The Hames Report

Litanies

1. Memories

Old age brings certain gifts, as long as we are open to receiving them. For me, one of these gifts is sudden and unexpected recollections from a past fast-receding from temporal view. Now and again, yet increasingly with each passing week, shards of memories long forgotten break surface with astounding precision. I am able to watch my past self with wrapt fascination. The pattern is always the same. A sound, scent, or some other sensation triggers a hiatus in what I happen to be doing. Nebulous mists clear to reveal vaguely familiar shapes before intimate details mob me and stop me in my tracks.

I had such an experience yesterday while watching a new movie. Greyhound tells the story of an inexperienced World War II US Navy captain, played by Tom Hanks, who must protect an Allied convoy of supply ships crossing the Atlantic Ocean while being stalked by Nazi U-boat wolfpacks. Towards the end of the movie Tom Hanks sinks to his knees, giving thanks to his God that he and his crew survived the ordeal. Instantly I realised what I was viewing was a mirror of a long-buried childhood experience.

Having embraced Buddhism at the age of 13, casting aside the doctrine in which I had been raised, I had also inadvertently purged most memories relating to that time. Only now I remembered...

Each evening as a child my mother taught me to pray on my knees to her Christian God. A kindly soul by all accounts, but one who stubbornly refused to make himself known to me. Nonetheless from the age of eight, whether at home or in the school dormitory, I knelt and prayed. My petition was simple, and it was the same each evening. God, look after mummy. Make me a good boy. And if you see my daddy please tell him that I love him. Amen.

At that stage, you see, all I knew was that my father had suddenly vanished from my life. As my solitary idol, he left a vacuum that could never be filled. I would not discover the truth of what happened to him for another 37 years - after I received a letter. A hand-written note, barely legible in an unschooled scrawl. A note from a stranger. My father. In the note an awkwardly expressed affection, along with an intimation he would like to see me.

The note arrived too late. I would not see my father again. There was no grieving at the news of his death. I had been through that torment decades before. There was no pain left. But the instant I realised how I used to pray so dutifully every day was shockingly poignant.

How did that daily ritual affect me? What good did my prayers do? Did they bring relief and comfort to my sorrow? Or did they simply prolong ingrained uncertainties? What bearing did the routine have on my state of mind and emotional development? Was it to blame for how I feel today about the covert menace of religious righteousness?

2. Righteous

I do not know. I cannot answer these questions. But there is another point to all of this. As a Buddhist, I try to live by tenets resonating from the spiritual praxis acquired throughout my life – particularly through grief. For me, this means tolerating those whose attitudes do not accord with mine – even when they detest me and everything I value. Humility. Doing what I can to be a worthy ancestor. Showing compassion for those who struggle. Mindful reflection preceding action. And a deep love for the sacredness of life. Not bad values to live by, and undoubtedly shared with many others.

Most importantly though, these tenets have taught me not to impose my beliefs on others. My credo is as simple as that childhood prayer. In spite of our heritage, acquired status, and superfluous titles, nobody enters this world any more or less inferior than anyone else. We are all born into conditions over which we have no control and very little influence. The only significant disparities between a monarch and a pauper are the inheritance of wealth, the delusions arising from that accident of birth, and deference shown by minions who hope to profit from their fawning behaviour.

What we are able to accomplish during our brief time here differs only inconsequentially. Expecting nothing in return for an act of kindness, offered in a spirit of generosity by a poor person towards a stranger, or from a child to an elder, is worth far more than a truckload of philanthropic dollars distributed by billionaires who want to feel good, look good and, if possible, get a tax break.

Eventually, we are all condemned to an end-game over which there can be no appeal. I have no right to judge others when I cannot read their story, feel their suffering, appreciate their circumstances, or truly put myself in their shoes. To do so is old-style hubris.

3. Hubris

Yet business schools still happily churn out old-style managers who are constantly told to apply such hubris – based upon a plethora of conflicting excuses for why others should heed their wisdom and in the warped belief that their status bestows upon them the right to motivate others - or to inflict penalties when those they aim to inspire are insufficiently enthused.

