During my first university class as a fresh-faced undergraduate, years before I had even imagined reading for a PhD, I was met with a situation which (albeit new) fitted neatly into my idea of what a lecture would be like: an old, grey professor discussing in relative monotone the history of the Middle East. The class proceeded as you would expect: he spoke, we listened - the occasional foray into one's phone screen notwithstanding.

 

But towards the end of class, out of nowhere, something strange happened. Amid the murmur of students hastily packing their bags, someone put up their hands and questioned some of the lecturer's claims. This was surprising. I hadn't expected someone so young and sitting in the audience to doubt a senior and authoritative academic. I then begun questioning some of the things I had heard in the class.

​

This situation shattered a prior narrative frame (discussed in the previous article, here) that I had held. Up until then, I'd become accustomed to passively listening to teachers talk about Shakespeare, Henry VIII or some other obligatory topic. My teachers were no less than paragons of knowledge.

 

Thinking back many years later, I realise that my first lecture experience had a profound impact on how I came to view university in general; the lazy, sit-in-a-class and don't actively question what you hear attitude was gone.

​

The question remains: how did my narrative change? What mechanism was involved? Can this be actively encouraged?

​

To be sure, I get a lot of questions about shifting narratives. From young entrepreneurs trying to change people's thinking about an innovative product they're developing, or a company CEO struggling to align staff towards common goals.

 

A lot of this has to do with what some psychologists call 'mental models', which was also the subject of a very popular management strategy book by Peter Senge called The Fifth Discipline: The Art and Practice of the Learning Organization.

​

Mental models is simply another way of referring to the narrative frames we've discussed before.

 

To summarise, narrative frames refer to how our brain stores memories, and how these memories then come to impact how we see present (and future) scenarios. Because our brain stores "skeleton forms" of explanations and arguments we've encountered in the past, we cannot help the instinctual way we come to view new (similar) situations.

 

However, let us be clear here: as Senge argues, the problem isn't these narrative frames themselves, but "when they exist below the level of awareness". In other words, when we don't actively question why we believe something to be the case.

​

Let's take bitcoin as an example to illustrate how one man successfully changed the narrative and ushered in a revolution.

​

At a point in the not so distant past, one bitcoin was largely worthless. People's prior narrative frames dictated that money had to be either physical or backed by some central bank for it to be legitimate. Yet bitcoin has surged, moving close to $20,000 for a single 'coin' (before falling again, but still hovering around the $5,000 mark).

 

So, how did Satoshi Nakamoto (the illusive founder, or group of founders said to have invented it) come to convince people of its value?

​

Much like my university experience, Bitcoin's rise also begun with an encounter. That is, after an idea was planted about an alternative future where such technology was feasible, it had to be experienced. For it to be successful, it also had to fit into some prior frame that we held (about the use of money) such as its store of value potential and it being as secure as 'real' money (i.e., free from the double-spend problem which impacts fiat currencies in the form of counterfeit and ultimately leading to inflation).

 

This is why Nakamoto spent a lot of time in the original bitcoin concept note here justifying this innovation along precisely those terms, focusing on its value and security.

 

But the real power came when people saw its potential in action: trading with bitcoins online as they would ordinary money. With time, state bodies begun to see bitcoins as currency that they had jurisdiction over, and - crucially - that they could tax. Online retailers began accepting payments. More and more people began to mine bitcoin in get-rich-quick schemes. The price rose and media headlines poured in, further increasing its reputation. New digital coins entered the market, like XRP (Ripple) and XLM (Stellar) and some state even began creating their own virtual currencies.

​

With time, it became harder and harder for detractors to argue against the practicality of bitcoin. This experience created a new narrative frame - that digital currencies can be stores of value, that they present a viable way to spend money and that this was no longer a pipe dream or sci-fi.

​

Here lies the lesson for shifting narratives: narrative frames do indeed guide our thinking, but these can be disrupted by new experiences. These experiences disrupt our assumptions, making prior beliefs indefensible.

 

A young entrepreneur trying to convince others why his new idea is worthy of investment should therefore focus on conveying experiences that challenge prior assumptions. In particular, they should demonstrate an alternative future where his vision is the new normal. It's about shifting world-views, and there is no better way to do this than to begin with a story. I will discuss basic narrative forms in a later submission. I will also discuss how it's possible to shift narrative frames based on the idea that narratives compete with one another in a complex cognitive process.

​

For now, and just as my world-view was shifted in that lecture hall, I hope that this piece has also proven useful in provoking an interesting internal dialogue about your own assumptions.