The complexity of explaining the intuitive.
I’d like you to conduct a little thought experiment with me.
Assume you and I are standing 10 feet apart, and I’m holding a soft NERF ball, approximately 25 cm in diameter.
I toss the ball to you, underhand, in a soft, lazy arc.
You have two options: You can either eyeball it, and catch the thing; or you can attempt to calculate the speed, angle, impact of wind, and gravitational effects to predict both where the ball can be caught, and how much grasping force you’ll need to hold on to it.
Why yes, I was intending to be absurd. Glad to know I pulled that one off.
What I’m trying to say is, often proving that a thing can be done, is much more difficult than actually doing the thing.
This is only a problem because, and I’ve only realized this in the last couple of years, I’ve spent my entire life in pursuit of intuitive understanding of systems and effects. I can explain the rules in broad strokes, and point to research, but inevitably I solve problems by looking at as much data as I can that is directly or tangentially involved in the problem, and then I arrive at a solution.
The next step, irritatingly, is to back-rationalize the solution, picking out every assumption I’ve made along the way to the insight or approach I’m running with, and then looking for evidence or supporting theories that I can use to get other people on the train with me.
I find this frustrating for an obvious reason: it doubles the workload, without actually adding anything (of value comparable to the effort expended) to the outcome.
In Cory Doctorow’s book For the Win, he mentions a concept called fingerspitzengefuhl, or fingertip-feel. In literal terms, it’s the idea of having the world resting against the nerve-dense tissue at the end of a finger, and being able to sense every little tremor on that globe. It’s an artful word, and it’s a concept that I think, in part, pairs very well with that of systems thinking.
To understand something so well that you can LOOK at it and see the problem, that is magic to me, in large part because I’m an intuitive person. I do poorly with rules, but I do very well with perceiving flaws, and seeing where the potential for correction exists.
At the end of the day, it’s substantially simpler to understand something than it is to explain it.
Understanding can come simply from observation, immersion, experience. You need to delve into how something works, but you can use your unconscious mind to fill in some of the blanks.
Explanation requires breaking down your understanding into a digestible model, finding a way of explaining that digestible model, and then providing evidence for every non-obvious element of that digestible model.
You also generally need to explain things in a way that doesn’t require any pre-existing understanding of the subject matter. Which, when dealing with truly complex (rather than just complicated) issues, can be nearly impossible.
There are clear issues with what I’m saying here, foremost among them being the arrogance of stating that ‘just getting it’ should not be interrupted by a need to justify every decision, but it comes from the same central point as the defence of creative arts - some things are too complex to explain well consciously. And in the attempt to work in reverse (or in the accepted direction), to move from data to assumptions to justifications to an idea or plan, all true understanding and complexity is removed.
Ask someone to build an algorithm that will correctly intuit human emotion, or the details of a moving biological body, or even music, and they will be hard pressed to generate something that passes an initial inspection. But we ask that people develop plans and strategies to influence human behaviour on a mass scale, and we ask that they do it by trying to reduce their understanding of a system to a spreadsheet.
I understand the rationale, but I admit I also find it exhausting, at times. I’d rather pursue the ability to feel what is and isn’t working like it’s on the tip of my finger, than pursue an approximate, ever-more-obsolete, model of behaviour.
Reminding Myself: Panopticon
Out of curiosity, would anyone be interested in a longer, in depth exploration of the “democratized panopticon” concept I haphazardly mentioned in my last post?
In this case, interested means “I’m going to do it no matter what, but would appreciate people to bounce ideas off of / discuss with, outside of my standard (and beloved and trusted) usual circle”.
Current thought is to start with the initial Panopticon concept, and then talk about technology reshaping it, how society has adapted, a few specific examples, and what it means for key elements of present (and future) human identity and interaction.
I needed a new project anyway.
Death by Process.
Do you have a process, or a cage?
A process is a massively useful tool. It’s a powerful way to make sure you don’t miss any steps, and that the finished product reaches the standards for quality you set.
But a process is also inherently limiting. By establishing steps, procedures and specific measurements of quality across the board, you run the risk of creating a factory that generates one kind of solution, rather than a method of determining the best solution for each unique problem.
And no, brainstorming doesn’t ‘fix’ this situation. Inserting a creative act into a box that limits its shape and scope does not make a process creative, or original.
That said, you need a process of some kind. Creativity, when aimless, rarely ships anything of value.
Things that I consider key parts of my process:
- Open ended questions that get me to consider what the actual problem, and actual solution are
- Identifying creative elements that each project requires (from myself, and others)
- Listing un-executable but awesome solutions (then dissecting why they are un-executable)
- Identifying the end behavior desired, then working backwards
- Screwing around: that is, diverting focus to tangentially related content for inspiration and insight (WARNING: not billable)
If every action is identified in advance, the range of potential outcomes is limited. When playing an instrument, there’s a limited number of notes, and pleasing combinations thereof. You are already inherently limited by the extent of what your chosen canvas (whether it be artistic, or professional) can incorporate.
Consider this before creating a rigid process that turns your ideas into widgets, all coming off the same assembly line.
Bending to Reality.
I was never more creative than when I didn’t have a schedule. I’d have deadlines, sure, and classes which were of varying importance to attend, but I had to constant, overarching reason to bend the time spent on any given task, per day, to anything other than when the work had to be delivered. And I never missed deadlines, because everything else was flexible.
I miss being able to go on a 12 hour research binge, followed by a 4 hour writing and revision binge, followed by 2 hours of Entourage, 2 hours of sleep, delivering the finished product, and finally another 14 hours of sleep. I have a vast array of reasons why this is no longer a feasible approach to work (mostly working in teams, on large, intricate processes where many people rely on my being accessible) but I miss it nonetheless. I miss being able to disappear into the work, rather than have the work disappear into the process.
I also have a feeling that this type of work, the type I cherished so much, is only possible in a situation like academia, where someone is so closely defining the scope and ingredients of your work that you can be left entirely to your own devices.
I don’t have a solution or suggestion this time. I’m just pointing out one of the inherent sacrifices in working with real world toys, rather than intellectual playgrounds. You need to bend to reality, from time to time, in the real world.
It’s probably worth it. This is no way means I’m not constantly looking for a workflow that mimics the best parts of complete independence, while offering the benefit of working in a skilled, motivated, tightly knit team.
