Solving for Pattern

Posted on September 18, 2010 by David Cross

Note: This is the fifth of a seven-part series mentioned in The Strongest Rope.

This post (and this blog) are named after a pivotal essay — Solving for Pattern — written by the gifted essayist, Wendell Berry. Berry writes about farming, but his argument transcends farming, and even ecology, as will become apparent. Berry begins “Solving for Pattern” as follows:

Our dilemma in agriculture now is that the industrial methods that have so spectacularly solved some of the problems of food production have been accompanied by “side effects” so damaging as to threaten the survival of farming. Perhaps the best clue to the nature and gravity of this dilemma is that it is not limited to agriculture. My immediate concern here is with the irony of agricultural methods that destroy, first, the health of the soil and, finally, the health of human communities. But I could just as easily be talking about sanitation systems that pollute, school systems that graduate illiterate students, medical cures that cause disease, or nuclear armaments that explode in the midst of the people they are meant to protect. This is a kind of surprise that is characteristic of our time: the cure proves incurable; security results in the evacuation of a neighborhood or a town. It is only when it is understood that our agricultural dilemma is characteristic not of our agriculture but of our time that we can begin to understand why these surprises happen, and to work out standards of judgment that may prevent them.

Following this opening, Berry goes on to identify three broad categories of solutions. It is worthwhile quoting him at length, at least in the beginning:

To the problems of farming, then, as to other problems of our time, there appear to be three kinds of solutions:

There is, first, the solution that causes a ramifying series of new problems, the only limiting criterion being, apparently, that the new problems should arise beyond the purview of the expertise that produced the solution — as, in agriculture, industrial solutions to the problem of production have invariably caused problems of maintenance, conservation, economics, community health, etc., etc.

If, for example, beef cattle are fed in large feed lots, within the boundaries of the feeding operation itself a certain factory-like order and efficiency can be achieved. But even within those boundaries that mechanical order immediately produces a biological disorder, for we know that health problems and dependence on drugs will be greater among cattle so confined than among cattle on pasture.

And beyond those boundaries, the problems multiply. Pen feeding of cattle in large numbers involves, first, a manure-removal problem, which becomes at some point a health problem for the animals themselves, for the local watershed, and for adjoining ecosystems and human communities. If the manure is disposed of without returning it to the soil that produced the feed, a serious problem of soil fertility is involved. But we know too that large concentrations of animals in feed lots in one place tend to be associated with, and to promote, large cash-grain monocultures in other places. These monocultures tend to be accompanied by a whole set of specifically agricultural problems: soil erosion, soil compaction, epidemic infestations of pests, weeds, and disease. But they are also accompanied by a set of agricultural-economic problems (dependence on purchased technology; dependence on purchased fuels, fertilizers, and poisons; dependence on credit) — and by a set of community problems, beginning with depopulation and the removal of sources, services, and market to more and more distant towns. And these are, so to speak, only the first circle of the bad effects of a bad solution. With a little care, their branchings can be traced on into nature, into the life of the cities, and into the cultural and economic life of the nation.

The second kind of solution is that which immediately worsens the problem it is intended to solve, causing a hellish symbiosis in which problem and solution reciprocally enlarge one another in a sequence that, so far as its own logic is concerned, is limitless — as when the problem of soil compaction is “solved” by a bigger tractor, which further compacts the soil, which makes a need for a still bigger tractor, and so on and on. There is an identical symbiosis between coal-fired power plants and air conditioners. It is characteristic of such solutions that no one prospers by them but the suppliers of fuel and equipment.

These two kinds of solutions are obviously bad. They always serve one good at the expense of another or of several others, and I believe that if all their effects were ever to be accounted for they would be seen to involve, too frequently if not invariably, a net loss to nature, agriculture, and the human commonwealth.

Such solutions always involve a definition of the problem that is either false or so narrow as to be virtually false. To define an agricultural problem as if it were solely a problem of agriculture — or solely a problem of production or technology or economics — is simply to misunderstand the problem, either inadvertently or deliberately, either for profit or because of a prevalent fashion of thought. The whole problem must be solved, not just some handily identifiable and simplifiable aspect of it.

Both kinds of bad solutions leave their problems unsolved. Bigger tractors do not solve the problem of soil compaction any more than air conditioners solve the problem of air pollution. Nor does the large confinement-feeding operation solve the problem of food production; it is, rather, a way calculated to allow large-scale ambition and greed to profit from food production. The real problem of food production occurs within a complex, mutually influential relationship of soil, plants, animals, and people. A real solution to that problem will therefore be ecologically, agriculturally, and culturally healthful.

