
The flight to Cincinnati was smooth, the drinks were flowing, and my boss was becoming increasingly ‘relaxed.’ By the time we landed, he wanted me to make a series of edits to the pitch deck for the next day despite it effectively being 2 pm UK time. The next morning, my instructions were crisp: Do not speak. I was to be a ghost, present but silent. As the meeting unfolded, however, a little voice in my head began to stir. The data being presented was poor. It would never survive peer review at the New England Journal of Medicine. The rational part of me, the part that feared unemployment and confrontation, cautioned my continued silence. But another voice, the one that relishes a little chaos, continued to whisper. I wish I could say it was fuelled by exhaustion, but I knew what I was doing. Despite every better instinct, I spoke up.
The result was not immediate. But I could tell that my boss was furious, the client was confused, and the lead investigator combative – who the hell did I think I was. My career at that agency was, for all intents and purposes, over. The ‘little devil’ had won. Yet, paradoxically, that impulsive chaos was the best decision I ever made. I resigned the next week and founded Niche Science & Technology.
I still think about the incident. This universal experience, hearing two competing internal voices, one urging caution, the other whispering temptation, lies at the heart of the human condition. It is not a moral failing but a fascinating consequence of our evolutionary and neurological architecture [1].
We all carry an internal voice that quietly encourages behaviour we know we probably shouldn't pursue. It is the uninvited thought, the intrusive impulse, the darkly humorous suggestion that flits across our minds for a microsecond. Research indicates that intrusive thoughts and impulses are remarkably common in the general population [2]. In one landmark study, over 90% of participants reported unwanted, intrusive thoughts [3]. Sometimes it whispers harmless temptations; other times, it justifies selfishness or encourages us to ignore that persistent feeling that something isn't right. This ‘little devil’ is not supernatural, nor does it make us immoral. Such thoughts do not define character; morality lies primarily in behaviour [4].
The psychoanalyst Carl Jung termed this the Shadow, “the thing we have no wish to be" [5], the repository of repressed desires, disowned traits, and unconscious motivations [6]. Jung argued that ignored aspects of personality become stronger, not weaker, and that wisdom comes not from their suppression, but from integration [7]. As Jung noted, "Everyone carries a shadow, and the less it is embodied in the individual's conscious life, the blacker and denser it is" [5]. The Shadow is not inherently evil; it is disowned potential. "We cannot be whole without this negative side" (phew!) [8]. Modern neuroscience supports this view, revealing that our sense of self is not a singular entity but an amalgamation of competing neural networks and self-states [9]. From the perspective of network neuroscience, individual brain regions like the amygdala (emotional labelling), prefrontal cortex (self-reflection), and insula (body awareness) coordinate in patterns that sometimes conflict [10]. Jung would argue that healing involves learning to communicate and negotiate with these conflicting parts rather than silencing them [7].
This internal conflict is deeply rooted in our neurobiology. While Freud's structural model of the psyche (Id, Ego, Superego) is no longer taken literally, it remains a useful metaphor for competing motivational systems [11]. Our caveman brains, shaped by evolutionary pressures, are still operating within modern boardrooms. Impulses related to dominance, aggression, status-seeking, and risk-taking once carried survival advantages [12]. Evolutionary psychologists have demonstrated that many of our darker impulses, including revenge, status-seeking, and tribal loyalty, reflect adaptations that enhanced reproductive fitness in ancestral environments [13]. Robert Sapolsky has powerfully illustrated how our neurobiology, shaped by millions of years of evolution, often operates at odds with our modern social contexts [14].
The modern ‘devil’ is driven by the promise of dopamine, the neurotransmitter of reward prediction [15]. Temptation feels intensely rewarding before action, often leading us towards a prediction error, where the anticipated satisfaction exceeds the actual outcome [16]. Neuroimaging studies have shown that anticipating a reward activates the striatum and ventromedial prefrontal cortex, regions heavily innervated by dopamine projections [17]. This anticipatory activity often outweighs the actual experience of reward, explaining why we pursue pleasure so vigorously even when it disappoints [18].
