When does paying people change what they do, and when does it backfire?
Small rewards can double blood donations or build kids' eating habits. A fine can make parents later, and cash can halve donors. What decides which.
When someone explains an accident by describing everything that led up to it, many listeners hear excuses. Safety investigators hear the most useful account there is. Four well-studied biases explain the gap, and knowing them helps you listen, and speak, more fairly.
Picture a hospital nurse who gives a patient the wrong dose. Asked what happened, the nurse could answer in one of two ways.
| Account A | Account B |
|---|---|
| "I made a mistake. I gave the wrong dose." | "It was my third double shift. Two drugs with similar names sat in the same drawer. The label was hard to read, the ward was short two staff, and I was interrupted while drawing it up. I didn't catch it." |
Account A sounds honest and humble. Account B sounds, to many ears, like someone pointing at everything except themselves.
Yet Account B is the one a safety investigator wants. It names the conditions that will cause the same error again, with a different nurse, next month. Account A fixes nothing.
In a classic 1967 experiment, Edward Jones and Victor Harris had people read essays for or against Fidel Castro. Readers were told the writers had been assigned their side. They still judged that each writer believed what they wrote.
The psychologist Lee Ross later named this the fundamental attribution error: when we explain someone else's behaviour, we lean on their character and underweight their circumstances. A 1995 review by Daniel Gilbert and Patrick Malone found this "correspondence bias" across many settings.
So when an account stresses circumstances, it runs against the listener's default. The listener is already looking for a flaw in the person.
In 1975 Baruch Fischhoff gave people descriptions of historical events. Some were told how the events ended; others were not. Those told the outcome rated it as more likely, and did not realise that knowing it had changed their judgement.
After an accident, everyone knows how it ended. The warning signs look bright. The listener wonders how anyone missed them, and "I didn't see it" sounds implausible, even when it is true.
In 1988 Jonathan Baron and John Hershey showed people the same medical decision, made on the same information. When told it ended badly, people rated the decision itself as worse, and the decision-maker as less competent, than when told it ended well.
The worse the harm, the harder it is for a listener to accept that the choices leading to it were ordinary ones.
A study published in 2003 showed people a video of a witness giving testimony, played by an actress in several versions. The words stayed the same; only the emotion shown changed. When the witness appeared calm or neutral, viewers found the account less credible than when it came with the emotion they expected. The content of the story mattered less than the display.
People who explain events analytically, in a steady voice, can come across as cold, and cold can read as guilty.
Fields where errors kill, like aviation and medicine, learned to work against these biases. The psychologist James Reason, writing in the BMJ in 2000, described two approaches to error:
His Swiss cheese model pictures each safeguard as a slice with holes. An accident happens when the holes in several slices line up. Account B above is a list of holes. The safety scientist Sidney Dekker's idea of a "just culture" builds on this: people should be able to report what went wrong without the report itself being treated as a confession.
Small rewards can double blood donations or build kids' eating habits. A fine can make parents later, and cash can halve donors. What decides which.
A famous 1989 study had judges set bond nine times higher after thinking about death. Big replications since then paint a weaker picture.
Decades of classroom research favour working together. A 2024 lab study found both lift performance, but only competition raised stress.