Perhaps it is not until health is set down as the aim that we come in sight of the third kind of solution: that which causes a ramifying series of solutions – as when meat animals are fed on the farm where the feed is raised, and where the feed is raised to be fed to the animals that are on the farm. Even so rudimentary a description implies a concern for pattern, for quality, which necessarily complicates the concern for production. The farmer has put plants and animals into a relationship of mutual dependence, and must perforce be concerned for balance or symmetry, a reciprocating connection in the pattern of the farm that is biological, not industrial, and that involves solutions to problems of fertility, soil husbandry, economics, sanitation – the whole complex of problems whose proper solutions add up to health: the health of the soil, of plants and animals, of farm and farmer, of farm family and farm community, all involved in the same internested, interlocking pattern – or pattern of patterns.

A bad solution is bad, then, because it acts destructively upon the larger patterns in which it is contained. It acts destructively upon those patterns, most likely, because it is formed in ignorance or disregard of them. A bad solution solves for a single purpose or goal, such as increased production. And it is typical of such solutions that they achieve stupendous increases in production at exorbitant biological and social costs.

A good solution is good because it is in harmony with those larger patterns — and this harmony will, I think, be found to have a nature of analogy. A bad solution acts within the larger pattern the way a disease or addiction acts within the body. A good solution acts within the larger pattern the way a healthy organ acts within the body. But it must at once be understood that a healthy organ does not — as the mechanistic or industrial mind would like to say — “give” health to the body, is not exploited for the body’s health, but is a part of its health. The health of organ and organism is the same, just as the health of organism and ecosystem is the same. And these structures of organ, organism, and ecosystem — as John Todd has so ably understood — belong to a series of analogical integrities that begins with the organelle and ends with the biosphere.

Berry follows this analysis with an example, that of Earl F. Spencer’s farm in Palatine, New York. It is a compelling example, and you can read about it in the original essay, but I would like to present a different example. Wendell Berry’s argument about “good solutions,” in the context of farming, are reminiscent of the Amish. About the Amish, John Taylor Gatto observed in his article, Universal Education, that:

Virtually every adult Amisher has an independent livelihood as the owner of a farm or a business. The success rate of Amish in small business is 95 percent compared to the rate nationally in the US of 15 percent.
Quoting Don Kraybill: “[The Amish] challenge a lot of conventional assumptions about what it takes to enter business. They don’t have high school educations, they don’t have specialized training, they don’t use computers, they don’t use electricity or automobiles, they don’t have training in how to create a marketing plan. But the resources they transfer over from the farm are: an entrepreneurial spirit, a willingness to take risks, innovativeness, a strong work ethic, a cheap family labor pool, and high standards of craftsmanship. One of their values is smallness. They don’t want their shops and industries to get large. This spreads entrepreneurship widely across the whole settlement.”
The Amish are legendary good neighbors, first to volunteer in times of outer-world need. They open their farms to ghetto children and frequently rear handicapped children from the non-Amish world nobody else wants. They farm so well and so profitably without using tractors, chemical fertilizers, or pesticides, that Mexico, Canada, Russia, France, and Uruguay have hired them as advisors on raising agricultural productivity.

It seems we could add the ways of the Amish to Wendell Berry’s short list of “good solutions.” (Berry’s description of good and bad solutions also resonates with the ideas of the anthropologist and cybernetician Gregory Bateson, but I will save that for another post.) Berry closes his essay with a list of 12 characteristics of good solutions. This is definitely worth reading, but I would like to present a different list, based on the work of Jim Collins. In 1999 Collins published a paper in the Harvard Business Review entitled “Turning goals into results: The power of catalytic mechanisms” (July-August 1999, available as Product Number 3960). In that paper Collins describes five characteristics of catalytic mechanisms, contrasting them with traditional mechanisms of managerial “control” (catalytic mechanisms, as defined here, are intrinsic to good solutions):

