Exploring Interdisciplinarity

Believe me! Never in my life have I had to turn so much to my muse– my ever faithful dog, Sparky. The reason for seeking his inspiration on this occasion was my decision to teach a new course on Networks and the Creative Process.

As in all creative efforts (Austin 2003), this decision was, to a large degree, a matter of chance.  Initially, I had planned to teach a course on networks and cooperation–a topic that, with hindsight, seems relatively bland. However, flying home from a trip to Utah, I began reading Keith Sawyers insightful book Explaining Creativity: The Science of Human Innovation. Deflating prevailing myths that circumscribe present-day thinking about creativity, Sawyer lays out the case for viewing creativity as an emergent, collaborative process, in which the whole is far greater than the sum of the parts.

My heart raced, as thoughts of complexity, networks, and emergent processes came to mind.

Reading Sawyer’s book, I was enthralled. My heart raced, as thoughts of complexity, networks, and emergent processes came to mind. I intuitively knew that a course on creativity would bring all my interests together in the context of complexity science. However, gut feelings aside, I knew very little about the subject of creativity. Nonetheless, I eagerly signed up to teach the course.

Operating in the dark, I delved into whatever literature I could find, contributing significantly–I think–to Amazon’s profit margin. There I sat, in my office chair, piles of books strewn all around me, in the vain hope that I might absorb some of the content through osmosis. To no avail! So I began to read, and read and read–books about neuroscience, personality disorders, flow, improvisation, serendipity, audience reactions, the new, creative economy, Florence and the Di Medici, and more.

Digesting all of this reading, I learned that creativity required passion and hard work in mastering a field; an open mind able to tolerate ambiguity; a willingness to take on risk, and to persist, even as an outsider; curiosity when confronted with anomalies; as well as flexibility to capture the opportunities afforded by chance and serendipity. And so, inspired by this charge, I moved on. . .

When the time came for me to put together the syllabus, I had a skeleton of an idea. Building on the work of Sawyer and his mentor Mihaly Csikszentmihali, I looked at creativity as an ongoing, iterative process in which the creator is but a single element within a larger system, which includes the creator, a field, and an authoritative domain. My hope, however, is to go beyond Csikszentmihali’s characterization of a system, and to flesh out each element–beginning with the brain and extending outward to the cultural arena–showing how each element is itself a complex system, nested and linked within a larger complex system.

My syllabus is, however, a working document at best. It serves, merely, as a starting point and set of guidelines for a classroom improvisation. My students are highly creative, each in their own ways. They not only bring their own diverse experiences to class; they also actively participate in developing the evolving narrative. Truly, the whole is greater than the sum of the parts. Or so says my dog Sparky!

On Technorati: complexity, creativity, Csikzentmihali, James A. Austin, Keith R. Sawyer, the muse

It has been more than three weeks since I wrote my last blog. You might wonder, where have I been. Let’s just say I’ve been “missing in action.” As my academic colleagues might concur, the long anticipated break between semesters can easily be winnowed away by the need to tie up loose ends–papers to be graded, theses to be presented, student recommendations to be crafted, and (as is the case for me this year) a new spring course to be designed. Somehow I squeeze in holiday concerts and get-togethers, sending out Christmas cards, a long postponed visit to the dentist, and–on no, not again so soon–jury duty. Thank goodness for on-line shopping and shipping; what did I ever do before?

Let’s just say I’ve been missing in action.

Hmm…. Looking back–many years now–I am reminded just how chaotic the pre-Christmas season has always been. As a graduate student at Columbia University, for example, I viewed the Christmas break as a time to complete those last, nagging term papers. Late Christmas Eve day, I would pack my books, and race from my apartment on 113th Street down to Fifth Avenue, where the stores were all decked out in their dazzling holiday fare. Inside Bergdof Goodman’s, I was one of the few, remaining customers, scurrying from aisle to isle to take advantage of last minute sales.

Loaded up with presents for all, I must have looked like a very disheveled Santa Claus, as I traipsed to Penn Station and the train for home, where my mother and father–along with our traditional Christmas Eve spaghetti dinner–were awaiting me. Unloading my baggage with a sigh of relief, and settling in for an evening with my parents, dining on wine and pasta, I knew the holidays had really begun.

Going home for the holidays became, for me, a yearly event, that is, until 22 years ago, when my mother died–believe it or not, on Christmas Eve. (One might say, she knew how to make an exit!) But some holiday occasions and trips home were more memorable than others.