Likewise, organisations managed by armies of freshly-minted MBAs still incorrectly assume that controlling people is as easy as applying statistical methods and software development routines to improve processes and manage projects. This is the industrial-military method applied uncritically. Indeed, even the most recent management fads are bound up with these mechanistic derivatives.

The imposition of pointless, mind-numbing, often humiliating work today is the result of such hubris, together with the continued fragmentation of knowledge that occurs when we continue to compartmentalize organisations for reasons of efficiency and control.

Up to 30 percent of all work can be sorted into categories where it is impossible to find adequate explanations for its existence. In fact, many jobs seem to be designed purely to keep us busy doing something. Anything!

And while technology has advanced to the extent that many jobs are superfluous, and a 15-hour working week is certainly feasible and has been proven beneficial in any number of experiments, the puritanical work ethos that demands we labour for 40 hours or more seems to be ingrained. The result is a plague of pointless drudgery in an ocean of unrelenting tedium.

4. Tedium

It is hardly surprising that such drudgery would lead to high levels of staff disengagement. The managerial feudalism that persists in so many corporations puts people off work and generates mental health problems. According to Gallup, only 13 percent of all employees find their work engaging. Meaningless work, inadequate resources, a chronic misuse of talent, and a lack of trust in management are the major causes of this disenchantment.

But if we examine the 20 percent who are actively disengaged, one major factor stares us in the face: it is the obstacles self-motivated and creative individuals face when taking the initiative, experimenting, or attempting to dispense with age-old protocols they know to be hindering productivity.

Irrespective of the industry, market, location, or size of the company hubris, together with the delusions of control or power arising from such vanity, invariably stand in the way of exceptional performance. Traditionally managed organisations will have none of this of course. Boards and senior executives operating within the mainstream corporate power structures get far too much pay, preening attention, and other incentives to contemplate changing their command and control mindsets.

Believe it or not, even when agile, adaptive, or navigational approaches are regularly used by the most shrewd and forward-looking enterprises, an unhealthy preoccupation with targets, critical success factors, performance indicators, and appraisals, as well as a host of other teeming distractions, can deter collaboration, hijack the learning metabolism, and compromise the productivity potential of the entire enterprise.

It is not difficult to eliminate tedium from any enterprise – assuming a flat structure where talented, self-motivated individuals can take risks, collaborate, and experiment. Indeed, many entrepreneurial startups are able to rapidly scale-up using liquid structures where the dynamic flows of information and activities, lightning-fast decisions, peripatetic teams, and fractal leadership, interact transparently.

Working for companies like Valve, Zappos, Tik Tok, Atlassian, Canva, Legal Monkeys, or Aurecon, for example, is intrinsically inspiring. In these open environments, purpose and passion drive effort while management simply morphs into collaboration. Work becomes a fearless, fluid adventure, where no one is there to tell you what to do or to reprimand you when you make a mistake. Of course, you might not think it sensible to inflict this kind of open structure in companies demanding the precise coordination of complex activities, such as an international airline, for example. But to impose management orthodoxies in organisations like those above would be an act of sheer folly.

5. Folly

The British physicist Steven Hawking asserted that greed and stupidity would be the downfall of humanity. Although I am hesitant to contradict such a proposition, I venture to suggest that love and compassion are the two things that might yet save us. Nevertheless, even that small step will require us to see things differently, accept new ways of relating to each other and nature, and develop a new moral consciousness.

Actually, the more haunting question for me is whether or not we Sapiens are wise enough to survive our own undeniable ingenuity and ability to endure. This was the question that provoked the founding of the Centre for the Future. It is a question that continues to preoccupy me.

Examples of extreme stupidity are all around us of course, but none more so than in the indefensible ways we choose to relate to each other and to nature.

Individuals can be very smart – such defines the spirit of entrepreneurship. And most entrepreneurs consult widely in order to scale their ideas collaboratively. But when even the most intelligent people get together in board rooms and parliaments, any collective wisdom we might have assumed can vanish in a confusion of ego, dogma, risk aversion, and a tendency to rebrand what is known rather than venturing into new realms of inquiry.