Characteristic 1: A catalytic mechanism produces desired results in unpredictable ways. According to Collins, catalytic mechanisms produce variation, whereas traditional managerial mechanisms reduce variation while enlarging bureaucracy: “History shows us that organizations achieve greatness when people are allowed to do unexpected things — to show initiative and creativity, to step outside the scripted path. That is when delightful, interesting, and amazing results occur.”
Characteristic 2: A catalytic mechanism distributes power for the benefit of the overall system, often to the great discomfort of those who traditionally hold power. Catalytic mechanisms enable people to do the right thing, and empower the organization to meet its goals: “When executives vest people with power and responsibility and step out of the way, vast reservoirs of energy and competence flow forth. Again we have a paradox: the more executives disperse power and responsibility, the more likely the organization is to reach its big, hairy, audacious goal.”
Characteristic 3: A catalytic mechanism has teeth. According to Collins, “The fact is, executives spend hours drafting, redrafting, and redrafting yet again statements of core values, missions, and visions. This is often a very useful process, but a statement by itself will not accomplish anything. By contrast, a catalytic mechanism puts a process in place that all but guarantees that the vision will be fulfilled. A catalytic mechanism has a sharp set of teeth.” In short, a catalytic mechanism actually affects the way people work, by changing the contingencies of their work.
Characteristic 4: A catalytic mechanism ejects viruses. Again, quoting Collins, “A lot of traditional controls are designed to get employees to act the `right’ way and do the `right’ things, even if they are not so inclined. Catalytic mechanisms, by contrast, help organizations to get the right people in the first place, keep them, and eject those who do not share the company’s core values.” As Collins has said in a later HBR paper, “First, get the right people on the bus.” When you have the right people on the bus, individual efforts are multiplied synergistically; when you don’t have the right people on the bus, you have what von Clausewitz called “friction.”
Characteristic 5: A catalytic mechanism produces an ongoing effect. Quoting Collins: “Catalytic mechanisms differ fundamentally from catalytic events. A rousing speech to the troops, an electrifying off-site meeting, a euphoria-producing new buzzword, a new initiative or strategic imperative, an impending crisis — all of these are catalytic events, and some are useful. But they do not produce the persistent, ongoing effect of catalytic mechanisms.” Catalytic events prod and jolt the system, catalytic mechanisms transform the system.

I would like to close this post, which is already too long, with a few brief observations:

I have reproduced the heart of Berry’s essay, despite its length, because it is perfect, and impossible to summarize effectively (I have tried, without success).
I have used alternative examples — the ways of the Amish, Collins’ catalytic mechanisms — not because Berry’s examples are inadequate, but because I wanted to expand the scope of the argument.
Collins’ list of catalytic mechanisms, superficially at least, might seem at odds with Berry’s notion of good solutions, but this is not the case: the contexts differ, but the fundamental principles are the same.
The first of Berry’s “bad solutions” corresponds to what has been called the “Law of Unintended Consequences;” the second of Berry’s “bad solutions” corresponds to what has been called “positive feedback.”
Berry and Collins both view systems (e.g., ecologies, organizations) as being complex, which is what gives many solutions, both good and bad, their explosive power (remember, in complex systems, small inputs can have large outputs).
A related point is that these systems involve feedback processes, and as a result are intrinsically cybernetic.
Berry’s and Collin’s analyses of “good solutions” can be easily framed in terms of ziran and wuwei, discussed in earlier posts within this series (I shall elaborate on these connections in subsequent posts).
The question naturally arises, “How does one know, at the outset, what a good solution will look like?” My answer, in brief, is wisdom — which in my view derives from the first four principles, especially, of The Strongest Rope.

And what is wisdom? According to the ichthyologist David Starr Jordan:

Wisdom is knowing what to do next,
Skill is knowing how to do it,
And virtue is having the courage to do it.

Cheers,
David Cross
Fort Worth, Texas

Posted in Complexity, Cybernetics, Strategy, Wisdom, wuwei, ziran | Comments Off

Know the Situation

Posted on September 4, 2010 by David Cross

Note: This is the fourth of a seven-part series mentioned in The Strongest Rope.

In the previous post — Know Yourself — I showed how both Laozi and Sunzi appreciated the importance of self-knowledge, and indicated how this ancient wisdom could be compared to contemporary concepts such as mindfulness. I also suggested that knowing yourself is part of a more inclusive dialectic, involving not only knowledge of self, but knowledge of the broader situation. The distinction I have made between “Know Yourself” and “Know the Situation” is in fact an artificial one, for these two aspects of knowing are so tightly interwoven that they cannot be separated, except as a matter of conversational convenience. That said, conversation often demands that we make convenient and artificial distinctions, so let us take a look at “Know the Situation,” keeping in mind its intimate connection with “Know Yourself.”

