Mark: Here’s a wild thought: what if 85% of your financial success has almost nothing to do with your technical skills or knowledge? Research from the Carnegie Foundation found exactly that. It’s all about your skill in 'human engineering.' And that’s what we’re decoding today. Michelle: That is a staggering number. It feels completely counterintuitive to everything we're taught. We spend decades learning a craft, a science, a trade... and you're telling me that's only 15% of the equation? The other 85% is just... talking to people? Mark: Essentially, yes. It's about how you express ideas, how you lead, and how you arouse enthusiasm in others. And there's one book that became the bible for this very idea. Today we’re diving into one of the most influential—and sometimes controversial—books ever written on the topic: How to Win Friends and Influence People by Dale Carnegie. Michelle: Right, and it's fascinating that he wrote this during the Great Depression. A time when people were desperate for any edge they could get, not just financially, but socially. It really tapped into a deep-seated anxiety and a hope for a better way to navigate a brutal world. Mark: Exactly. It wasn't just a book; for many, it was a lifeline. And it has never been out of print since it was first published in 1936. That fact alone tells you something profound about the timelessness of its message. So let's start with his first, and maybe most difficult, rule.

Mark: Michelle, what's our first, gut-level instinct when someone really messes up? At work, at home, anywhere. Michelle: Oh, that's easy. You criticize. You point out the mistake. You explain why it's wrong, and you tell them not to do it again. It feels like the most direct way to solve the problem. Mark: It feels direct, and it's what 99 percent of us do. But Carnegie's first principle is a direct challenge to that instinct. He says, flat out: "Don't criticize, condemn, or complain." Michelle: Hold on. All three? Don't complain, I get. But don't criticize? How does anything get better? In a modern workplace, you have to give feedback. Are we supposed to just praise mediocrity and let poor performance slide? Mark: That's the million-dollar question, and it's where the nuance comes in. Carnegie isn't talking about constructive guidance. He's talking about the act of condemnation—the kind of criticism that attacks a person's pride and sense of importance. To show how futile this is, he opens the book with a truly extreme example. On May 7, 1931, the New York City police were in the middle of one of the most sensational manhunts the city had ever seen. Michelle: Okay, you have my attention. Mark: They had tracked a killer, "Two-Gun" Crowley, to his girlfriend's apartment. Crowley was a cop-killer who didn't smoke or drink. A hundred and fifty police officers and detectives laid siege to his top-floor hideout. They tried to smoke him out with tear gas, they set up machine guns on surrounding buildings. For an hour, the neighborhood echoed with gunfire. Finally, Crowley was captured. Michelle: So, a hardened, remorseless criminal. Mark: You would think. But what did Crowley say about himself? While the police were firing at his apartment, he wrote a letter. It was addressed "To whom it may concern." And in the letter, he wrote, "Under my coat is a weary heart, but a kind one—one that would do nobody any harm." Michelle: Come on. He's a cop-killer who thinks he's a gentle soul? That's delusion on a grand scale. Mark: Exactly Carnegie's point! If a man like "Two-Gun" Crowley, or Al Capone for that matter, who famously said "I have spent the best years of my life giving people the lighter pleasures," saw themselves as public benefactors, what does that tell you about the everyday people you and I meet? They are not going to blame themselves for anything. Criticism is futile because it puts a person on the defensive and usually makes them strive to justify themselves. It's dangerous because it wounds their pride and arouses resentment. Michelle: I see the logic, but the Crowley example is so far out there. What about a more relatable situation? A leader, not a criminal. Mark: A perfect pivot. Let's look at Abraham Lincoln. Early in his career, he was a master of criticism. He once