Part of our collective stupidity today derives from an innate self-confidence. Today this is boosted by our unprecedented capability, via social media, to connect with and to hear what everyone else is thinking. This coupling can lead us into situations where it is easy to assume our opinions are equally valid to others - even when it is not based on verifiable evidence. For example, you might establish your views about climate change on scientific data from a panel of experts, whereas I have simply adopted the opinion of a celebrity I happened to see on television who gave me the impression he knew what he was talking about.

When emotionally amplified, this coupling of confidence with connectivity can also give rise to situations in which we are either offended or outraged. That too is a problem because both emotions open us up to easy manipulation and there are always unscrupulous people ready to take advantage of that.

Certainly, it is the case that stupid, outraged, or easily offended individuals are far more convinced of the accuracy of their views than smarter people who tend to sustain doubts and uncertainties. Moreover, because of our predilection for educating by fragmenting knowledge to fit highly specialized work structures, rather than the other way around, we have created conditions that amply demonstrate the hazards inherent in allowing this to continue.

Take science, for example, which is one of the best ways we have of understanding the world in which we live. Science is inevitably provisional, as is truth. Yet stupid people seek certainty in science. Once having found their truth, they then latch onto it with unwavering passion.

This penchant many of us have developed for trusting our instincts over objective data partially explains why incumbent plutocrats find the conception of a world where conflict, wars, and other forms of violence exist, utterly acceptable. In their world, it is legitimate to bully the weak, rob the poor, threaten those with whom they disagree, and assassinate those whom they fear.

As for ordinary citizens like us, we have meekly tolerated this state of affairs. It endures because of our apathy. We stand idly by, paying no attention to constant warnings that the breakdown of our climate and the unravelling of so many natural ecosystems must be treated as a global emergency. We continue to elect corrupt and uncaring officials who stigmatize and stereotype the homeless and the poor as parasites and workers as lesser mortals. And all the time we put up with this, cocooning ourselves in a zone of delusion where our ultimate purpose is to own more and more stuff we do not really want.

In effect, we are all contributing to a world in which the gradual emaciation of any moral or spiritual imperative is becoming normalized.

6. Normal

Normalcy is in the news – as is talk of the “new” normal – whatever that might mean in what is already looming as a decade of disruption. Most public attention at the moment is focused on the current pandemic and speculation concerning a “post-pandemic” world. Given the likelihood of further, potentially highly virulent outbreaks, from known and new viruses, I would have thought it highly imprudent to frame the short-term future in terms of a post-anything world!

Although the universal public response to COVID-19, rather than the virus itself, has led to the most fundamental socio-economic crisis experienced by our generation, it is still unclear as to what extent we will be able to carry on with life as usual - least of all what we should take with us, and leave behind, from that period prior to the outbreak when so many of our life-critical systems were already beginning to stutter and fail.

What the coronavirus is doing in such spectacular fashion is to reveal the deep fault-lines and systemic fragility existing in the world we have carefully crafted. It is as though nature has given us this virus as a dress rehearsal for what we might expect going forward – the chance to bring a regenerative consciousness to bear on human activities.

Human brains possess a great deal of plasticity, so there is little doubt we can adapt to new circumstances once the fog has cleared, as long as conditions on the planet remain conducive to life. But too many of the current batch of politicians and industry leaders, eager to see a return to business-as-usual, remain trapped in the mental coordinates of a world that no longer exists. They yearn to return to the comfort of a familiar past, over which they assumed they had control.

The truth is becoming clearer each day that passes. The longer the current crisis persists, and much depends in that regard on how soon we acquire herd immunity or an effective vaccine can be invented, the greater the likelihood we will underestimate the damage being done to the social fabric of society and, as a consequence, the degree to which massive change will be required. Then again, if it is bad for more affluent societies, the potential collapse of all economic activity will be catastrophic for the least-developed, most vulnerable nations.

Critical questions, too, concern the nature of the emerging world order. Will we see the unravelling of financial and trade globalisation? Will national interests dominate? How will the international community treat an increasingly formidable yet intrinsically problematic China and a deeply divided US at the point of civil conflict? Will economic integration be a fading dream as the relatively free movement of people across national borders ceases?