At the core of Sunzi’s Art of War is the concept of shi, which John Minford (2002, p. xxv) translates as “situational energy” or “potential energy,” and Roger Ames (1993, p. 71) translates as “strategic advantage.” The gifted French philosopher Francois Jullien discusses shi at length in his book, A treatise on efficacy: Between Western and Chinese thinking (2004). In regards to shi (potential), and its conceptual counterpart xing (situation), Jullien has this to say (2004, p. 17):

Two notions thus lie at the heart of ancient Chinese strategy, forming a pair: on the one hand, the notion of a situation or configuration (xing), as it develops and takes shape before our eyes (as a relation of forces); on the other hand, and counterbalancing this, the notion of potential (shi), which is implied by that situation and can be made to play in one’s favor. In the ancient military treatises (Sunzi, chap. 5, “Shi”), this is sometimes illustrated by the image of a mountain stream that, as it rushes along, is strong enough to carry boulders with it or by that of a crossbow drawn back and ready to discharge its arrow. In frequent absence of theoretical explanations, in China, we need to interpret such images. Thanks to its downward-sloping course and its narrow channel (which result from the configuration of the mountain landscape), the situation is itself the source of an effect (the rushing stream is said to “obtain a potential,” “to make things happen.”). Similarly, in the case of the crossbow, the design works of its own accord as soon as one releases the arrow; it constitutes a mechanism.

So in the classical Chinese world view, strategic action is a matter of acting in accord with the strategic potential inherent in the current situation, which is a deeply contextualized view of strategic action. In order to act strategically — which is to say “in order to act effectively” — it is imperative that you have three kinds of knowledge:

The first kind of knowledge is knowledge of self, for you (and your organization) are part of the situation: your strengths and weaknesses, what you are capable of doing, and what is not possible or desirable for you to do.
The second kind of knowledge is knowledge of the broader situation: If it is a competitive situation, what are your opponent’s strengths and weaknesses? And what is the terrain upon which the competition will play itself out? Where are we in the dynamic cycling of our competitive actions?
The third kind of knowledge is knowledge of contingencies: Given certain kinds of situations, what is the best course of action? What is the best way to respond to different moves made by my opponent? What is the best way to respond given different types of terrain? Given different circumstances?

Every chapter in Sunzi’s Art of War deals in part with one of these three types of knowledge, and several chapters are devoted almost entirely to knowledge of contingencies (viz., chapters 8—11). Based on these ideas, we can distill Sunzi’s strategic framework down to the following three maxims:

In order to act effectively, you must be able to harness the strategic potential (shi) inherent in the situation;
Strategic potential (shi) is determined by the strategic configuration (xing);
In order to capitalize on strategic potential (shi), you must be able to discern (ming) relevant features of the strategic configuration (xing), and their implications for strategic potential (shi).

In short, in order to act effectively (de), you must know the situation.

Before closing out this post, it is worthwhile making a few observations about acuity (ming), which has slipped into the conversation, perhaps unnoticed by the reader. Understanding the role of (ming) is key to understanding the connection between “Know Yourself” and “Know the Situation.” Consider the following passage (Chapter 16) from the Laozi Daodejing (Ames & Hall, 2003, p. 99):

Extend your utmost emptiness as far as you can
And do your best to preserve your equilibrium (jing).

In the process of all things emerging together (wanwu)
We can witness their reversion.
Things proliferate,
And each again returns to its root.
Returning to its root is called equilibrium.
Now as for equilibrium — this is called returning to the propensity of things,
And returning to the propensity of things is common sense.
Using common sense is acuity (ming),
While failing to use it is to lose control.
And to try to anything while out of control is to court disaster.

Using common sense (ming) is to be accommodating,
Being accommodating is tolerance,
Being tolerant is kingliness,
Being kingly is tian-like,
Being tian-like is to be way-making,
And the way-made is enduring.
To the end of one’s days one will be free of danger.

This passage is fertile ground for discussion, but for now I would like to point out just one thing, and that is the connection between “the propensity of things” (shi), equilibrium (jing), and “common sense” (ming): Acting in accord with the propensity of things — their potential energy — requires balance (equilibrium) and awareness (acuity). This is an essential message of the Laozi Daodejing, and is the broader philosophical context for Sunzi’s observations about knowledge, strategic configuration (xing), and strategic potential (shi). The term that Ames and Hall use here is “accommodating,” which connects strategic action to such fundamental Daoist notions as ziran and wuwei. Here is a brief passage from their commentary on Chapter 16 (p. 101):

Accommodation, far from being passive or weak, is the source of fullness of strength and influence, timeliness and efficacy. Indeed, accommodation is inclusionary, enabling one to extend oneself through patterns of deference. It is ordering the external effected through inner tranquility; it is governing the trunk and branches by taking care of the root; it is bringing order to the myriad things by managing the gate through which they emerge. Accommodation, inclusivity, and tolerance are the most effective means of achieving a stable and enduring social, political, and cosmic order. This then is how the kingly and the numinous way is extended and maintained.