wrote letters and poems ridiculing his political opponents and would leave them on country roads where they'd be found. He almost got into a duel over it. But he learned from experience. The most famous example came during the Civil War, right after the Battle of Gettysburg. Michelle: A critical moment in American history. Mark: Absolutely. General Meade had just won a major victory, but Lee's army was trapped. It was raining, the Potomac river was swollen and impassable behind them, and the Union army had them cornered. Lincoln saw this as the golden opportunity to end the war. He telegraphed Meade, ordering him to attack immediately. Michelle: And what did Meade do? Mark: He hesitated. He called a council of war. He delayed. He made excuses. Finally, the floodwaters receded and Lee's army escaped across the river. Lincoln was furious. He was in agony. He said to his son, "What does it mean? We had them within our grasp, and had only to stretch forth our hands and they were ours!" In his despair, he sat down and wrote a scathing letter to Meade. Michelle: I can only imagine what that letter said. Mark: It was brutal. It included lines like, "My dear General, I do not believe you appreciate the magnitude of the misfortune involved in Lee's escape." It was a letter dripping with blame and disappointment. But here's the crucial part of the story. Michelle: What's that? Mark: Meade never read it. Lincoln never sent it. The letter was found among his papers after his death. Michelle: Why? Why wouldn't he send it? He was the President, he had every right. Mark: Because, as Carnegie speculates, Lincoln put himself in Meade's shoes. He thought, "Wait a minute. Maybe I shouldn't be so hasty. It's easy for me to sit here in the quiet of the White House and order an attack. But if I had been at Gettysburg, and seen all the blood Meade has seen, and heard the screams of the wounded, maybe I wouldn't have been so eager to attack either." He realized the letter would only create bitterness, hurt Meade's pride, and maybe even cause him to resign. It would accomplish nothing positive. Michelle: So he just let it go? That takes incredible discipline. It's a powerful story, but it still leaves my question hanging. If you can't criticize, what do you do? What's the alternative? Mark: The alternative is to change the frame entirely. Instead of focusing on the negative, you focus on what you want to see. This is where appreciation and even a little bit of showmanship come in. Charles Schwab, one of the first people in American business to be paid a salary of over a million dollars a year, was a master at this. Michelle: A million-dollar salary back then is like... what, a hundred million today? He must have known something. Mark: He certainly did. He was walking through one of his steel mills at the end of the day and asked the manager how many heats the day shift had turned out. The manager said six. Schwab asked for a piece of chalk, and without another word, he drew a big number '6' on the factory floor and walked away. Michelle: That's it? No speech, no criticism of the night shift? Mark: Nothing. When the night shift came in, they saw the '6' and asked what it meant. The day-shift workers said, "The big boss was in here today. He asked us how many heats we made, and we told him six. He chalked it on the floor." The next morning, Schwab came through the mill again. The night shift had rubbed out the '6' and replaced it with a big '7'. Michelle: Oh, I love that. It's a challenge, not a criticism. Mark: Precisely! The day shift saw the '7' and were fired up. They were not going to let the night shift show them up. That day, they turned out ten heats and chalked a big, bold '10' on the floor. Soon, that mill, which had been the lowest-producing one, was turning out more work than any other plant in the company. Schwab didn't criticize anyone. He simply set up a friendly competition. He appealed to their desire to excel. Michelle: That's a fundamental shift. It's moving from "Here's what you did wrong" to "Here's a standard to beat." It's about inspiring an eager want, not resentment. Okay, so avoiding criticism is about not making enemies. But how do you proactively make friends or allies? It feels like there's a missing piece.

