Why HR Doesn't—Can't—Work

Conventional wisdom says that coming up with a new angle on what’s wrong with HR is like coming up with a new cocktail—an exercise in futility. It’s all been done.

Conventional wisdom? One star. Do not recommend.

The unarticulated base problem of HR is ironically rooted in psychology. To understand what’s really wrong, we have to understand archetypes.

Archetypes are the ultimate cognitive aphrodisiacs—single-malt-good mental shortcuts. Like stereotypes on super-steroids, they are the cognitive equivalents to the gravitational pull of a black hole.

We pick up on someone’s type and “know” what to expect from them right away. Leader, caregiver, jester, rebel—these are just a few of the archetypes on which we love to rely.

Why? Because we love saving mental energy, and archetypes save us the most. But there is a downside. The expectations set by archetypes meaningfully affect our subsequent perceptions of what happens in reality.

The exact same behavior from two different archetypes can have the opposite meaning, perceived or actual. “Trust me,” means something different coming from the Trickster than the Innocent.

Understanding our own archetype is crucial to knowing how best to convey our messages.

Which begs the question—what the heck is the archetype for HR?

That there is no immediate and clear answer is the problem. We don’t even know whether the resources are for the humans or the resources are the humans.

Back to School

To better understand HR’s archetype problem, let’s consider a common early experience with organizational design: high school.

Given the breadth of our needs, we were governed by institutional roles beyond the teachers guiding our academics. Some were quite different (nursing vs. custodial) but at least faced in the same direction.

But two roles were diametrically opposed: the dean of students and the guidance counselor.

The dean of students’ role was to create and maintain order. The capacity for genuinely-damaging adolescent behavior is no joke, and something had to be done to maximize deterrence. This was usually best accomplished through the credible threat of significant consequences. In other words, fear.

The guidance counselor’s role was to create and maintain psychological safety. The adolescent need for self-discovery is intense, requiring practical and emotional support. This was usually best accomplished by creating nurturing environments and building trust over time. In other words, security.

Now imagine the two roles merged into a single position, filled by a single person. How do you think they’re going to fare?

Mix Us Some Drinks

To answer that, we have to consider what happens when we mix archetypes. Just as with any ingredients, the results are hit and miss.

Leader and Sage go together like gin and tonic. Warrior and Lover works for some but not others, like a whiskey sour.

But asking someone to accept a combination of Innocent and Trickster is like asking them to drink a glass of warm salt water.

People cannot stomach conflicting archetypes. That’s why a combination of the dean of students and guidance counselor would be such a terrible idea. The role would be unable to create fear or safety, as each would undermine the other.

But that is exactly what HR is—a combination of the dean of students and the guidance counselor.

There is no other professional role that combines conflicting archetypes. How the heck did that happen?

I Don’t Want to Deal With It

The history of HR may be as interesting as HR. It was born in the military in WWI, based on the need to assign new recruits to roles best suited to their levels of skill and talent.

Several smart and earnest people have mapped the evolution of HR from there as the outcome of conscious and deliberate decisions made in response to changing global dynamics.

But it seems more likely that throughout history, the only practical consideration ever given to the design of HR is, “What don’t my senior business leaders want to deal with?”

Imagine those senior business leaders at a theoretical first organizational design meeting, trying to stake their claims.

“Who wants customer growth?” Blood on the table.

“Who wants revenue?” Call the police.

“Who wants training?” Crickets.

Behaviors may be quantitative, but people are qualitative. They require patience and carry enormous uncertainty. People problems are too complex and unpredictable for simple solutions, and people wins too ambiguous to fast track a career.

Senior business leaders want metrics they know they can hit. Every other corporate function has a singular focus, is easily measured, and supports short-term problem-solving, conditions amenable to the kind of unambiguous achievement that gets you promoted.

But even so, talented people could solve all these remaining challenges. That they were unwanted by business leaders is not in and of itself a problem.

The problem is the belief that all these remaining functions belong together, because each has an element of “human” in it.

If there was any mental energy left in that theoretical meeting, someone would have pointed out that having the same person responsible for discipline and motivation was an atrociously bad idea.

“Legal, tough luck. You’ve got compliance. Sorry finance, comp and benefits are yours. We’re going let the guidance counselors be guidance counselors.”

Let My People Go

HR requires a total redesign from scratch, incorporating everything we have learned in the last 150 years from social psychology.

Until then, the only thing worse than the design of HR is the scapegoating of HR practitioners, most of whom are talented and well-intentioned, making the best of terrible constraints in the hopes of helping people.

HR must separate its functions into different business units, each with an easily identifiable archetype.

Doing so would not only transform organizational culture and employee engagement but unleash a goldmine of newly enabled talent in HR practitioners. It’s amazing how well people can run when you untie their feet.