Transcendental Generalization

First, Break All the Rules says that great managers define talents as “recurring patterns of thought, feeling, or behavior that can be put to productive use.”

I constantly think of ways to improve a system by understanding its current operation and altering its design for desired operation.

When I want to study or critique a written work, I will frequently edit it. As I think about what each word and sentence is intended to communicate, I develop a model of what is in the author’s mind. As I reword or reorganize the writing, and bring my own understanding to bear, gaps and inaccuracies in the author’s model (at least as it is communicated) become apparent. I can then ask intelligent questions or provide constructive criticism.

This occasionally gets me into trouble. Authors sometimes want validation of their writings as is. They don’t always share my desire to test models. Sometimes, the author’s model is sound but the communication exhibits gaps and inaccuracies. When this is pointed out, some authors pooh-pooh my observations as unimportant. Sometimes, authors are heavily invested, financially or emotionally, in unsound models. When my study exposes these problems, they react with angry embarrassment.

Recently, I have been hungry to read entrepreneurs’ business plans. I expect that I can study their plans, understand their models, and bring my experience to bear in testing the soundness of their models. My expertise or relationships may help them complete, improve, or better communicate their business models. If I can use my talent in this way, then many people can benefit from the success of the business.

Finally, I constantly imagine creating elegant new systems from scratch, incorporating the principles of excellent operation, learned from figuring out how things work. For many years, I imagined writing an operating system or compiler from scratch, incorporating principles of excellent software engineering. My interest in AI may be seen as a desire to create the “ideal” computer, one with the awesome and mysterious powers of the human brain. More recently, I have been interested in building the “ideal” business from scratch, one that incorporates principles of excellent economics, management, product development, and marketing.

When I entered management, this desire for personal participation in the creative process had to be reconciled with the need to delegate to my direct reports. I quickly achieved this reconciliation by making the results I desired (a system incorporating principles of excellent operation) clear to them, and allowing them to achieve the results as they pleased. However, it was certainly challenging to accommodate aspiring leaders who had strong opinions of what constitutes excellent operation, along with hard workers looking for leadership and direction from me.

Enough introspection for a while. I’m going to try dedicating this blog to the presentation of models.

First, Break All the Rules says that great managers define talents as “recurring patterns of thought, feeling, or behavior that can be put to productive use.”

It delights me to teach others how systems operate, by making effective presentations. This is why, as a child, I enjoyed building and showing off models made from plastic kits and Lego bricks. I preferred drawing diagrams and drafting blueprints over other kinds of art. I was sufficiently good at writing to dream of becoming a great novelist, but writing non-fiction has been my recurring pattern. I especially enjoyed reading science fiction, but when attempting to write it, I frequently got hung up on how things worked: How could faster-than-light travel or artificial gravity be reconciled with the known laws of physics? I was easily distracted from the fact that science fiction is about suspending, voluntarily, what we know makes sense and, as in other literature, exploring the social and interpersonal implications for well-developed characters.

Teaching is, for me, a way to spread the joy I feel when a model crystallizes. Teaching and communicating from the stage are in my DNA. My most impassioned presentations are the ones that serve to teach. I wrote my book to spread understanding of how computers work. Blogging is a way for me simultaneously to crystallize models through the process of writing, and to communicate them to others.

I used to assume that others share the deep satisfaction I derive from achieving an understanding of how things work. When my audience didn’t experience the joy of the crystallized model, I took it as a personal failure to communicate. Then I realized that people often are indifferent to understanding the operation of a system. They may dislike analysis and dissection of systems familiar to them, especially when the flaws in systems they cherish are made obvious.

First, Break All the Rules says that great managers define talents as “recurring patterns of thought, feeling, or behavior that can be put to productive use.”

In general, I feel compelled to study a new system (organism, machine, business, economy, situation, even person) until it “makes sense.” A model for how it operates crystallizes in my mind. When the model is new or unexpected, or when a new aspect of an existing model becomes apparent, then this process of crystallization is immensely satisfying, deeply inspiring, and enjoyable. The blood seems to rush to my head, and my neck prickles. At its most intense, it is what I would consider a “religious experience,” though I don’t believe it to be supernatural. When a model crystallizes, it is a transcendent experience for me, a glimpse into the world of abstract Platonic ideals.

As a child, I frequently took apart toys and appliances and derived joy from discovering clever designs. I feel that my entire undergraduate career was devoted to learning how computers work. My graduate-school interest in AI, and my childhood interest in brain function was due to curiosity about how the mind works. My lifelong interest in physics and biology has been due to curiosity about how the universe works and how organic life works. My analysis of stocks for purchase and sale is animated by a desire to understand how different businesses operate and sustain themselves.

To me, writings and computer programs are models of a system. The pleasure of writing and programming lies in the process of crystallizing models that function as desired and meet design criteria. I experience psychological flow when I write prose or programs.

Achieving this kind of understanding is inherently rewarding to me, but it can also “be put to productive use.” The model frequently suggests actions that make sense for me to take. Because worry is generally caused by feelings of helplessness about an uncertain situation, the model eases worry and stress. Occasionally, possession of the model imparts a feeling of control, advantage, or power. Most importantly, when a person annoys or angers me, a model of the situation raises my tolerance level. It lets me find compassion in an understanding of the forces the person is operating under. Indeed, I now know that when my immediate reaction is, “What an idiot!” then my model of the person or the situation is incorrect or incomplete.

Though the process of crystallization may be a source of intense joy, I understand that the model itself can be corrupted by my own biases, ignorance, or misunderstanding of specific details. Often, I seek a model for a specific insight, or to suggest an action, but the model that crystallizes may be unsuited for this purpose. Therefore, it is important to test the model, refine it, encourage others to critique it, and be willing to abandon it or replace it. (In short, I believe in treating the model as a hypothesis in the scientific method.)