I vividly recall, for example, the ride home on Christmas Eve, when my son Stephen was about five years old. It was a cold night, with snow and sleet intermittently falling as we made our way to the 168th street bus terminal–a dingy, dirty place that reeked of a distinctly unpleasant odor. It was around 6 PM when we boarded the bus to Glen Rock, New Jersey the town where I had spent my teen age years. We were about half way there, when the bus suddenly broke down. The cold wind blew into the bus, as the driver paced in and out, trying to determine the nature of the problem. All the while the little heat that was left in the bus began to dissipate. Looking for a way to entertain my son during this unfortunate hiatus, I pulled out a book. It was Farley Mowat’s The Boat Who Wouldn’t Float, an uproarious and often touching account of the author’s valiant–but more often than not unsuccessful– efforts to refurbish a boat and sail it from the shores of Newfoundland to Montreal.

Ignoring the ironic parallels between the book’s plot and our own situation, I began to read. I had heard that Mowat’s stories appealed to both children and adults alike, an observation that certainly proved true in this instance. So compelling was the story, others began to gather round to hear the tale. As the riders became engaged not only in the story, but also with each other, time flew by. We quickly forgot about the chill, and long before I had finished reading, a new transit bus came to our rescue. Luckily we arrived home in time for dinner. Relaxing afterwards, I reflected on what a warm and heartfelt Christmas Eve it had been indeed.

This year was no different, except that instead of visiting my parents in Glen Rock, we spent time with my son Steve, his wife Haley, and my two grandkids, Ben and Sophie, at their home in Millburn New Jersey. Hoping to arrive in time for Christmas Eve dinner, provided this time by my sister Anne, we calculated for traffic and set out early that morning–my husband Brock, my dog Sparky, and me. However, we could never–in our furthest imagination–have anticipated the traffic situation on the New Jersey Turnpike. It was bumper to bumper all the way, with cars creeping along in tandem much as slime mold moves across the forest floor. With cars climbing up our tail, and our dog breathing down our necks, we tried to make the best of the situation.

With cars climbing up our tail, and our dogs breathing down our necks, we tried to make the best of the situation.

So, having chattered about every subject under the sun, we pulled out and played our tapes of the Christmas Revels. Reminiscing about each delightful production, we suddenly found ourselves in Millburn, where we enjoyed what my husband Brock describes as a Norman Rockwell Christmas.

Perhaps it is only normal that my memories of Christmas Past should focus in part on the journey home. After all, as it is written, the first Christmas entailed Mary and Joseph’s difficult journey to Joseph’s birthplace in Bethlehem, as well as the three wise men’s arduous travels, following the star, to find them there. So, looking back, and keeping the Christmas story in mind, I suspect that all that hustle and bustle entailed in preparing for and journeying home for the holidays, not only enhances the value of achieving the end goal–if only a spaghetti dinner; sometimes, it can have its own inadvertent rewards.

With that said, I wish you many delightful journeys in the New Year!

On Technorati: Bergdorf Goodman, children and grandchildren, Christmas dinner, family, Farley Mowat, Glen Rock New Jersey, holiday season, Millburn, New Jersey, New Jersey Turnpike, on-line shopping, The Boat Who Wouldn't Float

Why do I need to learn theory? I want to be a practitioner. So said one of my students in my class on Networks and International Development. A good question, to be sure, and one which–as I could tell by their nodding faces– many of my other students were pondering as well.

Why do I need to learn theory? I want to be a practitioner. A good question to be sure! 

My first response was to draw upon James Rosenau, and his eloquent justification of theory, provided in the introduction to his book, The Scientific Study of Foreign Policy (1989). As in my case, questioning students had plucked a chord in him, inspiring Rosenau to spell out the benefits and approaches entailed in employing theory as a basis for studying empirical questions. Rosenau makes, what to me are, two really important points. The first aims to help the student think theoretically: practice going up the ladder of abstraction, he says. Ask yourself what your concern is an instance of. As Rosenau notes, rarely do we become interested in isolated events; more often than not, our puzzles are instances of more generalizable, abstract phenomenon–we just haven’t thought about them this way. The second point is just as inspiring. Theory, says Rosenau, is fun.

