Exploring Interdisciplinarity

October Daydream! / Rêverie d’octobre! by Denis Collette...!!!

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.

1959 American Standard bathroom by 50s Pam

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

James Monroe's Iron Cage and Concrete Sarcophagus by Tony the Misfit

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. 

Video Spiral Feedback by flight404

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

The good china having been put away, the dirty pots and pans disposed of, my husband and I set out to salvage the remains of the turkey, and to transform it into a variety of other dishes that we might enjoy over the next few weeks. Every year I am determined to do the turkey justice, making the most of it; but all too often a post-Thanksgiving lethargy overwhelms my good intentions. Not this year! Facing the on-set of a real Depression, my husband, and I called upon all of our creative juices to devise a number of extendable dishes, including turkey soup, turkey tetrazzini, and turkey croquets. It turned out to be a lot of fun.

I learned how to do such magic tricks from my mother who–at the time of the Great Depression–was in her early twenties, and just married. It was difficult in those days to make do. My parents’ only asset was a house, left to them by my grandparents, who had died of typhoid fever, en route home from Paris. The house was their salvation. To supplement my father’s minimal salary, earned by clipping coupons at the Federal Reserve Bank of New York, my mother took in borders, many of whom were also in similar financial straits.

Cooking for such a brood, my mother learned a major economic lesson, which she passed on to me: AIM BIG. Although my mother didn’t use the jargon, her advice was all about externalities and increasing returns. 

Cooking for such a brood, my mother learned a major economic lesson, which she passed on to me: AIM BIG. Although my mother didn’t use economic jargon, her advice was all about externalities and increasing returns. Take the turkey, for example: “Buy a big one,” she would say. “The cost per serving goes down the more meat there is on the turkey in relationship to the bone, especially if you combine your leftovers with other foods to add value and extend their life cycle.”

My mother, grandparents, and oldest sister Judie

Then she would tell me the story of stone soup.

But my mother didn’t only use scraps of meat to pinch pennies; she would use scraps of everything imaginable–ribbons, ties, pieces of wood–to create delightful, but at the same time low cost, presents for my sisters and me. Among my favorites was a circus ensemble, which was comprised of animal figures, designed by my mother, carved by my great grandfather with his jig saw, and then hand-painted by my mother. Equally precious were the raggedy dolls, donning straw hats and calico dresses, and carrying baskets of flowers, all of which my mother stitched together, just-in-time, working late into the night on Christmas eve.

Growing up in the Fifties, my recollection of hard times began to fade. It was only some years later, when living the tenuous life of a graduate student at Columbia University, and caring for a brand new baby, that I found myself, just like my mother, having to make do. Fortunately, I could build on the never-give-up strategies she had pursued as a young adult. So, I stretched myself, expanding my horizons beyond my dream of becoming the world’s greatest political scientist. Refocusing some of my efforts, I learned how to sew my own cloths and crochet Christmas gifts, simple things at first. To supplement my income from my job as a teaching assistant, I took up babysitting, and even ironed a few shirts at 19 cents apiece. My former husband–also a student–worked part time selling boys cloths at Bergdoff Goodman. Not surprisingly, meals were simple: hash, macaroni and cheese, tuna fish casserole, hamburger borgonone, and spaghetti–often without the sauce. Entertainment, for us, was not expensive either; we engaged in pot lucks, enjoying our time with friends. Even as we skimped by, we were very rich indeed!

Even as we skimped by, we were very rich indeed! 

As I was cooking in the kitchen, savoring these experiences, I wondered whether the coping strategies that have proved so useful to me over the years might apply equally–even if on a grander scale–to the Government’s effort to deal with today’s economic demise. In this context, Jane Jacobs came to mind. As she has argued, generating economic growth cannot be given; it must be earned. For it is by pulling oneself up by the bootstraps that creativity takes place and the keys to economic success are learned. Bailouts, Jacobs might say, are a gift, and hence unlikely to make a difference over the long term. I’m quite sure my mother would agree.

On Technorati: bailouts, creativity, difficult times, economic depression, Jane Jacobs, Personal

Trying to interpret the political and economic events of the last few weeks, I am reminded of my German classes, in which I struggled to decode German texts that were written in the style of the theatre of the absurd.