When the model of a business suggests it is undervalued by the stock market, purchasing shares in the company is a way to test the model, literally putting my money where my mouth (model) is. Computer programs can be tested by running them or their components under a variety of conditions. Writings can be tested by trying to read them from the perspectives of various people. With frequent testing and refinement, elegant writings or computer programs can be written. Specific methods of refinement have been codified in books like Refactoring, and The Elements of Style.

Although I speak of “elegant” and “refined” systems, I am not quick to make value judgments about a system. A system may operate effectively, achieving a desired purpose simply, rapidly and efficiently. It may also be dysfunctional, achieving an undesirable purpose. It may appear to be non-functional, but succeed in occupying valuable space or attention by its very existence. I understand that value judgments about a system can only be made in the context of the purpose it was constructed for, the constraints it was constructed under, and the environment it must operate in. Furthermore, as time passes, there may be a desire to extend the value of the system by repurposing it, constraints may become relaxed, and the environment usually changes. Hence, the construction of a system that now is dysfunctional or seems irrational may be perfectly reasonable in a historical context.

Recently, I have found it very interesting to observe a system that appears dysfunctional in some ways and find out the historical purposes and environmental constraints that caused it to turn out the way it did. This might be described as crystallizing a model of a meta-system, a system that creates dysfunctional systems. Whereas politics, history and economics used to intimidate or bore me, I now find them fascinating for this reason. These subjects study the human systems that create governmental systems, business systems, and artifacts. When a governmental system is corrupt, when a business system is unsustainable, or when the market value of an artifact seems to far exceed the value of its function, these subjects explain the environmental and historical cause.

I enjoy seeing models presented visually in ways that expose design elements. This is why, as a child, I enjoyed studying diagrams and illustrations, and collected posters charting the paths of space shuttle missions. This is why, as an adult, I found Edward Tufte’s book and course, The Visual Display of Quantitative Information, memorable and deeply satisfying.

I just finished reading First, Break All the Rules, and it has been a real eye-opener.

I used to struggle to answer the question, “What are your strengths and weaknesses?”

In school, I was expected to do well in every subject, and I always succeeded in graduating with a very high GPA, having taken a variety of courses. I was “well-rounded,” exhibiting above-average performance across the board. I approached new challenges, physical and intellectual, head-on. I prided myself on learning—and excelling at—new skills, whether I truly enjoyed them or not. At job performance review time, I was careful to describe development and training plans by which to strengthen areas in which I seemed to lag my peers.

I believed that other people could also learn and excel at new skills, with the proper carrot and the proper stick. I did learn early on (the hard way) not to change people who didn’t want change. I never took delight in forcing a square peg into a round hole. I accepted and found reasons to appreciate people the way they were. But if I sensed a modicum of desire for change, I was ready to provide help, guidance, and motivation along with my own time, skills and expertise. It never occurred to me to ask, “Although this person is open to change, is it wrong to allow it, much less encourage it? Is it worth my time to help them change?” I never seriously asked such questions, never seriously considered that a person may just be wrong for a role he wants. This seemed an affront against the infinite potential of human beings. This suggested it might be better to fire people than to train them. And as for teachers or managers who resisted helping me to change, I resented them for not believing in my own potential.

As a result, I tried to train other people to overcome their weaknesses, and trained to improve myself wherever I lagged my peers. This is not so bad except that, as the book points out, it distracted me from putting the strengths of other people to productive use and from developing my own strengths. Consequently, it became less clear what my strengths and weaknesses were.

As I entered into various adult relationships—husband, manager, parent, even pet-owner—I began to question the “infinite potential” assumption about other people and about myself. I wanted to encourage my children as I had been encouraged, by telling them, “You can do anything!” but I realized it set them up for failure to say, “You can do everything!” It seemed a sacrilege and an admission of failure to say, “He’ll never change; that’s just the way he is.” But when circumstances left me no choice but to accept such absolutes about people, I discovered that the results were not so bad. I sought changes elsewhere, and found that these were easier and more natural. Eventually, everybody was happier.

(Perhaps Albert Einstein had a similar experience when he allowed that the speed of light might never change no matter who observes it. Other assumptions about mass, space, and time had to change, but eventually, everybody was happier with the predictive power of the theory of relativity. This is not to compare my IQ with that of the greatest mind of the 20^th century, but only to draw some inspiration and validation from one of his achievements.)

First, Break All the Rules also challenges the “infinite potential” assumption, questioning whether it is a good idea for people to change or be changed. It says to stop obsessing over weaknesses and to invest in understanding, exercising and developing strengths. It facilitates this investment by presenting a novel definition of “talents.” The book says that great managers define talents as “recurring patterns of thought, feeling, or behavior that can be put to productive use.” I would never have defined talents in this way. My definition would be something like “exceptional abilities and competencies exhibited by people with relatively ordinary training and experience,” but it is still an interesting and useful definition.

So, if you’ll pardon the introspection, I’ll spend the next couple of posts discussing my own talents.

A few years ago, Volkswagen introduced a turbocharged version of their New Beetle. To promote the car, they gave away postcards like this:

I love the styling of this car, so I kept one of these cards on a pegboard in my office. Recently, I decided to make a similar card for my dream car, the 2005-2007 Porsche 911 Carrera S:

It only seemed appropriate, since the original Beetle was designed by Porsche’s founder, and the original Carrera was its “sporting evolution”. When Giveaway of the Day gave away Morpheus Photo Morpher, I was thrilled to try showing this evolution visually.