I couldn’t agree more. Of course, I am the first to acknowledge that theories are essential as a means of organizing ideas, providing coherence to an argument, and allowing comparisons among diverse situations. But theories are also, and -as importantly–capsules of prior knowledge, a shorthand–if you will–of the wisdom of the ages. Nonetheless, theories are not to be accepted at face value; rather they are to be challenged, from every possible perspective, as in a game of skill.

Theories are to be challenged, as in a game of skill

Hence, I like to think of theories not in terms of their truth, but rather in terms of their potentiality. What do they suggest to me, which I might have overlooked. Just as when I go to a clothing store, and see all of the outfits laid out on a rack, I try theories on for size. Does the dress fit? Does it enhance my looks? Is it consistent with the rest of my wardrobe? If not, I leave it on the rack for someone else to fill it out.

I wonder, in fact, what would I do without theory. For example, tomorrow I leave for Beijing to deliver a presentation on Standard Setting: Meeting the Global Challenge, at a conference sponsored by the National Bureau of Asian Research. While I started out with a general idea for the presentation, I was struggling with the question of how I might apply my analysis to the specific case of China, and–more specifically– to developing an appropriate standards strategy that China might pursue.

As good fortune would have it, our reading for class was Sidney Tarrow’s New Transnational Activism–the very same book that provoked my student’s question about theory. But, herein was the clue to my puzzle: Tarrow’s theoretical discussion suggested that the architecture of our increasingly international society provides opportunities for newcomers to exercise agency in contexts/interstices that are as yet underdeveloped. Based on my analysis of global standards, and Tarrow’s theory about transnational activism, I could identify–as depicted in the table below– just where the standards opportunities for China might lie.

The pudding, it seems to me, proves the point. Theory can, indeed, serve very practical needs!

On Technorati: China, economic development, global standards, James Rosenau, ladder of abstraction, Tarrow, why theory

On the recommendation of my colleague Garrison Le Masters, I brought the book, Dionysus Reborn: Play and the Aesthetic Dimension in Modern Philosophical and Scientific Discourse, by Mihai I. Spariosu, to read during my vacation at Lake Hawthorne. Garrison and I had spent many hours over the last few years comparing our common interests through different disciplinary perspectives–he from a cultural studies perspective and I through the lens of social science. Often engaged in these endeavors, we decided to collaborate on a project that would build on both our strengths–a paper that explored whether the criteria typically used for evaluating standardization at the lower levels of ICT networks served well for applications at the highest levels such as, in our chosen case, video games and virtual worlds. We plan to present the paper at this year’s Telecommunication Policy Research Conference (TPRC).

Not knowing very much about the subject of play–at least from an academic perspective–I decided to get up to speed by reading Spariosu. Despite all of the playful moments in my childhood–catching turtles, trying to beat the boys at king of the mountain, acting out various fantasy roles such as homemakers, storekeepers, librarians, and even fairy queens transported by eggshells in a magic kingdom–I had never systematically thought about play; at most I viewed play as an adventure, or exploration. Thus, I often associated play with excitement and risk (even if imaginary); for in my experience a playful romp might start out innocently enough, but eventually it could lead to trouble–as, for example, when as children we developed an elaborate plan to track down the rumored ghost in an abandoned house down our street, only–upon entry–to be greeted by the police.

By any measure, reading Dionysus Reborn here on my porch abutting the lake–where once I listlessly day dreamed reading Ivanhoe, Lorna Doon, and Vanity Fair, is anything but play. Rather, it is extraordinarily hard work. I am lucky if I can read fifty pages in a day. Only now do I understand why my cultural studies colleagues assign such a limited number of pages to their students. “Its all about interpreting the text,” they say. I must agree! The problem is not so much the numerous references in German and French–I can manage these. No, it’s the long unfamiliar latin-based English words, which make references to references on top of even more obtuse references.

To proceed I have to follow my father’s advice to me when I was learning to read–substitute the word wheel barrel for every word I can’t understand. No surprise, then, that I am beginning to think the subject of this book is more about gardening than about play. At the end of the day, I ask myself whether Garrison might not be playing with me.

At the end of the day, I ask myself whether Garrison might not be playing with me. 