And what about business? Will retail malls, the daily commute into the city office, the law firm, the schoolyard, and the university campus fade into the memory? If so will innovation be unleashed in sufficient amounts to replace these institutions and generate the dramatic improvements in productivity where it is actually needed? I must admit this speculation of massive change and its consequences is making me feel nostalgic for the world we might be leaving behind...

7. Nostalgia

Nothing is permanent of course. As we have seen, even science is ephemeral. Nostalgia is also a seductive liar. Attachment to the material world and old habits such as those briefly mentioned above are ultimately of little consequence. In the end, though, the manner in which we are able to deal with our various attachments shapes and defines us.

These days my attachment to material objects is declining in alignment with my pursuit of a more peaceful, less hectic, existence. Of course, that quest has been accelerated by the current pandemic. Even in this remote part of Thailand, it is impossible to escape the aura of fear that has us in its grasp. Here though I am surrounded by my art and music. To lose these would be a great sacrifice. My MacBook, too, has become the repository of ideas, feelings, and projects stretching back over two decades. I would not want to lose it. But if I did I would cope.

In terms of affiliation, the affection I feel for humanity and for this planet our home, grows stronger and more resolute each day, while a committed detachment from the deeds of greedy, powerful, individuals, and the ways in which they have designed systems for their own benefit, at least gives me the courage to do the work I do.

I think back on those memories of my childhood with growing affection. Even those that are cocooned in sadness and grief, like the loss of my father.

What I have found exceedingly difficult to deal with is my attachment to these memories along with some highly personal artifacts from the past. Many years ago, an entire collection of my music, which had been recorded over a period of seven years, and which had been left in trust with one of my children, disappeared. There were no copies. After the initial anger had subsided, and I managed to work through the grief and sense of personal loss, I felt as though a part of me had been rubbed out, leaving only a fading, blurred daguerreotype.

More recently I discovered several hand-written letters dating back half a century, were missing from an antique Chinese chest in which I keep original scores and other assorted memorabilia. There was a pen and ink letter from the poet Ted Hughes, for example, responding to my setting of his poems Eros and King of Carrion, from this book Hawk in the Rain, which had received its premiere at the Edinburgh Festival. And another very brief note from my teacher Nadia Boulanger to my mother, assuring her of my talent.

Such bits and pieces are irreplaceable. The sense of loss inevitably cuts deep, even when they remain intact in the memory and are assuaged through the lens of Buddhist practice.

Buddhism teaches us not to become too attached to things. Indeed, one of the four noble truths in Buddhist scriptures asserts desire and attachment to be the sources of so much dissatisfaction and suffering. I must confess that I still find this a difficult precept to live by and a dilemma I have constantly wrestled with. Most material possessions I found easy enough to discard. I never owned property until I was 70 years old, for example, though my fondness for books, contemporary art, and music scores provides me with the greatest joy imaginable. Old age certainly brings gifts in its wake. As long as we are still open to receiving them.

 

The Swimmer, The Fisherman, and the Deep-Sea Diver

Knowledge is the condition of understanding something which is personally meaningful, and potentially useful in some capacity. As such it is deeply subjective. What may count as knowledge for one sentient being may not have the same meaning for another. In other words, objective truth for you may not be the empirical truth for me.

Existing at differing levels of cognition and aptitude, knowledge ranges from autonomic information acquired both prior to and following birth, data absorbed on a second-by-second basis, mostly utilitarian in nature, that allows us to think and take action in real-time, information we discover through practice, intentionally and otherwise, and sudden insights or epiphanies that hold the deepest ontological meaning for us personally.

Although our society institutionalized learning in terms of front-end loading experiences as the basis for cognitive development, via models of compulsory schooling, for example, acquiring knowledge is a quest to which there is no end.

Most people feel uncomfortable using this definition of knowledge and not just because it signifies there can be no universal truth. The lack of certainty can be disturbing, especially when individual perspectives and practical experiences clash, thereby creating cognitive dissonance, or when bias enters the equation – which is actually most of the time.