I will explore these ideas more fully in subsequent posts, and would like to close by pointing out that the contemporary equivalent of the kind of strategic awareness that we have been talking about is situational awareness. And just as Ellen Langer can be considered the “Godmother” of mindfulness research, Mica Endsley can be considered the “Godmother” of research on situational awareness. I will have more to say about their work, and the topics “Know Yourself” and “Know the Situation” in subsequent posts.

As always, I look forward to your thoughts.

David Cross
Fort Worth, Texas

Posted in jing, Laozi, Mindfulness, ming, Situational Awareness, Strategy, Sunzi | Comments Off

Know Yourself

Posted on August 29, 2010 by David Cross

Note: This is the third of a seven-part series mentioned in The Strongest Rope.

For Sunzi, knowledge — in all its forms — is critical to success. There are several locations in The Art of War where the text emphasizes this point. For example, at the end of Chapter 3 (Strategic Offensives), we find the following:

Hence the saying
“Know the enemy,
Know yourself,
And victory
Is never in doubt,
Not in a hundred battles.”

He who knows self
But not the enemy
Will suffer one defeat
For every victory.

He who knows
Neither self
Nor enemy
Will fail
In every battle.

This quote, taken from John Minford’s translation of The Art of War (2002, p. 19), is indicative of the importance placed by Sunzi (and the Daoists more generally) on knowledge. In this post I provide a short overview of Know Yourself, third of the seven strands making up The Strongest Rope. In the next post I will address the other half of the knowing dialectic, Know the Situation.

The admonition “Know Yourself” also appears in the Daodejing, for example in Chapter 33:

To know others is wisdom;
To know oneself is acuity (ming).
To conquer others is power,
To conquer oneself is strength.
To know contentment is to have wealth.

To act resolutely is to have purpose.
To stay one’s ground is to be enduring.
To die and yet not be forgotten is to be long-lived.

This quote is taken from the translation by Roger Ames and David Hall (2003, p. 128). Notice that this passage has two aspects relevant to “Know Yourself.” The first of these can be seen in the second line, “To know oneself is acuity,” which introduces the core Daoist concept of ming (acuity). In their discussion of how to achieve wuwei as one’s life unfolds in the present moment, Ames and Hall (pp. 39–40) observe that:

It is not through an internal struggle of reason against the passions but through “acuity (ming)” — a mirroring of the things of the world as they are in their interdependent relations with us — that we reach a state in which nothing among all of the myriad of “the goings on” in the world will be able to agitate our hearts-and-minds, and we are able to promote the flourishing of our world. In other words, we defer in attaining integrity with those things that contextualize us, establishing a frictionless equilibrium with them. And it is this state of achieved equilibrium that is precisely the relationship most conducive to symbiotic growth and productivity.

Earlier I mentioned that Chapter 33 (quoted above) has two aspects relevant to the knowing dialectic. The first of these is acuity (ming), and the second appears in the line “To conquer oneself is strength” (fourth line), which can be taken as a statement about self-mastery, or self-regulation. This leads us to the second of the core concepts introduced in this post — jing (equilibrium). Once again, it is instructive to quote Ames and Hall (p. 40):

The notion of jing — stillness, tranquility — that is often used to characterize this posture [of the Daoist sages], far from being simple passivity, is an ongoing, dynamic achievement of equilibrium that requires constant monitoring and adjustment. It is important to remember that all correlative pairs entail their opposites in the sense that jing is “tranquility-becoming-agitated.” Thus, tranquility (jing) stands in a dominant relationship in its partnership with agitation (dong); it does not negate or exclude its opposite. The same qualification has to be brought to bear on other familiar pairs that might otherwise mislead us: for example, emptiness (xu) and fullness (shi), and clarity (qing) and turbidity (zhuo).

This aspect of knowing yourself, reflected in the idea of jing (equilibrium), is also found in Sunzi’s Art of War (Minford, 2002, p. 50):

There are Five Pitfalls
For a general:

Recklessness,
Leading to
Destruction;

Cowardice,
Leading to
Capture;

A hot temper,
Prone to
Provocation;

A delicacy of honor,
Tending to
Shame;

A concern for his men,
Leading to
Trouble.