It is on this basis that I have decided to become more light hearted about this whole affair. I will use my blog to explore this subject further, that is to say, to play with some ideas. As in all games, It’s risky, but it also should be fun. Where do I stand at this point? From my readings to date, I understand there is an on-going historic conflict between a pre-rational, free-wheeling notion of play (as characterized by Schopenhaur, Nietzsche, Heidegger, Deleuze and Derrida) and a more rational conception of play (as understood by Plato, Aristotle, Kant and Schiller). Moreover, these two perspectives parallel what many past ‘thinkers’ believe to be an underlying conflict between the forces of chance vs. those of necessity. I have an inkling that this conflict can be reconciled within the framework of complexity theory and Stuart Kaufman’s concepts of fitness levels and fitness landscapes, which in turn can also be linked to standardization and standards. But, to sort it out will take a lot more playing on my part.

On Technorati: Aristotle, cultural studies, Deluze, Derrida, Dionysus, fitness landscapes, fitness levels, games, Hawthorne Lake, Heidegger, ICTs, Ivanhoe, Kant, Lorna Doone, Mihai I. Spariosu, Nietzche, Plato, play, Schiller, Schopenhaur, social science, standards, Stuart Kaufman, TPRC, Vanity Fair, virtual worlds

I have been thinking about interstices a lot these days–that is, ever since one of the Chinese students in my Networks and International Development Class protested that, given institutional lock-in, reforms could never come about in China. I gently begged to disagree. As I told her, and as we had discussed in class, in a networked society, small changes in any one part of the system can have major ramifications throughout. As important, by focusing on these small changes in the interstices of a social order, reformers could remain under the radar, and thereby circumvent the powers that be. The key for those of us who want to bring about change today is to identify the most promising interstices.

The key for those of us who want to bring about change today is to identify the most promising interstices.

Somewhat skeptical, the student persisted, asking for examples. So I provided an account of how the rise of cities in the Middle Ages helped to undermine the European feudal order (Braudel 1992).

It so happened that I was well prepared for the task, having listened only a few days before to a lecture on tape by Professor Teofilo F. Ruiz, in the series Medieval Europe: Crisis and Renewal, which was sponsored by The Teaching Company. As the lecturer had pointed out, although late Medieval cities originally emerged as an off-shoot of feudal land holders, they eventually took on a new, and transformative, life of their own.

In fact, with the rise of commerce and the city merchants that promoted it, Europe was never the same. This new merchant society, which was based on the accumulation of wealth and industrial performance, gave rise to a new class–the bourgeoise–as well as new institutions –such as the guilds– that sought not only to restrict the powers of the nobility but also to extend the social order outside of the parameters of the feudal world itself.

Where are the critical interstices in our global society today? Recent events in Iran provide a clue. Just as, during the Middle Ages, cities went relatively unnoticed as they developed the commercial resources that allowed them to overturn the prevailing social order, so today Iranian hackers have managed to develop the kinds of net-savvy skills required to create a protest movement in an interstitial, virtual space, making it possible for them to outwit a very powerful and seemingly entrenched regime. As described by Murad Ahmed, writing in The Times Online, June 18, 2009:

It has come as a surprise to many, not least to Iran’s regime, just how effectively the country’s young population has been able to articulate and organize [an] opposition protest on the web. New technologies have turned yesterday’s flashmob into today’s political rally. With elements of the Iranian mobile phone system disabled, the internet has become the organizing medium for the opposition and Facebook and Twitter the tools of choice to communicate and organize dissent.

Further contemplating the notion of interstices, I see a new link between some of the ideas that we discuss in my Networks and International Development class and those that we focus on in my class on The Networked Economy. In the latter, we read Ron Burt, and discuss the resources gained by an organization when it develops structural autonomy by bridging structural holes (that is, the gaps in social structure). With the recent events in Iran in mind, it seems that Burt’s notion of structural autonomy is also apropos for describing that situation. For it would appear that the interstices that I speak of in my development class are non other than Burt’s structural holes where– with a little bit of strategic networking–formidable resources and power can be cultivated.

On Technorati: Add new tag, institutional lock-in, international development, interstitial spaces, Iran, Iranian hackers, Middle Ages, Murad Ahmed, networks and international development, Ron Burt, structural autonomy, structural holes, the Teaching Company

If you’re like me, you often leave a discussion, or conference, getting your best ideas after the fact. Having mulled the conversation over, again and again, you wake up in the middle of the night with the most inspired thought, but instead of feeling satisfied, you berate yourself for having missed an opportunity to make a great point.

If you’re like me, you get your best ideas after the fact. 