Knowledge, along with knowing or not knowing, have been the source of most challenges facing the human species through the ages. We access knowledge in making decisions all day, every day - decisions that deeply impact our lives, and the lives of those around us.

Once we resolve more fundamental problems, like survival for example, and deal with the many trivial matters that occupy us, like how to spend our leisure time, whether to follow a religion or not, or when to embark on that new exercise regime, we are confronted by any number of more profound knowledge issues on numerous fronts - from figuring out who our real friends are, to what can be done to make the world a better place.

Today we live in a world of profound disruption, A world in transition between industrial models and practices and new, as yet unused, futures. Four learning-related hurdles stand in the way of assuring a positive metamorphosis and outcomes:

1. Habituation, satisfaction with the status quo, ennui concerning most forward views, and our linearly compressed experience of progress and time, have conspired to generate a crisis of imagination. It is not that we have lost our innate capability for transformative change, it is simply that we do not have the energy any longer, least of all the impulse to step into new ontological frameworks as the basis for change. It has all become too tiresome. And we have now come to deem it unnecessary.
2. Only now are we beginning to comprehend the complexity of a world in which we, as a single species or family, comprise myriad cultures, beliefs and truths. There is a need to act together, from a shared sense of unity and legitimacy. Unified action cannot derive just from an accrual of individual experiences. Rather, it must evolve in terms of our collective knowledge of the human condition, in its context, taking note of the need to embrace culturally distinctive viewpoints when interpreting or translating the emergent civilisational narrative. We are not set up, nor sufficiently organized, to achieve such unanimity. The urge to compete is a hindrance. It just gets in the way.
3. As we constantly fail to address the planetary crises impacting all 7.7 billion of us, it is becoming clear that the intellectual processes we use to enquire, reason, discuss decide, and act are insufficient for our needs - particularly given the complexity we have knowingly created. In some ways our capability to think and act expediently, and in harmony, has been surpassed by the digital intelligence we have invented. We might have reached the edge of our ability to solve wicked problems. If so, it is possible we are all in a cognitive gridlock from which we can only be released by using machine intelligence in conjunction with new methods for the renewal of our most ingrained belief systems. Resistance to this idea is common. Nobody likes to be told their thinking can be improved.
4. Our civilisation is comprised of a richly diverse milieu of cultures, values, and tribal mindsets. There are as many different epistemologies in this pluriverse as there are individuals. While such variety should be a cause for celebration, the ensuing lack of tolerance has resulted in conflict and war. The sad truth is that opportunities for each individual to express what it means to be human in their own inimitable way, conflicts with the desire held by those in authority to enforce universally-applicable societal standards, practices, laws and norms. Equally, while some form of global governance is essential in dealing efficiently with pandemics or climate change, for example, ordinary citizens object to the loss of state sovereignty this implies, which they mostly associate with feelings of patriotism and excessive national allegiance.

So, we are left with apathy, competition, a rebuttal of alternative thinking, and ingrained prejudice. If the future of the human project depends on the application of fresh insights and wisdom, this is hardly a great place from which to start.

Facing up to this evidence the question now becomes: How can we break free from those prisons of invention we have unknowingly assembled in order that ignorance and bigotry can be set aside?

Totalitarian-imposed governance might be one way. But even the many far right-wing-leaning autocrats in power today are repulsed by that proposition. They are not about to give away their hard-won authority without a fight. A reformed UN? Doubtful. Toothless tigers are one thing. But states are not yet ready to hand over sovereignty to a powerful global government with veto powers. A social grassroots revolution is equally unlikely. So where does that leave us? Hmm...

What if we are not looking in the most relevant spot? Sometimes it is not the façade that requires restructuring but fundamental practices. Morphological analysis of the rituals and procedures in an entity like the Australian parliament, for example, points to the need for a broadening and deepening of knowledge within the organisation - not another round of new, expensive, exterior changes that are unlikely to improve its overall effectiveness.

If, instead of ideologically-shallow parliamentary debate, we concocted a more nuanced discourse that allows for subtle shades of grey to emerge, how might that reframe public policy?