Trying to interpret the political and economic events of the last few weeks, I am reminded of my German classes, in which I struggled to decode German texts that were written in the style of the theatre of the absurd. Although many of the first playwriters to work in this genre stemmed from France, and drew upon the existentialist philosophy of Albert Camus, the full range of such authors eventually extended across Europe and the United States. They included playwriters such as Eugene Ionesco, Jean Genet, Edward Albee, and Frederic Durrenmatt, among others.

Waiting for Godot (courtesy of Roger Cummiskey

What constituted them as a group was their shared belief that the world–as it appeared in the wake of the Second World War–was meaningless. Mirroring this perspective, they used the tools of irony and absurdity to make their case theatrically.

While studying German, the absurdist play that impressed me most–and the one that readily comes to mind today–was Romulus the Great, written by the Swiss playwright Frederick Durrenmatt. Described as a non-historic, historical comedy, Romulus der Grosse takes place in the last year of the Roman Empire, when Rome was being overrun by the Ostrogoths–germanic barbarians from the north (476 A.D.). The chief protagonist, the Emperor Romulus, is portrayed as being disinterested and passive in the face of on-coming disaster, preferring to cater to the needs of his chickens rather than the needs of his citizens. Thus, when the leader of the invading troops offered to spare Rome in exchange for the hand of Romulus’ daughter, the Emperor turned down the proposal with alacrity. As his family and colleagues call upon Romulus to take action against the barbarians, he refuses, instead staving the Ostrogoths off with plucked gold leaves from his crown. His wife, daughter, and key members of his entourage flee on a ship, only to die at sea in a raging storm. Romulus, the only survivor, remains in Rome, steadfast in his passivity. How absurd!

Romulus Der Grosse (courtesy of Toni Birrer)

Reading this play, I was grateful when my German Professor–whose name, unfortunately, I cannot recall–provided some meaning to this meaninglessness. As he pointed out, all of Durrenmatt’s plays and short stories are based on an anti-hero–that is a person who, while appearing to be a cad, or mad, has some redeeming graces. As interpreted by Durrenmatt, Romulus is just such a person; presenting himself as unpatriotic, unsympathetic, diffident and disinterested throughout most of the play, Romulus is no fool. Believing the Roman Empire to be decadent, corrupt, and out of touch with its changing environment, he looks to his invading neighbors (who wear pants as opposed to robes) to bring modernity to Rome.

Reckoning with recent current events, which are so out of the ordinary, I wonder: Could President Bush be an anti-hero, much like Romulus? If so, what might be his redeeming graces?

Could President Bush be an anit-hero, much like Romulus? If so, what might be his redeeming graces? 

I can assure you, I am no fan of President Bush, often questioning throughout his administration whether he really had his wits about him. But, then again, I do not think he is mentally deficient. What might make him an anti-hero? Well, as the Washington Post reports in its story Bush’s Shifting Ideology: 2nd Term Markedly Different From 1st. (Saturday, September 20, 2008, p. A 1), President Bush–much like Durrenmatt’s Romulus–appears to have recognized the need for change when faced with disastrous and radically different circumstances. Accordingly–absurd as it might seem–contrary to everything that Conservative Republicans hold dear, Bush has proposed an economic rescue plan that entails the government takeover of some of the Nation’s largest and most influential financial firms, at a cost that surpasses the budget of the Pentagon. Moreover, just as Romulus’ cohorts were befuddled by his behavior, and urged him to take a stand on behalf of the empire, many Republicans today are perplexed by the lame duck president’s suddenly taking a stance so at odds with their entrenched ideology. As former House Speaker Newt Gingrich (R-Ga) characterized the situation:

We have now launched big-government Republicanism. If we saw France do this, Italy do this, we would have thought it was crazy. We would have had pious speaches about the folly of bureaucrats running businesses. (Washington Post, September 20, 2008, p. A10)

Of course, the case of Romulus and Bush are by no means parallel in every detail. Romulus strives to bring about change by destroying the empire; whereas Bush is trying to save the country by challenging the Republican ideology. For me, what makes Bush a potential anti-hero is that, much as in ancient Rome, despite all the incentives to fall back on simplifying ideological cliches, which appeal to the voting public, President Bush–of all people–has finally acknowledged that the world is just not that simple.

Students often ask me how the literature that we read in class relates to the real world that they inhabit. Sometimes it is difficult to explain–so I say, just wait and you will see. For it is only now, some forty years later, that I can appreciate how much my German Professor, and his interpretation of Durrenmatt, has meant to me.

On Technorati: Bush Administration, economic crisis, Frederick Durrenmatt, Republican Party, Romulus the Great, theatre of the absurd