Last night, I did just that, but instead of feeling poorly about it, I realized–perhaps for the first time–that my idea had been latent. As such, it could not have been used to provide an input into the discussion; rather it was a direct output of the discussion with my colleagues, as well as of the nocturnal dialogue that took place inside my brain.

The occasion for this insight was a conference on Standards Education, sponsored by the National Institute for Standards and Technology (NIST). The aim of the conference was to encourage universities to incorporate a standards curriculum within their course offerings. The focus, for the most part, was on engineering and business schools. My panel, the last of the day, was designed to be a little provocative–that is, to think about standards education in the context of a dynamic future, in which educational institutions are themselves in flux, the boundaries of their ivory towers crumbling in the face of an increasingly complex environment. By all accounts, we were successful, thanks to the inputs of our four panelists Michael Spring, Mark McCarthy, Peter Lord, and Laura DeNardis.

The discussion with some of my colleagues continued on the drive home, but when I reached my door I was ready to put it aside, and just relax. And so I did, taking my dog for a walk; having a glass of wine and eating a pizza with my husband; and–before falling asleep–reading a chapter of an excellent biography of Schumpeter, Prophet of Innovation, by Thomas K. McCraw. However, after a few hours, I woke up with a start, as well as an idea about why engineering schools have so few courses dedicated to standard setting. It must be that when the body is in a dream-like state, the neurons in the brain are free to fire, and to roam every which-way, generating new and interesting ideas as they create new paths and explore unknown territories.

I woke up with a start, with an idea about why engineering schools have so few course dedicated to standard setting 

In retrospect, I suspect that my brain was reaching back into my memory to a book I had read and admired a long time ago, entitled Machine-Age Ideology: Social Engineering and American Liberalism, 1911-1939. Written by John M. Jordan, the book tells the story of the American engineer, and how–during the first part of the 20th century–he became a hero in American life, celebrated in movies, novels, and popular culture. This hero-worship reached its apogee with Herbert Hoover’s election to the presidency.

According to Jordan, what made engineers so respected, as well as unique, was their disregard or–better still–disdain for politics, a perspective increasingly shared by the American public during this period. This was the thought that struck me in the middle of the night: it is this engineering mentality, this desire to circumvent values and politics, that accounts for engineering schools’ lack of enthusiasm for incorporating standardization in their curricula. For, anyone who has studied US standards setting–as I have–will attest to the highly contentious and politicized nature of this process.

I often get ideas when I awake in the middle of the night. Some are less noteworthy than others. But this one, I believe, stands up in the light of day!

On Technorati: C. P. Snow, economic benefit of standards, engineering, John Jordan, Laura DeNardis, Machine Age Ideology, Mark McCarthy, Michael Spring, NIST, Peter Lord, public interest in standards, standard setting, standards education, two cultures

For their last blog in my Network Economy Class, I asked the students to pretend that they were grandparents who–having lived to a ripe old age–had witnessed everything from the depression era to the present. Imagine, I said, that your grandchild, age 20, comes to you asking for advice about how to best prepare for the future. Having done all the readings for the network economy class, and having participated intensely in all of the discussions, what might you advise? Here are some excerpts from the students’ blogs.

Here are some excerpts from what students’ blogs.

According to Corinna Wu,

always prepare an alternative/alternatives for your goal, either for the sake of a fall back plan, or just for insurance, because nothing is certain, even if you are on top of your game. Be humble, and listen to all outlets, do not close any doors.

Jimalyn Yao might agree. Sitting around the kitchen table with her grandchild–a familiar occurrence in her household–she would emphasize that our deep involvement in our environment does not necessarily imply that we have a deep individual affect on it. Citing Beinhocker, she says:

economics truly is an evolutionary process, and by that same token, it rides the tide of collective change, and not specific ones.

Sherri Berman assumes that by the time she reaches 90 or so, she will be nostalgic for the good old days when life was simple. She would tell her grandchild: 1) Be multifaceted; 2) Be flexible; 3) Do NOT live in a vacuum!

Christina Politi wants her grandchild to think big and to move forward notwithstanding the vicissitudes of changing times and complexity.

Emily Zwelzer would serve her wisdom up with tea and crumpets, saying:

Think of the fitness landscape as the yellow brick road in mythical Oz, adapting to the bumps, and terrain of this path will allow you to survive in uncertainty. The road will undergo phase transitions, sometime perilous (as in time of economic crisis, war, or crisis) but as long as you change along with it you will not be left behind.

