consistently appalled a share of their most high-minded and morally ambitious members, who have railed against consumerism and instead honored beauty and nature, art and fellowship. But the premises of a biscuit company are a fruitful place to recall that there has always been an insurmountable problem facing those countries that ignore the efficient production of chocolate biscuits and sternly dissuade their ablest citizens from spending their lives on the development of innovative marketing promotions: they have been poor, so poor as to be unable to guarantee political stability or take care of their most vulnerable citizens, whom they have lost to famines and epidemics. It is the high-minded countries that have let their members starve, whereas the self-centered and the childish ones have, off the back of the doughnuts and six thousand varieties of ice cream, had the resources to invest in maternity wards and cranial scanning machines.
So, this guy is pro-capitalist, right?
I often get asked for good books by which to judge great companies to invest in. There are none, really. Great companies are, of course, the foundation to great stock investments, but there is so much more than just that for investors to contend with. Markets and company performance often enough are different things in the short and medium term. Great investors must understand capital markets as much as they do the companies.
That said, if you want to witness the ethos of what great companies do, there are few better studies than Jim Collins’ Good to Great. This is a book about how disciplined, usually humble, determined companies focus on their core competencies and become the best in their fields. Collins at times comes off a bit like a bombastic business book guru, but the substance is there. His more recent, How the Mighty Fall—about how companies fail and how some regain greatness—is a lesser achievement but still along the same lines as Good to Great.
Most will know Mamet from his screenwriting for movies like Glengarry Glen Ross. Oh, there is so much more. This is Mamet’s book on the actual craft of theatre—acting, directing, and so on. But it carries lessons every business manager should heed.
Mamet, to my view, ranks among the best living playwrights. This is, principally, because he’s been among the few who do not condescend to audiences with petty political rhetoric or piteous social messaging. He is a meticulous student of human motivation, its frailties, and the masks we wear to cover them (which is opposite of, say, the constant social/moral haranguing that is a Jonathan Franzen novel). Mamet is free of moralizing—here is human interaction, as it is, writ large, starkly. And often with a dose of comedy to boot.
Thus, he is one of the few fiction writers today that has much to teach us about human behavior in a non-didactic, non-tedious way. As Mamet says, art is, at core, entertainment. A few favorite quotes:
Drama is about lies. Drama is about repression. And that which is repressed is liberated—at the conclusion of the play—the power of repression is vanquished, and the hero (the audience’s surrogate) is made more whole. Drama is about finding previously unsuspected meaning in chaos, about discovering the truth that had previously been obscured by lies, and about our persistence in accepting lies.
The theater is, essentially, a deconstruction of the repressive mechanism, which is to say, of the intellect and its pretensions…Those who can accomplish this trick are known as artists; those who cannot may find for themselves another name, and indeed, they do, presenting themselves as professors and critics…
Both, in their own way, seem germane to stock investing.
I recently choked. Public speaking’s been a part of my job for years now, and I always wondered (and dreaded) when the day would come that I just sort of…forgot what I was saying mid-sentence. It finally happened a few weeks ago—I was talking, talking, talking…and then…nothing. In front of the whole audience. A trifle embarrassing.
I lived to tell the tale, but I figured now was the time to do some reading on current studies in the field of performance under pressure. After all, an investor is, in some sense, always under such pressure to perform, to make the right decisions. And the stakes are usually high.
Both of these are fine enough books—Clutch deals with the principles of performance under pressure via anecdote and qualitative study, mostly.Choke is a hardcore synthesis of modern, science-based psychology. On both counts, though, it’s striking how little there really is to say about this topic. Neither book does much better than tell us to do things like “focus,” prepare/practice adequately and try to replicate pressure-filled situations, and don’t over-think things. One hopes most regular performers already intuitively knew most of these things.
In the end, this just isn’t the territory for science or logic, and no empiricist is going to explain the fortitude of Michael Jordan down to some root principles. But it’s surprising how much reticence there is to speak of determination, courage, and their role in performance. As if those aren’t topics fit for serious intellectual discourse any longer, and thus not applicable for study of grace under pressure.
When society gets anxious, it tends to infest all corners of culture. Today’s age of perceived plight has turned its gaze toward technology. So, wonder of wonders, a recent batch of books reveals our nervousness, anxiousness—tensile jitteriness—about technology. This should be all the more striking compared to our decade-ago view of tech as economic savior.
Nicholas Carr’s book, The Shallows: What the Internet Is Doing to Our Brains, is getting a lot of attention. The book is about how the mind works in the internet age and asks the question: Is our technology making us smarter or dumber? He believes we’re getting dumber. Clay Shirky disagrees. His latest book, Cognitive Surplus: Creativity and Generosity in a Connected Age, argues technology and the information age are a source of goodness almost beyond our ability to comprehend.
Paradoxically, Carr’s book is often wrong but worth reading; Shirky’s is often right but should be skipped. We’ll tackle this review from two perspectives—the books themselves, and what they mean for investors.
I. Technology and Our Brains
This year, I had a mild career change. I went from being an analyst to managing some of them. A few months into it, my boss asked me how it was going. I said, “It’s changing my brain.” He looked at me sideways. But I meant it—I’ve had to think differently. Instead of contemplating just me and my work, I had a bunch of folks to consider, constantly. I’d get requests and interruptions all day such that I’ve had to learn to change focus on a dime, continually. At first, I worried this would affect my ability to think deeply and write for long stretches. Turns out, those things didn’t go away at all (these book reviews seem to be getting longer and longer!). Plus, I now have a new set of skills and new perspective.
