Why do ideas need to be managed?

I should make my intentions for Open Conceptual a little more clear. It isn’t just a blog. This blog is sort of a seed from which (I hope) a more concrete enterprise may develop. For that to happen, I need other people to be involved (and for other people to become involved, I need to demonstrate what Open Conceptual is).

It's primarily about managing ideas. I’m afraid that our ideas are in such a disorganized condition that I can’t even say "managing ideas" without causing confusion; I’m concerned that too many people live according to misconceptions and faulty assumptions; I suspect that most people assume that general problems of life are none of their business, none of anyone’s business, and that things tend to work themselves out in the end. We are ultimately responsible for everything that happens around us. Of course, certain individuals (and certain decisions made by those individuals) may turn out to be relatively larger factors – both positive or negative – but if we want to make any claim to care about what happens (i.e. if we want to earn the privilege of having our complaints and suggestions listened to), then some of our complaints and suggestions must address what our own responsibility was and will be, how our personal actions can be improved as a way of improving things overall.

The key to that is "earning the privilege of having our complaints and suggestions listened to," by taking account of our own responsibility. [This argument (especially in the paragraph below) is partly adapted from an argument in Daniel Dennet's Breaking the Spell: that people who don't open their beliefs up to criticism effectively forfiet their right to be taken seriously (as far as the beliefs are concerned) by people who do.] Some people may not have any idea of what to say or do, some people may not be sufficiently interested in a particular issue, and that’s perfectly acceptable. Nobody can contribute to every aspect of life; we can only be responsible for our own special areas of expertise and concern.

So it doesn’t bother me (at least not too much) that some people don’t seem to care about anything at all – that they make no effort to conceive an articulate, coherent position on any issue. What really bothers me is when those people expect their spontaneous opinions to deserve the same hearing as the opinions of people who've made an articulate investment in thier ideas. Some of the loudest complainers save their loudest complaints for people who take the time to think things through carefully: they don't claim authority despite their incoherence, they claim authority because of it. They don’t just try to persuade people towards a different position on an issue, which has been intelligently articulated and considered; they take the long-term position that any theoretical position whatsoever is a waste of time (as opposed to their own knee-jerk, disconnected, 'common-sense' opinions), or that the issue simply doesn’t exist in any extended theoretical form. Again, it’s acceptable if you don’t recognize an issue – maybe it lies outside of your experience, knowledge, or ability to recognize – but that isn’t sufficient reason to claim that it doesn’t really exist for anyone else either.

So by way of saying that, I now return to the notion of managing ideas – or as I say in my personal description, "developing and managing concepts for working, learning, and living more effectively." That’s simply an indirect way of saying philosophy. There are a few reasons why I can’t (or won’t) call myself a philosopher. [While writing this I've been perusing Experimental Philosophy, and I just read this statement from Edouard Machery about anti-empirical definitions of philosophy, which captures my attitude perfectly, albeit for different reasons: "But given what gets then excluded (very exciting stuff) and given what turns out to count as philosophy according to this definition (no comment), I am glad my work does not count as philosophy."] It means too many different things, none of which I actually am or intend to be – at least not exclusively. I sometimes transitively consider myself a philosopher, but only as defined in the terms given earlier: someone who develops and manages concepts for working, learning, and living more effectively, someone who manages ideas. I save the trouble by skipping straight to the definition itself. But then what does the definition mean; what’s an "idea."

Defining "ideas" has long been a problem in philosophy. I won’t attempt it here; all I’ll say is that when I use the term, I don’t just refer to ideas that we are aware of. For me, an idea is not just something identifiable or (so to speak) known. My use of "ideas" and "concepts" also covers all of the assumptions and conventions beyond conscious awareness. These can perhaps be foundational or structural, supporting our more explicitly known ideas; or they can be peripheral, intuitive, tacit; or they can be germinal and undeveloped – anything cognitive that effects (or has the potential to effect) our decisions, beliefs, and understanding. I have no doubt that I’ll eventually need to change this definition, but it’s the best (I think) for now – at least for my purposes.