These Five Excesses
In a general
Are the
Bane of war.

If an army is defeated
And its general slain,
It will surely be because of
These Five Perils.
They demand the most
Careful consideration.

It is clear that Sunzi recognizes the value of equilibrium (jing) in a commander: The commander who cannot maintain equilibrium will fall victim to The Five Perils (aka The Five Pitfalls or The Five Excesses). And what is true for commanders is true for all of us: We live more effectively (de) when we can maintain our balance. For a non-military example, there is Laura Kastner’s and Jennifer Wyatt’s excellent book on parenting teens, Getting to Calm. I will have more to say about their work in a future post.

To summarize, the Daoist offer two key concepts — ming and jing — relevant to the third strand of The Strongest Rope: Know Yourself. In contemporary terms, these correspond to awareness and self-regulation, and thus to such psychological concepts as metacognition and mindfulness. The “Godmother” of mindfulness research is Ellen Langer, the Harvard social psychologist whose research and publications have been so influential. I will have more to say about her work in a later post. Another author worth mentioning in regards to mindfulness is UCLA psychologist Dan Siegel, who has written several good books on mindfulness in relationships. I will have more to say about his work also in subsequent posts.

As always, I look forward to hearing your thoughts.

David Cross
Fort Worth, Texas

Posted in jing, Laozi, Mindfulness, ming, Sunzi, wuwei | Comments Off

Less Is More

Posted on August 15, 2010 by David Cross

Note: This is the second of a seven-part series mentioned in The Strongest Rope.

Chapter 4 — “Forms and Dispositions” — contains one of the most important passages in Sunzi’s Art of War:

To foresee
The ordinary victory
Of the common man
Is no true skill.

To be victorious in battle
And to be acclaimed
For one’s skill
Is no true
Skill.

To lift autumn fur
Is no
Strength;
To see sun and moon
Is no
Perception;
To hear thunder
Is no
Quickness of hearing

The Skillful Warrior of old
Won
Easy victories.

The victories
Of the Skillful Warrior
Are not
Extraordinary victories;
They bring
Neither fame for wisdom
Nor merit for valor

His victories
Are
Flawless;
His victory is
Flawless
Because it is
Inevitable;
He vanquishes
An already defeated enemy.

The Skillful Warrior
Takes his stand
On invulnerable ground
He lets slip no chance
Of defeating the enemy.

The victorious army
Is victorious first
And seeks battle later;
The defeated army
Does battle first
And seeks victory later.

The Skillful Strategist
Cultivates
The Way
And preserves
The law;
Thus he is master
Of victory and defeat.

This quotation is taken from the translation by John Minford (Penguin, 2002, pp. 21–23). Sunzi’s meaning in this somewhat enigmatic passage can be clarified with a story retold by Thomas Cleary in the introduction to his translation of Sunzi’s Art of War (Shambhala, 2004, p. 9):

According to an old story, a lord of ancient China once asked his physician, a member of a family of healers, which of them was most skilled in the art.

The physician, whose reputation was such that his name became synonymous with medical science in China, replied, “My eldest brother sees the spirit of sickness and removes it before it takes shape, so his name does not get out of the house.

“My elder brother cures sickness when it is still extremely minute, so his his name does not get out of the neighborhood.

“As for me, I puncture veins, prescribe potions, and massage skin, so from time to time my name gets out and is heard among the lords.”

Among the tales of ancient China, none captures more beautifully than this the essence of the The Art of War, the premiere classic of the science of strategy in conflict. A Ming dynasty critic writes of this little tale of the physician: “What is essential for leaders, generals, and ministers in running governments and governing armies is no more than this.”

Both of these passages reflect the core Daoist concept of wuwei. Ames and Hall (2003, p. 38) translate wuwei as “noncoercive action in accordance with the de of things,” and discuss (pp. 36–53) how a variety of “wu-forms” (e.g., wushi, wuwei, wuzhi) permeate the Laozi Daodejing. The Daoist sensibility addressed in the wu-forms is the notion that effective action is based on a deep understanding of and respect for the particular efficacy (de) of each and every thing in one’s field of action. This entails a deep understanding of and respect for ziran, portrayed in the previous post as “the fundamental operating principle of the universe.” According to Liu Ziaogan (1998, pp. 217–218, full citation in the previous post, How Things Work):

Lao-tzu accentuates the core value tzu-jan yet discusses wu-wei at great length, for it is the principal method to actualize tzu-jan. He highlights wu-wei because the way to achieve the goal, once it is clarified as the objective, requires more attention than the goal itself. Tzu-jan is the ideal overall condition of society and even the world, while wu-wei directly concerns human behavior and action, and thus exerts a great deal of influence on the situation and quality of human life.