Mark Wenger would employ the phrase, Whatever will be, will be. As he says:

This phrase accomplishes two very helpful things: 1) identifies that the larger fitness landscape is beyond your individual control .. and 2) that you do the best given the circumstances you are in. . . its straight out of Beinhocker’s evolutionary economics.

Matthew Tyrrell’s advice is to be true to oneself. As he says:

Find strength in your imagination; it’s what makes you special. Look for the good in people. Put value in relationships. Listen to those who disagree with you. Find what you stand for and stand in it; be the structural hole. The world changes at a constant rate but we need energy (in the form of love, heat and food) that will remain the same.

Jake Landis would caution his grandchildren against a belief in equilibrium, noting that:

Equilibrium is true for baseball players hitting above average, and umbrella sales when its raining, but the human element is unpredictable. Evolution is about surviving challenges and adapting, not returning to the center.

What about reading Erik Beinhocker? Will his book, The Creation of Wealth be out of date? Not according to Rebecca Jacob who drew upon a case, which occurred decades ago–the Soviet Union 5-year manufacturing plan that produced shoes no one wanted. She advised:

Prepare for uncertainty and risk. This might seem counterintuitive, [as] a step by step plan for the future may appear the better thing to do. But what if the future doesn’t fit the plan, as is so often the case?

In her blog, Hope for the Best, Prepare for the Worst, and Expect the Unexpected, Lauren Alfry cited her own grandfather’s advice. He was a taciturn man, so when he spoke it had all the more impact. As he advised Lauren:

Success is where preparation and opportunity meet!

Many students have been affected by the recent economic crisis, and what it bodes for the future. According to one, achieving success in the future will require challenging conventional views, especially the advice and analysis of pundits, equity analysts, and popular economists. Juliette Arnaud, who brings a French skepticism to her writings, might agree. As she urged:

Evolution does not always mean progress. Embrace it! As [her] great grand-father used to say: life is unfair.

NEED I SAY MORE? Imagine how my students might affect the fitness landscape.

On Technorati: Add new tag, advising the young, blogging, complexity, disequilibrium, Erik Beinhocker, networked economy, realizing the future, uncertainty

Last Thursday night, I taught my last class for the semester on The Network Economy. One of my favorite courses, it strives to explain, as well as transcend, some of the anomalies of neoclassical economics, by considering what other theoretical/disciplinary perspectives might have to say about the economy. I ask the students not necessarily to buy into the theories, but rather to try each of them on for size, to see if they fit the situation at hand, and add new insights to their understanding of the complex array of events taking place about them.

So, over the course of the semester, we take a tour, and work our way through the territory of behavioral economics, socioeconomics, Schumpter’s reasoned history, innovation theory, transaction cost economics, networking, complexity theory, as well as evolutionary economics.  We bring all of these theories together in our last class, when we read the final section of Eric Beinhocker’s The Creation of Wealth. As my students and I discussed, this book is not only an introduction to complexity economics, it is–-at one and the same time–-a good guide for living in the modern world.

. . . this book is not only an introduction to complexity economics, it is–at one and the same time–a good guide for living in the modern world.

Although, in his book, Beinhocker aims to characterize complexity, and it relevance for the world today, his message is decidedly simple and straightforward: Do not put all your eggs in one basket! Experiment instead, he says.

Accordingly, businesses should avoid committing themselves to one big strategic plan, based on a linear projection of how the future may unfold. To the contrary, business must embrace uncertainty, spreading their resources across a variety a strategies, which are flexible enough so that, if necessary, they can be easily scraped  or readily adapted to meet the demands of changing contingencies. Likewise, individuals must prepare themselves for an uncertain future by appropriating a wide variety of talents and skills and investing in a process of life long learning. In the same fashion, government policy makers must work at one and the same time on a variety of fronts, developing strategies that can be employed under a number of diverse circumstances. As importantly, in each of these situations, these experimental approaches must be structured so as to provide constant feedback and learning, which can then be incorporated into future strategies.