That is where the confusion I was afraid of earlier may come in: if you think idea must be something particular, then you won’t begin to understand my reason for wanting to manage them. Some ideas have a particular, explicit, objective form; objective (consciously discriminable) ideas need to be managed as much as ambiguous ones. More precisely, objective ideas give us the means to manage ambiguous ideas, in the same kind of way that managing dynamic groups of people involves managing static rules. At the same time, managing static rules involves maintaining an active, attentive, flexible, and creative attitude.

Our ideas about ideas are where the management of ideas begins. You may not believe that this is something worthy of attention, but I do. It may seem that my earlier ranting about responsibility was an unnecessary tangent, but I seem to face an uphill fight to explain why we need to examine our ideas – not to mention the sources and effects of our ideas – much more deeply and carefully. "Why waste time doing that when there are already so many problems and opportunities that already need to be addressed here and now?" The reason is because the way we deal with problems and opportunities now effects what kind of problems and opportunities we’ll face in the future. This is what I mean when I talk about investing in ideas: if we spend a little extra time now, approaching immediate problems and opportunities indirectly, then we stand to lose less and gain more in the long run.

So my area of concern is not so much a specific area as it is a specific level -- or rather, a general level -- the most general level. According to the scale I work on, the environment is not a 'big' problem, suicide bombers are not a big problem, nuclear arms are not a big problem, globalization is not a big problem (or a big opportunity either), innovation is not a big problem: the ways we approach these problems are actually much bigger than the principle issues themselves. (This may not seem feasible to many people. I'm not even sure that it is myself, but it feels like a possibility, and it's a possibility that keeps drawing me forward. I'll elaborate on this in future posts.)

We could argue about this endlessly. In the end it comes down to individual perspectives – a matter of personal experience and concerns, which I referred to earlier. These bigger-big problems and opportunities are what I’m attracted to; these are the issues I feel are important; these are the matters that seem to challenge my strengths. This is why I feel it’s important to learn how to more effectively manage ideas: simply because that’s what I feel, and have continued to feel after years of doubting it and trying other approaches. I may never convince you, but you most certainly will never convince me.

But I should point out, while our interests and concerns are a matter of personal circumstance, and may perhaps never be convincingly accounted for, my concern is foremost about making these kinds of ambiguous differences more objectively accountable. In other words, while I assume for now that our positions are perhaps irreconcilable, I am nevertheless actively taking responsibility for improving the way we conceive and communicate these kinds of things. This general (or, if you want to be more technical, hermeneutic) articulation exactly what my work is about.

So, if five years from now, we both remain unconvinced of each others’ positions – despite all of my efforts to generate a more workable common vocabulary, background, conceptual framework, or whatever you want to call it – I can at least feel satisfied that I did what I could, that I earned the privilege of being heard, whether or not I actually was. Meanwhile, if you’ve done nothing but wait for me to come around to your position, then not only would I be satisfied with myself, I would also be satisfied not to give you any more of a hearing. If you’ve made no demonstration of responsibility or concern, why should I let you make any claim to them?

More importantly, beyond the notion of some "right to be heard" or "benefit of the doubt," thinking and communicating is a practice that needs to be exercised, or else it is lost. It’s the same as any other kind of practice. For example, I haven’t played hockey in about seven years, so I wouldn’t expect to go out with a team and be at game speed right away – it’ll take a few games, maybe even half the season to find my game. (Which, I should admit, was never great to begin with.) So if you’ve merely been sitting around on the same old beliefs and ideas for years, without even considering any kind of criticism or challenge, then I wouldn’t expect you to even be capable of thinking clearly about them and formulating any sensible response.

People who say that ideas are a waste of time usually seem to be ignorant that that itself is an idea. Meanwhile, they admit to not being careful about the ideas they have. Why should we waste our time listening? Of course you'd think that ideas are a waste of time, if those are the only kinds of ideas you're accustomed to. Everything is a waste of time if it isn't done with care, or if it's done excessively. Ideas can be over-managed like everything else.