That wuwei is a core Daoist sensibility can be seen in the following passage from the Laozi Daodejing (Ames & Hall, 2003, p. 175):

Do things noncoercively (wuwei),
Be non-interfering in going about your business (wushi),
And savor the flavor of the unadulterated in what you eat.

Treat the small as great
And the few as many.

Requite enmity with character (de).

Take account of the difficult while it is still easy,
And deal with the large while it is still tiny.
The most difficult things in the world originate with the easy,
And the largest issues originate with the tiny.

Thus, it is because the sages never try to do great things
That they are indeed able to be great.

One who makes promises lightly is sure to have little credibility;
One who finds everything easy is certain to have lots of difficulties.

Thus, it is because even the sages pay careful attention to such things
That they are always free of difficulties.

Thus, in the Daoist world view, the sage (or Sunzi’s “Skillful Warrior”) achieves great things through the wu-forms: Minimal action in harmony with existing be-ings within one’s field of action. In this way the sage is like the physician’s eldest brother, who “sees the spirit of sickness and removes it before it takes shape, so his name does not get out of the house” — he is great because he does not attempt to do “great” things.

This world view is consistent with a contemporary world view based on the complexity sciences, where simple rules are sometimes found to govern complex systems (e.g., flocking behavior), or where small differences in initial conditions can lead to large variations in the behavior of the system (e.g., unintended consequences). In subsequent posts, I will discuss numerous examples of how effective human action capitalizes on the “Less Is More” principle.

As always, I look forward to your thoughts.

David Cross
Fort Worth, Texas

Posted in Complexity, Laozi, Strategy, Sunzi, wuwei, ziran | Comments Off

How Things Work

Posted on August 10, 2010 by David Cross

Note: This is the first of a seven-part series mentioned in The Strongest Rope.

Chapter 25 of the Laozi Daodejing contains the seminal statement of Daoist cosmology:

There was some process that formed spontaneously
Emerging before the heavens and the earth.
Silent and empty,
Standing alone as all that is, it does not suffer alteration.
All pervading, it does not pause.
It can be thought of as the mother of the heavens and earth.
I do not yet know its name (ming).
If I were to style it,
I would call it way-making (dao).
And if forced to give it a name,
I would call it grand.
Being grand, it is called passing,
Passing, it is called distancing.
Distancing, it is called returning.

Way-making is grand,
The heavens (tian) are grand,
The earth is grand,
And the king is also grand.
Within our territories
There are four “grandees”
And the king occupies one of them.

Human beings emulate the earth,
The earth emulates the heavens,
The heavens emulate way-making,
And way-making emulates what is spontaneously so (ziran).

This quotation is taken from the translation by Richard T. Ames and David L. Hall (Ballantine Books, 2003, p. 115). According to the translators,

Among other things, this chapter represents a valiant although self-consciously inadequate attempt to do what Wittgenstein says cannot be done. According to Wittgenstein, one cannot predicate the whole. That is, one cannot say that the totality of things is either large or small if there is nothing beyond it with which to compare.

Thus, in this worldview, way-making (dao) constitutes everything: All the events, processes, beings, and dynamics of existence. It is a processual worldview, a worldview of dynamic becoming rather that static being — be-ing rather than being. Interestingly, way-making (dao) refers to both our experience of the world, and to the world itself. Our own becoming and our own experience of the world are not separable from that world.

So Chapter 25 is a definitive statement about way-making (dao). But it is more than even that. It is also a statement about how the world works: “And way-making emulates what is spontaneously so (ziran).” How do things work? Laozi’s answer is that the world works according to what might be thought of as “the fundamental operating principle of the universe” — ziran. Often translated as “spontaneously so,” ziran literally means “self-so-ing” or “self-deriving.” ziran refers to the ongoing spontaneous, self-derived generativity of all the be-ings in the world, or, in other words, the ongoing spontaneous, self-derived generativity of way-making (dao). According to Ames and Hall (p. 69):

The importance of ziran lies in the fact that it is an alternative to the notion of initial beginnings. Ziran is the spontaneous emergence of novelty that is manifest in the propensity of things as the “swinging gateway” of the continuous present. And “beginnings” are fetal rather than primordial.