Mark: You've hit on the perfect transition. Carnegie's entire philosophy pivots from defense—not making enemies—to offense: actively winning people over. And his secret is so simple it's almost insulting. Michelle: I'm ready to be insulted. Lay it on me. Mark: He says the way to make people like you is to become genuinely interested in other people. Michelle: That's it? That's the big secret? Be interested in people? Mark: That's it. And think about how radical that is, especially today. As you said earlier, most of us spend our energy trying to be interesting. We curate our social media, we tell our best stories, we try to impress. Carnegie says that's a completely backward approach. He uses a brilliant, simple analogy to prove his point: the dog. Michelle: A dog? How does a dog fit into this? Mark: Think about it. A dog is the only animal that doesn't have to work for a living. A hen has to lay eggs, a cow has to give milk, a canary has to sing. But a dog makes its living by giving you nothing but love and unadulterated, overwhelming interest in you. Michelle: That's so true. When my dog sees me, his whole body wags. He loses his mind with joy. It makes me feel like the most important person on the planet. Mark: And he's not faking it! You can make more friends in two months by becoming genuinely interested in other people than you can in two years by trying to get other people interested in you. People are not interested in you. They are not interested in me. They are interested in themselves—morning, noon, and after dinner. Michelle: It's a harsh truth, but it rings true. On social media, everyone is broadcasting, trying to be the most interesting person in the room. Carnegie is saying to be the most interested person. But this brings up the sincerity question again. Can you fake genuine interest? Doesn't that just feel manipulative? I think a lot of modern readers get hung up on this. Mark: It's the most common criticism of the book, and it's a valid one if you treat these principles as a bag of tricks. But Carnegie is adamant that this has to be sincere. He's not advocating for a technique; he's advocating for a mindset shift. It's about a genuine curiosity about the other person's world. And he gives us simple, powerful ways to signal that interest. The most basic one? Remember a person's name. Michelle: Oh, that's a big one. I'm terrible with names, and I always feel awful about it. Mark: We all are. But Carnegie says that a person's name is to that person the sweetest and most important sound in any language. It's the simplest way to signal "I see you. You are an individual who matters to me." He tells a story about his own experience. He wanted to get a big railroad corporation, the Pennsylvania Railroad, to use his name on their mail cars. He built a whole course around it. Michelle: That sounds ambitious. Mark: He made a miniature replica of a mail car and took it to the president of the railroad. The president was, understandably, not interested. He basically said, "I don't know if we can do that." But Carnegie had done his homework. He said, "I notice your name is Edgar Thomson." The president was a bit surprised. Carnegie then explained that he knew the history of the railroad and that the first president was also named J. Edgar Thomson. He had researched the man's name and history. The president's demeanor changed instantly. He became warm, friendly, and spent a long time talking about the history of the railroad. Remembering and honoring his name opened a door that was firmly shut. Michelle: That's a powerful example of how a small act of interest can completely change the dynamic. It wasn't flattery; it was genuine homework. It showed respect. Mark: Exactly. And the other side of that coin is being a good listener. Encourage others to talk about themselves. Think about the best conversationalist you know. I'm willing to bet they're not the one who tells the best stories, but the one who asks the best questions and listens with rapt attention. Michelle: Absolutely. You walk away from a conversation with someone like that feeling brilliant, because they made you feel heard. You barely know anything about them, but you love them. Mark: That's the magic. It's about turning the spotlight around. When you do that, you not only make friends, you also gather an incredible amount of information that becomes crucial for the next part of Carnegie's philosophy: persuasion.