Let's not underestimate the importance of the fact that everything we do is organized, founded, structured, driven, effected (or whatever) by concepts and ideas. Even managing ideas must be done with ideas. On one hand this says that managing ideas is a very complex task; on the other hand it says that intelligently managing ideas is absolutely essential. Obviously I can't explain it all with perfect clarity (largely because I don't understand it myself), but that's what Open Conceptual is for -- exploring, experimenting, elaborating, reiterating, refining, etc. There may or may not be any end to this project, but it's never too late to begin.

Generalism 1: "generalist or specialist"

A recent discussion on David Armano’s blog, Logic + Emotion, has motivated me to clarify what I mean by "generalism." The conversation was started by Dave Gray’s illustration of the "Generalist or Specialist" dichotomy, the key difference being that generalists "are best when defining the problem or goal" [I wouldn't change a word of that.] while "specialists are best at solving the problem or executing the plan."

The sum of Armano’s initial comment was that maybe the diagram should be labelled "Generalist and Specialist," because generalists "can excel at both defining and solving problems," and "specialists can also excel at defining the problem." Subsequent commenters elaborated on the same essential points, reiterating the need to alternate between both attitudes, or "voices," as Christine Martell put it.

I wanted to contribute my own comments but it seemed that everything had already been said as well as it could be – at least everything that could be said without ctrl-alt-deleting the whole discussion. So I decided to reconceive it in my own terms – terms that I’ve been carefully developing for over a year now. A few things need to be clarified.

The first question to consider is whether we’re describing personality traits or prescribing job descriptions. Eventually we’ll try to do both, but it muddles things if we don’t distinguish between intrinsic tendencies and designed intentions; we must be carefully aware of which aspect we’re talking (or even just thinking) about.

The distinction is important, because if we’re talking about professions, disciplines or job descriptions – things we have the ability to design and change – then maybe we shouldn’t be abstractly discussing "generalists or specialists" at all. We’re supposed to change perspectives; only the most rigidly mechanized forms of labour don’t involve some alternation between specific details and a more general patterns and processes. And professions have become so dynamic that any attempt to classify or conceive them statically will crumble in our hands: nothing can be said about them without adding conditions like "sometimes..." and "it depends...."

Conversely, this growing professional dynamism makes it even more necessary to discuss the inherent differences between ‘generalist-types’ and ‘specialist-types,’ so we can more effectively design projects and jobs to suit (and capitalize on) diverse personal strengths.

I normally try to avoid talking about ‘personality types’; I believe it tends to become too reductive – for example, giving too much importance to the "introvert-extrovert" dichotomy, forgetting that it is an artificial (and hypothetical, or provisional) concept – but I suspect that maybe the more ‘personality dimensions’ we have to work with, the less danger there is of reductivism, or attributing too much importance (or concreteness) to any one.

It seems to me that there certainly are some people who are ‘born generalists’ and others who are ‘born specialists’ – that some people are inherently better at defining problems and others are better (or at least more comfortable) executing plans. [And I feel quite strongly about this. I spent most of my life trying to learn how to follow directions and plans; a few years ago I finally realized that I was wasting my time: I’m much better at finding directions and designing plans – thriving in ambiguity and complexity – and those are the skills I decided to focus on and nurture.]

But are "generalist" and "specialist" the best names to use for these two types? If we’re looking at personality differences, much of the existing literature uses the term "creative," and includes generalist tendencies as being a part of creativeness. I don’t know of any studies of creativity that wouldn’t include Gray’s definition of the generalist approach as one of the core attitudes (or traits or styles or whatever you want to call it) of creativity. I’m thinking of work by Mihaly Csikszentmihalyi, Howard Gardner, and Dean Keith Simonton. Dan Pink’s 2006 book, A Whole New Mind is a good introduction to the same general notions. For a more business-minded approach to creativity, look at Roger Martin’s recent articles on topics like "business design," and "integrative thinking."