While teaching my Thursday might class, I was suddenly struck by the realization of how well the Communication Culture and Technology Program adheres to Beinhocker’s guiding principles.  For example, our course offerings are modular components, which together comprise one of seven potential clusters of interests.  Students draw upon these course offering to develop a curriculum that is uniquely suited to their needs.  Like complexity, the process is non-linear. Students rarely end up in the place, or mind set, where they started.  One might even say that their interests co-evolve together with the course material, insofar as they learn what they like as they go, and mix and match courses to build out a unique curriculum of their own. Equally important–at least from my point of view–they learn to draw on a wide range of disciplines with the greatest of ease.

I am always saddened when a class come to an end. In the Network Economy Class, we were just getting to know one another. Fortunately, there is another semester, and another year. I look forward to seeing you all at CCT, whether as a student, an alumni, or just out of curiosity.

On Technorati: addressing uncertainty, business strategies, Communication, complexity, Culture and Technology Program, Erik Beinhocker, life long learning, The Networked Economy

When Max Weber portrayed bureaucracies, he characterized them as iron cages (Max Weber, Economy and Society: An Outline of Interpretive Sociology. University of California Press, 1978: 1403). This metaphor reflected his belief that, because bureaucracies were so efficient, all organizations would have to conform to them, if they were to survive in a competitive, capitalist environment. Organizations would become isomorphic as a result. And so they did!

Thinking about this argument in today’s terms, we might view Weber as an early complexity theorist, based on his claim that changes in the socioeconomic environment, or as we might say now–(the fitness landscape)–require appropriate adaptations in organizational behavior.  On the other hand, the very notion of an iron cage, secured by rule-based self reinforcing feedback, suggests that bureaucracies are especially prone to lock in.  One must wonder, then, how present day bureaucracies will successfully adapt to the changing nature of capitalism and the complexity and uncertainties it entails.

One must wonder, then, how present day bureaucracies will successfully adapt to the changing nature of capitalism and all the complexity and uncertainties it entails.

Dealing with complexity requires continuous feedback from, and adaptation to, an uncertain and rapidly changing environment. For this reason, Beinhocker, in his book The Origin of Wealth suggests that the best way for organizations to cope with complexity is to incorporate it within. However, this is a daunting task. Bureaucracies tend to be relatively closed systems, in which behavior is reinforced through daily reenactment. For this reason, many businesses employ monitoring systems and change mechanisms, such as benchmarking, large scale interventions, and the use of outside consultants. 

But what about universities, a type of organization that–as one might imagine–is very close to my heart? Universities exemplify many features associated with bureaucracies: roles are highly differentiated; rules are rigidly reenacted; boundaries are well defended, and politics prevail. As a result, change is incremental, at best.

Universities exemplify many features associated with bureaucracies: roles are highly differentiated; rules are rigidly reenacted; boundaries are well defended, and politics prevail.

In their book, The Social Life of Information, Paul Duguid and John Seely Brown warn against assuming that resistance to organizational change is evidence of Luddite behavior. Doing so, according to the authors, will lead to unintended, and undesirable, consequences. They suggest, instead, to look at the substance of resistance for clues about how to build upon the existing organizational context to better design a plan for change.

How might this insight pertain to universities? Let’s consider disciplines. Perhaps nothing is more entrenched in the university setting than academic disciplines. Functioning much like communities of practice, academic disciplines provide a shared sociocultural environment (habitus to use Bordieu’s terminology) that serves to govern and maintain a set of beliefs and code of behavior. Efforts to relax the boundaries separating disciplines have typically focused on fostering collaboration among them. However, in an increasingly complex environment, in which enhanced feedback is critical, perhaps collaboration around points of interdisciplinary agreement is not what is needed. Instead, we might look to academic disciplines to challenge each other’s assumptions, and thereby enhance the  overall pool of knowledge–what Beinhocker call the design space. Organizations such as the Santa Fe Institute have demonstrated the rewards of this kind of cross training. Ironically, efforts such as these have typically taken place outside of the university environment. It is time to bring complexity inside!

On Technorati: Add new tag, bureaucracies, complexity, Duguid and Brown, Eric Beinhocker, fitness landscape, Higher Education, iron cage, Max Weber, organizational change, Santa Fe Institute, universities

As an ardent childhood fan of the Brooklyn Dodgers–one, in fact, who paid her dollar to keep the team in Brooklyn–it is perhaps natural that I viewed my recent trip to New York as a double header.

