Leadership as Folk Theory

Mar 11

I. When Theories Overstay Their Welcome

In the 18th century, wood burned — and something seemed to vanish. That something had a name: phlogiston.

The theory made intuitive sense. Matter was transformed by fire. Ash remained. Something had “left.” That invisible essence was called phlogiston.The explanation was elegant. It was useful. Also, it was wrong.

In the 19th century, physicists imagined light waves traveling through a universal medium — the luminiferous ether. It filled the universe, undetectable but necessary. Without it, what would light even move through? The theory answered a profound conceptual gap — until Einstein made it obsolete.

For centuries, vitalism reigned in biology. Life, it was said, required a special force beyond chemistry or physics — a kind of spiritual engine separating the living from the merely mechanical. Then came molecular biology. The theory collapsed.

What these ideas had in common was not ignorance — but plausibility. At some point, each was the best available language for describing the unknown. But eventually, each got in the way.

These are examples of language pretending to be knowledge — and of what happens when we stop questioning the terms we’ve inherited.

Now, consider the following statements:

Just as phlogiston explained combustion, we now explain friction within organizations by pointing to mindset problems.
Just as ether carried light, purpose is now said to carry engagement.
Just as vitalism explained life, empowerment now explains motivation.

In the following, I will argue that most of today’s leadership language is just as problematic as were the theories of phlogiston, ether, and vitalism.

II. A Necessary Clarification

Leadership is, of course, a legitimate subject of serious research. There is a rich and evolving academic tradition in organizational studies, psychology, political theory, sociology, and behavioral science exploring how humans coordinate, decide, influence, and take responsibility together.

This critique is not directed at that body of work.

I do not deny the reality of collective action. I do not question the relevance of group dynamics or the legitimacy of authority. I do not mock authors who examine these things carefully, empirically, or with nuance.

What I critique is something else entirely: the semantic drift that begins when academic concepts exit the lab and start circulating — diluted, aestheticized, and unexamined — through consulting slides, HR workshops, LinkedIn posts, airport bestsellers, executive coaching, and leadership self-help literature.

What I oppose is not the study of leadership — but the theatrical language of leadership as it exists in the wild. In this essay, I call that phenomenon (in a not-so-subtle nod to groundbreaking philosophers Paul and Patricia Churchland) folk leadership.

III. The Rise of a Hybrid Language

Let’s clarify what I mean by this term. What has emerged over the past few decades is not a coherent theory but a hybrid discourse — a shape-shifting idiom stitched together from borrowed authority.

It speaks with the tone of psychology, the aura of science, the glow of moral progress, and the casual charm of a TED Talk. It is sold in books, printed on posters, embedded in development programs, and whispered into performance reviews.

It is both vague and normative. Both aspirational and disciplinary. It invites everyone in — and instructs them how to think once they’ve arrived.

This is the language of:

Agility, Empowerment, Purpose
Servant Leadership, Growth Mindset, Emotional Intelligence
Resilience, Psychological Safety, Cultural Fit
New Work, Authenticity, Strategic Empathy

These are not scientific terms. Nor are they poetic. They belong to a third category:

Language that performs seriousness but resists precision.
Language that pretends to describe — but exists to prescribe.

These words form a lexicon — one that sounds like insight but acts like ritual. And rituals, by their nature, resist scrutiny.

IV. The Illusion of Coherence

These phrases are repeated so often — across industries, borders, and cultures — that they begin to feel like a unified worldview. But they are not.

They offer no shared definitions. No underlying logic. No testable framework. What they offer instead is a semantic comfort zone — a kind of corporate liturgy that signals progressiveness, cultural fluency, and strategic alignment without ever saying anything precise.

And yet these terms are treated as if they were real. People are hired and fired because of them. Strategies are shaped by them. Entire product portfolios are built on their scaffolding.

In this way, the language of folk leadership behaves like a theory — without ever being held to the standards of one.

V. Failed Theories — and Folk Beliefs

Here, the analogy with obsolete science becomes instructive. Examine the aforementioned statements again:

In each case:

An invisible force is proposed.
The force cannot be observed — only inferred.
When outcomes are poor, the theory blames the absence of the force.
The theory is never tested — only reaffirmed through its failure.

This is the hallmark of a folk theory: elegant in form, immune to falsification, and comforting in its simplicity. A folk theory feels explanatory — but resists refinement. It offers narrative closure, not analytical clarity.

Folk leadership is just such a theory — only worse. Because it borrows its legitimacy from disciplines it neither respects nor defines.

VI. The Real-World Cost of Hollow Language

You might ask: “Even if imprecise, don’t these concepts help people reflect, improve, collaborate?”

Perhaps. Occasionally. But that is not the test.

The test is: What happens when these terms are used as if they were precise — when in fact they are not?

And the answer is: They become tools of power.

This language is used:

To diagnose “resistance”
To evaluate “leadership potential”
To justify layoffs, restructures, and pay freezes
To blame failure on attitude rather than architecture

Worst of all, these terms are hard to question. To doubt them is to risk being seen as cynical, uncooperative, or “not on the journey.” They create semantic force fields around themselves:

You don’t disagree with purpose — you just don’t get it yet.
You don’t challenge culture fit — you just haven’t evolved your mindset.

VII. The Diagnosis

This is not a neutral essay. It is a critique — and it is deliberate.

The language of folk leadership is not a theory. But it behaves like one. It borrows the style of science but none of its rigor. It offers the illusion of explanation — but explains nothing. It is not coherent enough to improve — only resilient enough to resist examination.

If a word can mean anything, it means nothing.
And if a word governs our institutions without being defined, it must be dismantled — or at least interrogated.

VIII. What Might Remain?

Leadership may begin only after this language ends.

It may reside not in competencies or models — but in context, relationships, and the willingness to act without illusion.

Perhaps what remains is not a new model — but a different kind of speech. One that acknowledges ambiguity without weaponizing it. One that enables action without demanding belief.

Leadership, in this sense, is what remains when we clear away the semantic nonsense.

Christophe Braun