Carr’s book, The Shallows, deals with this topic in earnest. He believes information bombardment from the net, email, smartphones, Twitter, text messages, and so on makes us less capable of deep, linear, focused thought and more prone to attention diffusion and interruption. Carr spends many pages making one point: Human brains are malleable, and so what we “feed” them dictates a lot of their wiring and thus how we think.
This ends up both right and wrong. True, the internet age will change our brains, but our neural abilities are so powerful this doesn’t have to be a bad thing and certainly doesn’t have to make us “shallower.” Through history, intellectuals have lamented mass paperback publishing, comic books, radio, television—saying they’d all ruin society and our ability to think deeply. They didn’t. Why? Carr goes to great lengths to prove that the brain is the finest computer of all time, but oddly doesn’t recognize our brains might have the ability to switch gears. Perhaps sometimes our attention is diffused on conversation, emails, and the like. And maybe other times, we can still sit quietly and read.
Carr cites a study that ostensibly proves a person’s brain changes materially with “just one hour of internet use a day.” From this, he concludes that if one hour does all that, think of what a whole day in front of the screen will do! One would expect interaction with any new medium to require a lot of energy and new neural activity before it becomes habitual. But that doesn’t mean the magnitude of new neural activity would necessarily continue unabated in each subsequent hour—or crowd out older, learned modes of thinking. Rather, and in keeping with Carr’s insistence on the primacy of neural plasticity, the marginal brain change would diminish over time. You only have to learn to ride a bike once and then riding is easy, making room for additional new learning and allowing the peaceful coexistence of all previous modes of thought.
More, Carr argues that solitary, silent reading and writing were the substrate for some kind of individuality that was imperative for the development of society. This is sheer nonsense and can be dismissed simply by examining the life of Socrates, who never wrote or read, but spoke and listened. This reflects Carr’s confusion on the important difference between the ability to think and how that thought is transferred. Transfer mechanisms, like books and language, influence thought, but are not thoughts themselves. (Steven Pinker has proven this over and again in his studies of language.) Further, our fabulous brains make room for many different transfer mechanisms (as discussed above)—the evolution of which have only furthered and deepened thought.
On one level, The Shallows is a sterling introduction to contemporary neural science—from studies on instinct and plasticity to the chemistry of memory. Carr is extremely well researched and authoritative here. (He even cites—and seems to have actually read!—David Bueller’s hugely turgid Adapting Minds, a seminal critique of evolutionary psychology.) But The Shallows is ultimately less than the sum of its parts—a grouping of well-written, thought-provoking pieces that never really prove the case. By contrast, Clay Shirky’s Cognitive Surplus is often generally right to argue that increasing information and technology is a good thing for society, but does so in tedious and tautological fashion. Shirky has a few important points:
- There will always be folks lamenting the new opening of information and that always ends up wrong.
- Though we feel busier and more anxious about it than ever, we actually have more time than ever and are more productive than ever. This is the “cognitive surplus.”
But we didn’t need a whole book to get to these points. Most of the text is a quagmire of tautology like, “the needs of the group and the needs of the individual should be balanced” for an online community. (Who needed to be told this, and what does it really have to do with the book’s topic?)
II. Technology and the Investor
I increasingly hear questions from clients about how to choose information sources, which ones to trust, and how to generally deal with the bombardment of information that hits us every day. One thing is certain: Just the mass influx of information causes heightened anxiety—it can be like drinking from a fire hose. Serious investors need to consider how technology and the availability of information affects their decisions.
Fifty years ago, with paper, pencil, and newspaper stock quotes, you could make a stock price chart and calculate a few things like P/E ratios. If you had the time and a big enough research budget—you could cleverly use all this to act on things others weren’t seeing or hadn’t thought of. (Have you ever actually graphed a stock price by hand? It takes forever.) Today, you can get every stock price or metric (any piece of data you can think up, really) free on the internet and crunch it any which way you like—in milliseconds. Where once all of this was only possible for an elite few, today all you need is a computer, the internet, basic knowledge of statistics, and spreadsheet software like Excel.
A good bit of investing used to be about how fast and comprehensively we gathered information, but today it’s more about the quality of our thought and analysis and how well we sort out the noise. The human brain still ultimately pulls the decision-making trigger and our brains haven’t much altered—we can only digest, think through, and understand so much, and rational thought is still influenced by subjective emotions. Said differently, more information hasn’t led to better investor returns. We live in a world where successful market forecasting is more than ever about interpretation…and less about finding that one “magic bullet” no one else has yet found.
Look no further than right now. We at MarketMinder have been truly breathtaken at how quickly folks have decided recent slower economic data automatically means double-dip recession. Fifty years ago, an average US investor couldn’t get a hold of, say, a breakdown of Japanese GDP without spending huge time and resources (and probably hiring a translator). And even if they could, it would likely lag weeks or months after it was reported. Today, a full breakdown of global GDP is available online, basically instantly, to everyone and for almost every country. So, the issue is how to interpret the GDP reports. Our analysis says this is a very typical deceleration of growth after what’s been a swift first stage of recovery. Recoveries—and expansions, generally—aren’t straight, smooth lines up. Others disagree. Whoever’s right, there’s no secret or hidden piece of data that tells the tale.
Thus, effectively sorting and interpreting, not just data gathering and computing, is more important than ever before. Or, as James Hillman has said, the “hungering for eternal experience makes one a consumer of profane events.” Determining what is truly holy to markets (what moves them) and what is profane (noise) is the crux of forecasting today.
|*The content contained in this article represents only the opinions and viewpoints of theFisher Investments editorial staff.|