Fortunately, I was able to preface my participation in the Columbia University Conference, Changing Dynamics of Public Controversies, with a visit to my grand daughter Sophie’s kindergarten class, where the students were celebrating her 6th birthday. To my surprise, I discovered an interesting connection between the two events.  It was a link that–as it turned out–relates to norms.

I discovered an interesting connection between the two events–a link that relates to norms. 

Sophie’s class room is not only cozy and comfortable, it is also flush with excitement, enthusiasm, and riotous color–all of which is mirrored in the artwork and projects displayed in every nook and cranny.

Thinking of my own experience with graduate students, I marveled at Sophie’s teacher’s ability to keep all of these somewhat hyper children consistently and cooperatively engaged while moving seamlessly from one set of activities to the next.   First there were art projects, then a general gathering with the children assembled on a bright rug at the front of the class, where I had the pleasure of reading to them.  Returning to their tables,  the children sang happy birthday; ate cupcakes topped with multi-colored icing, and played with their wind-up party favors.   Before orderly lining up to go home, they had one last chance to expel their energy, dancing together on the rug.

How, I wondered to myself, did Sophie’s teacher orchestrate this ensemble? Certainly her knowledge of, and empathy with, the children was key. But the children also did their part. They were following established norms, which were listed prominently on the classroom wall. Having committed to these few simple rules, each child was able to demonstrate his or her individuality, while working together as a group.  

My day and a half visit with my grandkids was far too short.  But it was full of special moments. By far the best was the interaction between Ben and Sophie in which they negotiated their behavior with respect to one another. Clearly, they had a common idea of what it meant to be  good. 

“Sophie,” said 8-year old Ben, “I am going to be nice to you today because it is your birthday,” “Ben,” Sophie responded: “I am going to be good today because it’s my birthday.”

Taking my leave, and driving into New York, my thoughts shifted from my childhood in New Jersey to my graduate days at Columbia University. Advancing down the Henry Hudson Parkway, and turning onto 125th Street and Broadway (a recurrent scene in my dreams) I felt like a student again, full of anticipation and excitement for the day’s events. Above all, I wanted to hear what Bruno Latour and Jochai Benkler had to say, not only to the audience, but also-and especially–to one other. Both speakers are featured in my classes, and the students from my Networked Economy class were waiting for a full report.

The conference focused on the question of whether and where effective public controversies will likely be aired, given the recent decline of the newspaper industry and the journalism profession. Participants were concerned lest, in the absence of robust newspapers, the public will lack the knowledge and wherewithal to foster societal norms much less hold the government accountable to them. Dean Nicholas Lemann of Columbia University’s School of Journalism and Paul Starr from Princeton University laid out the problem, while Bruno Latour and Jochai Benkler spoke to it.

Bruno Latour dismissed the problem, as it was defined. Echoing Walter Lippman’s notion of the phantom public, he contended that neither the public–nor for that matter society–exist in reality. As Latour claims, there really is no social stuff–that is to say, norms–out there.  (See, for an in-depth discussion, Reassembling the Social: An Introduction to Actor Network Theory 1995.) Instead, as Latour describes it, actors assemble sporadically when specific issues arise. Lacking in-depth knowledge, the public should not engage in the resolution of issues but rather  act like lighthouses, signaling their existence to policy actors.

In contrast, Jochai Benkler’s remarks were premised on the existence of norms.   As he described, using today’s digital technologies, individuals have a far greater opportunity to generate a public  than they did in the past. Digital technologies not only allow them to  gain greater access to knowledge; they can also employ these technologies to act on that knowledge is conjunction with others.  However, this collaboration is only possible, given the existence of norms such as trust and reciprocity, which sustain a gift economy.

Riding home on Amtrak, I reflected about the issue of norms, especially Latour’s assertion that they are ephemeral.  Questioning his perspective, I asked myself: Have I had not just witnessed their actual existence in my grand daughter’s classroom?  Moreover, have I not seen how norms are negotiated in the interchange between my two grandchildren Sophie and Ben?   As importantly, have I not witnessed via the current  financial crisis what happens when a society–in the name of deregulation–has renounced its norms?  These experiences lead me to believe that what is needed today is not only an economic stimulus “package”, but also–and more importantly-normative guidelines about how the American people’s monies should be spent.

On Technorati: Bruno Latour, Columbia School of Journalism, Columbia University, Grandchildren, Jochai Benkler, Nicholas Lemann, norms, Paul Starr, public controversies, Walter Lippman