Mark: And this idea of focusing on the other person is the key to his most radical advice on persuasion. He has a whole chapter titled with a statement that stops you in your tracks: "You Can't Win an Argument." Michelle: That feels like a direct challenge to every debate club member, lawyer, and opinionated person on the internet. What does he mean you can't win? Of course you can. You can have better facts, better logic. Mark: You can win on the merits, but you lose in the court of human relations. Carnegie says if you lose an argument, you lose it. If you win it, you still lose it. Michelle: How do you lose by winning? Mark: Because you've made the other person feel inferior. You've hurt their pride. You may have proven your point, but you've made them resent you. And a person convinced against their will is of the same opinion still. You haven't changed their mind; you've just silenced them. Michelle: Wow. So it's like social jiu-jitsu. You're not supposed to meet force with force. You're supposed to redirect it. That's a tough pill to swallow for anyone who likes to be right. Mark: It's incredibly difficult. And the master of this was Benjamin Franklin. In his youth, he was the opposite. He was an insufferable debater. He loved to argue and prove people wrong. One day, an older Quaker friend took him aside and basically told him, "Ben, you are impossible. Your opinions have a slap in them for every person who differs with you. Your friends find they enjoy themselves better when you are not around." Michelle: Ouch. That's a harsh reality check. Mark: It was. And Franklin was smart enough to listen. He immediately changed his ways. He made a rule for himself to avoid all direct contradiction. He gave up words like "certainly" and "undoubtedly." Instead, he started using phrases like, "I conceive," or "It appears to me," or "I imagine it to be so for these reasons." When someone said something he thought was wrong, instead of attacking them, he would begin by saying that in certain cases their opinion would be right, but in the present case there appeared to be some difference. Michelle: That is a massive shift. It's the definition of intellectual humility. Admitting you might be wrong is such a disarming move. Mark: It's the secret of Socrates. Start by getting the other person to say "yes, yes." Find common ground. Don't begin by discussing the things on which you differ. Begin by emphasizing the things on which you agree. Keep emphasizing that you're both striving for the same end, and your only difference is one of method, not of purpose. Michelle: This sounds great for a philosophical debate, but how does this work in a high-stakes business negotiation? Don't you have to be firm and draw a line in the sand? Mark: You do, but it's about when and how you draw that line. Carnegie's advice is to let the other person do a great deal of the talking. Let them talk themselves out. As they talk, you'll start to understand their real interests, their fears, their motivations. And often, if you guide them with questions instead of statements, you can let them feel that the idea is theirs. Mark: There's a story of an executive who needed to motivate his sales team. Instead of giving a big "go get 'em" speech, he called a meeting and said, "I want you to tell me what you expect of me. I'll write it down." After he did that, he said, "Now, I'm going to tell you what I expect of you." He listed his expectations, and the team readily agreed because he had first validated their needs. He let them co-create the solution. Michelle: That's brilliant. He gave them ownership. He didn't push his agenda; he created a shared one. It all comes back to that same core idea: make it about the other person. Mark: Every single time. Whether you're trying to avoid making an enemy, trying to make a friend, or trying to win someone to your way of thinking, the path is always through the other person's world.

Mark: When you boil it all down, the entire philosophy of How to Win Friends and Influence People is a fundamental reorientation away from our own ego. It's a systematic training to get out of our own heads. Michelle: That's a great way to put it. It's a three-step process, really. First, instead of leading with criticism, you lead with appreciation. You stop trying to prove people wrong. Mark: Then, instead of trying to be interesting, you become genuinely interested. You stop broadcasting and start listening. You make the other person the star of the show. Michelle: And finally, instead of trying to win arguments with force, you win people over with empathy. You avoid confrontation and seek understanding. It's a constant shift from 'me' to 'you'. Mark: It is. And it's why the book, despite some of its language feeling a bit dated, remains so powerful. These aren't just social tactics; they are principles of emotional intelligence. They recognize that human beings are creatures of emotion, not logic. Our actions are driven by pride, by the desire to feel important, and by our deep-seated emotions. Michelle: It's simple, but it's definitely not easy. It requires a lot of emotional discipline to pause before you criticize, to actively listen when you want to talk, and to admit you might be wrong when your ego is screaming that you're right. It makes you wonder, in our fast-paced, often confrontational world of hot takes and online arguments, which of these principles feels the most challenging—and the most necessary—to apply today? Mark: That's the perfect question for our listeners to reflect on. Is it holding back that critical comment? Is it putting down your phone and giving someone your full, undivided attention? Or is it stepping back from an argument and saying, "You know what, tell me more about why you see it that way"? Michelle: We'd love to hear what you think. Join the conversation on our social channels and let us know which of Carnegie's principles resonates most with you, or which one you find the hardest to practice. The stories are always fascinating. Mark: This is Aibrary, signing off.