In my own work I tend to juxtapose the "creative" mindset with the "productive" mindset. I take creativity to mean introducing something really new to the world – not just new versions but completely new classes, types, and species of things. Creativity involves working through ambiguity and complexity to define new roles, rules, boundaries, frameworks, etc.; whereas productivity means working within existing rules and boundaries – producing new copies and versions of things that already exist – perhaps with slight refinements or variations.

Another related distinction I should mention is the one Chris Argyris has often made between "single-loop" and "double-loop learning." Single-loop learning aims to achieve specific results, or maintain certain conditions – Argyris uses the metaphor of a thermostat that is set to a specific temperature. Double-loop learning aims to develop more effective or efficient results to aim for – like changing the temperature that the thermostat is set to maintain.

We might say that creative people are double-loop learners: they are open to new results and conditions – not just aiming to become more effective within a given framework, but designing more effective frameworks and aims. [In my August 19th essay, I began to illustrate this notion of ‘investing’ in concepts – developing better vehicles for effectiveness and growth – making our ideas work for us, rather than merely working for them.]

To be able to change these "boundary conditions" effectively, we need to see from a broad enough perspective: we need to actually recognize the existing boundaries and identify what’s beyond them: we need to see over disciplinary (cubicle?) walls.

Sometimes specialists are unable to do so: some only appreciate their task from the inside; they tacitly take boundaries and roles for granted, and perhaps can’t even explicitly define them. They know when something "isn’t their business" because it doesn’t fit into any of their existing patterns or frames, so they let somebody else take care of it. This kind of focussed, ‘inside’ appreciation is required for effective execution; otherwise everybody would be too distracted by emerging novelties to finish projects they’ve already started [Some exceptionally creative people – eg. Leonardo and Goethe – have been notoriously bad at concentrating on and completing projects.] and everybody would continually meddle and interfere in other people’s tasks, which they’re not equipped to deal with.

But what happens when new challenges emerge that nobody is equipped to deal with? What about new opportunities that don’t fit into anybody’s existing patterns or frames? Such challenges and opportunities are daily realities in some industries – especially disciplines that involve both human and technological factors.

I needn’t remind anyone that technology is changing rapidly. But what many people perhaps don’t appreciate is that technological changes are relatively small and easy to recognize compared to the powerful but subtle changes in the ways people think, work, and live with technology – the way people appropriate novelties and find original and unexpected ways to use them, which in turn generate newer technologies, which in turn...

People must be increasingly aware of the boundaries of their work – being especially careful not to make them too static. Boundaries should be plastic, networks and teams should be fluid, integrated, coherent, and adaptive to new challenges and opportunities. It is no longer acceptable to ignore problems that don’t fit into your job description: chances are that it doesn’t fit into anyone else’s either.

So everybody may have to think or work like a generalist at some point – as several people noted in the Logic + Emotion discussion.

But while being generally open to other roles and new information, it is still necessary to specialize, or cultivate deep professional competencies and expertise. This is what the people at IDEO (among others I’m sure) have been talking about for years, illustrated by their concept of "T-shaped" individuals – people with broad general knowledge, covering many fields, and deep competence in one (or maybe more) specialized discipline. (See Tom Kelley’s Art of Innovation and Ten Faces of Innovation; there are also numerous articles by/about other IDEOers on this concept. Coincidentally, Armano has added his own refinements to the ‘T-shaped’ concept.)

This dynamism is the reason for my earlier claim that perhaps we shouldn’t abstractly discuss "generalist or specialist" job descriptions at all. To ask whether someone is a generalist or a specialist presupposes some kind of permanent arrangement, within which jobs fit as static fixtures – like old tools hung on the wall of grandpa’s garage. But in terms of the moving constellation of marketing, communications, education, and management oriented fields, it just doesn’t seem reasonable to begin with such overtly static assumptions.

However, is it possible to become a purely general generalist? We know there are 'HR generalists,' 'general practitioners' in medicine, and 'general contractors'; but as far as any outsider is concerned, they specialize in HR, medicine, and construction respectively. What might ‘pure generalists’ do – and what effect could they possibly have?

[Originally posted at thecreativegeneralist.blogspot.com, August 26, 2007]