So, in the Daoist worldview, there is not just one beginning, but an ongoing procession of beginnings, each beginning generated spontaneously from previous beginnings. There is a nice discussion of ziran in a paper by Liu Xiaogan:

Xiaogan, L. (1998). Naturalness (Tzu-jan), the core value in Taoism: Its ancient meaning and its significance today. In L. Kohn and M. Lafargue (Eds.), Lao-tzu and the Tao-te-ching (pp. 211–228). Albany: State University of New York Press.

In this paper Liu Xiaogan argues that ziran is the core value of Daoism, and discusses the implications of this realization. He also discusses the relevance of this concept for modern living. I will have more to say about this later on in this blog, but for now I would like to make one final point about Laozi’s Chapter 25 and the Daoist principle of ziran. My final point is that ziran has a modern equivalent, namely, the systems concept of autopoiesis. I first saw this connection between ancient Daoist philosophy and modern complexity science made by the philosopher Han-Georg Moeller (The philosophy of the Daodejing, Columbia University Press, 2006, pp. 50–51). In Moeller’s own words (p. 51):

I do not know of any other concept in contemporary natural and social sciences that corresponds this well to the cosmological and social model of self-generation that we find in the Laozi. Of course, unlike in the highly complex theories of Maturana, Varela, and Luhmann, there is no systematic development of the concept of autopoiesis in the Laozi. There is, in a strict sense, no theory at all, and there is not even the explicit concept as such. However, if one wants to describe the model of cosmic and social self-generation that is so pervasive in the Laozi in contemporary terms, then I do not hesitate to call this model “autopoietic.”

My own experience in studying the Daoist classics, including the Laozi and the Sunzi, is that the world view expressed therein is highly compatible with a contemporary worldview based on autopoiesis and related scientific concepts. What I have found is that as one moves back and forth between the daoist classics and contemporary complexity sciences, one explores the fertile ground of “how things work.” Classical daoist philosophy and contemporary complexity science are not one and the same, but they seem to have much in common, and approached dialectically, they form a strong foundation for “The Strongest Rope.” I will explore these commonalities further in the next post — “Less Is More” — and in subsequent posts after that.

As always, I look forward to your thoughts.

David Cross
Fort Worth, Texas

Posted in Complexity, Laozi, ziran | Comments Off

The Strongest Rope

Posted on August 8, 2010 by David Cross

This past spring I showed one of my classes the History Channel video about Sunzi’s Art of War. In that film are interviews with a number of experts in military history and strategy, and one of them mentioned that the Art of War could be likened to a rope, woven from several cords. Although each of the cords could be broken when tested individually, when woven into a single rope, the rope itself would be unbreakable. So it is with the principles found in the Art of War: Although each principle by itself is not that strong, collectively they are unbreakable, and the result is a winning strategy. And the Art of War, like a good rope, can be used for a variety of purposes, including not only the military, but business, sport, health care, and even parenting.

This past summer I participated in TCU-in-Scotland, one of TCU’s study abroad programs. As part of this program I taught two courses, one on leadership and strategy (Tao of Strategy), and the other on creativity (Zen of Creativity). As my major presentation to the group, which includes geologists as well as psychologists, I worked up a presentation called “The Strongest Rope,” based on the rope metaphor mentioned in the History Channel video. I was able to distill all of my investigations regarding strategy into seven principles (cords). My working hypothesis is that that the general-purpose strategy woven from these seven principles is indeed the strongest possible strategy.

Since these seven principles now frame my thinking about effective action, I intend to start this blog with an overview of “The Strongest Rope.” Each of the next seven posts will introduce one of the seven principles constituting the proposed strategic framework. Posts following these initial seven will elaborate and evaluate the strategic framework, connecting it with a broad range of discussions and data regarding effective human action. The seven principles are:

It is perhaps worth noting that the first two of these — How Things Work and Less Is More — correspond (loosely) to Metaphysics, the second two — Know Yourself and Know the Situation — correspond (loosely) to Epistemology, and the final three — Solve for Pattern, Embrace Paradox and Command with Character — correspond (loosely) to Ethics. (Metaphysics, epistemology, and ethics are three of philosophy’s major branches.) The seven principles are incremental, each one building on, and amplifying, the previous ones.

Cheers,
David Cross
Fort Worth, Texas

Posted in Strategy, Sunzi | Comments Off

Solving for Pattern