Simultaneously, another system is operating: our gut instinct. Far from magic, intuition is the brain's sophisticated pattern recognition machinery operating beneath conscious awareness [19]. Antonio Damasio's somatic marker hypothesis demonstrates that emotions, physically experienced as ‘gut feelings’, are essential for rational decision-making [1]. Patients with damage to the ventromedial prefrontal cortex (VMPFC), a region linking emotion to reasoning, lose the ability to make even simple decisions, not because they can't reason, but because they lack the somatic guidance system [20]. In the famous Iowa Gambling Task, control participants developed anticipatory skin conductance responses that guided them away from risky decks before they could articulate why [21]. In contrast, patients with overt damage to their VMPFC didn’t generate warning signals, leading them to make disastrous choices despite intact intellectual capacity [21]. The researchers concluded, a "[r]eduction in emotion may constitute an equally important source of irrational behaviour" [1]. It’s reasoned this is why experienced professionals often know something is wrong, even if they cannot articulate why [22].
Work on naturalistic decision-making has demonstrated that experts in fields ranging from firefighting to intensive care routinely make intuitive decisions that are both rapid and accurate [23]. Similarly, researchers have shown that simple heuristics, ‘gut feelings’ often outperform complex algorithms in uncertain environments [24]. While emphasising the fallibility of intuition, research acknowledges that intuitive expertise is remarkably reliable when developed within environments containing regular patterns and rapid feedback [25].
Despite the power of intuition, we frequently override it. This occurs through several well-documented psychological mechanisms. Confirmation bias leads us to seek information that confirms our existing beliefs while ignoring contradictory evidence [26]. Motivated reasoning allows us to arrive at conclusions we find desirable rather than those that are accurate [27]. Social pressure and authority bias compels us to act against our better judgement [28]. Work on moral disengagement shows how individuals rationalise unethical behaviour through mechanisms including euphemistic labelling, displacement of responsibility, and dehumanisation [29]. Cognitive dissonance theory explains how we reduce psychological discomfort by changing our beliefs to align with our actions [30].
The ‘little devil’ often speaks in rationalisations rather than commands. It whispers: "It'll be fine." "Just this once." "What the hell." These are not demonic possessions but predictable products of our cognitive architecture [31].
Extending the discussion beyond individuals reveals how cultures amplify or suppress inner impulses. Organisational scholars have shown that corporate scandals frequently emerge from cultures that silence dissent and discourage psychological safety [32]. Research on psychological safety demonstrates that teams where members feel safe to speak up perform better and make fewer errors [33]. Conversely, cultures characterised by authoritarian leadership and fear create environments where the ‘little devil’ thrives unchecked [34]. Edgar Schein has written extensively on how organisational culture shapes behaviour, often in ways invisible to those within the system [35]. When dissent disappears, organisations fail [36].
Not all disruption is destructive. Many breakthroughs required people who ignored accepted wisdom. Scientific revolutions, as Thomas Kuhn famously argued, occur when anomalies accumulate and a new paradigm emerges—often championed by those willing to challenge orthodoxy [37]. Entrepreneurship inherently involves embracing uncertainty and defying convention [38]. Creative breakthroughs frequently arise from individuals who are comfortable with ambiguity and willing to explore uncharted territory [39].
The question becomes: how do we distinguish productive rebellion from reckless destruction? Research on calculated risk-taking suggests that successful innovators distinguish themselves through psychological resilience, ethical leadership, and systems thinking [40]. Work on sensemaking in organisations illustrates how adaptive experimentation and managed chaos can produce innovation while avoiding catastrophic failure [41]. It has been argued that systems require a degree of ‘anti-fragility,’ where stress and uncertainty can actually strengthen them [42]. Margaret Wheatley, drawing on complexity science, suggests that living systems thrive when they maintain flexibility and responsiveness to environmental feedback [43].
Concluding with practical wisdom, evidence-based approaches include metacognition, thinking about one's own thinking [44], mindfulness, cultivating non-judgmental awareness of present experience [45], and self-awareness, developing insight into one's own emotional states and motivations [46]. Research on gratitude has demonstrated its role in regulating impulsive behaviour and enhancing psychological well-being [47]. Humility research shows that intellectual humility, recognising the limits of one's own knowledge, is associated with better decision-making and reduced bias [48]. The ‘broaden-and-build’ theory of positive emotions suggests that cultivating positive emotional states expands cognitive flexibility and builds psychological resources [49].
Our goal should not be to eliminate darker impulses. The goal is recognising them before they become behaviour. As Jung noted, "One does not become enlightened by imagining figures of light, but by making the darkness conscious" [8]. The ‘little devil’ should have a seat at the table, its energy for disruption can challenge stagnation and fuel creativity, but it must never be allowed to speak in meetings. However, as a last note, the paper never appeared in the New England Journal.
References

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