If instead of artefacts from the past staring down at company directors sitting in their leather chairs, board meetings were held in immersive visualisation environments, to what extent would the ability to simulate alternate strategic patterns aid ethical corporate governance?

And instead of an army of bureaucrats attempting to negotiate reductions in emissions at annual COP extravaganzas, why not commission one hundred of the world’s brightest to put their heads together - 50 men and 50 women across all generations and nationalities. By using an online stage like run-the-world, governments would be able to vote instantly on actionable policies instead of aiming at zero-net emissions by 2050.

Would that lead to more effective outcomes? The answer to all three of these questions is a resounding yes! We have ample proof. 

So instead of modifying existing international bodies or instituting new ones to assume existing roles and expand present-day operations in impotent entities like the UN or the WHO, perhaps we should firstly try to upgrade their cognitive capacity by supplying them with a range of new conversational methods and decision tools. There are many models from which to choose - including appreciative inquiry, integral theory, and causal layered analysis, for example.

One “soft” solution that warrants further investigation in this context is the new approach to structuring and processing cognition developed by Marvin Oka and myself for use by the Centre for the Future and its members.

I have always found it helpful to imagine the total expanse of human knowledge – past, present and possible – as an ocean in which different life forms co-exist, currents and tides generate motion and fluidity, and numerous external factors, such as the sun, moon and weather events, determine every granular detail - from salinity and heat, to erosion and hydrothermal vents.

Using the ocean as a metaphor we can examine the differing knowledge states that exist, or must be acquired, depending on your degree of interaction with the ocean. A swimmer will be conscious of the need for surface information, vital for staying safe and close to the shore. Tidal and other data will be used by fishermen using driftnets to steer them to the best locations. Deep sea divers, on the other hand, need a more complete picture of the ocean using sonar devices to map its topology, ecosystem dynamics, and the geology of the sea floor.

These three parties ask different questions of the ocean because they are motivated by a need for different information from which they can then make decisions. The same is true of any category of person requiring specific knowledge. Prior to any interrogation of data, and in order for any inquiry to be viable, we must know what kind of knowledge is called for, where we can find relevant information, how it can be verified, and what we can do if it is not available. That is where learning comes in.

In 1984 David Kolb described the experience of learning – an instinctive cycle we use in the course of an average day to make decisions, as the process whereby knowledge is created through the transformation of experience. Kolb identified four discrete stages: sensing a concrete experience; making sense of that experience by reflective observation; designing an appropriate response; and actively experimenting with those responses.

In 2010 Richard Bawden developed this basic model in his benchmark study of learning as a social system. Bawden’s seminal insight was that learning was a social function and was therefore intimately related to communities of practice and, consequently, of prime importance to those working in fields ranging from city development and agriculture, to education and public policy.

I found Bawden’s model inspiring and instantly set about integrating his model into my own parallel inquiries. The result was a conversational process I named Odyssey from its exploratory nature. Odyssey is a process predicated on the need to link experiential and conceptual states in order to improve and amplify possibilities in terms of design.

By tracing a recursive and iterative path between exterior and interior realities, invalid and misleading observations, in addition to obsolete assumptions, values and beliefs, can be exposed and transcended, new wisdom given legitimacy, and resilient systems designed around the intention to consciously evolve on the basis of whatever novel design criteria seem most appropriate.

On a more obvious level, Odyssey merges experiential learning about the external world of behaviours and systems (a cycle, as we have seen, comprising sensing, making sense, designing and enacting) with transformativelearning about the internal worlds of beliefs and cultures (a cycle of deconstruction, deep reflection, renewal and legitimation). This latter process would be more familiar to those working in community development or undergoing therapeutic counselling.

At this stage we began to talk about various ways of bringing data to life. We began to take Odyssey into immersive decision theatre environments where digital technology, together with high resolution imaging and augmented reality, allowed us to visualize complexity, play with dynamic patterns, and simulate foreseen and unforeseen consequences in alternative design fictions.

Although each discourse we curated at this stage was by far the most sophisticated I had personally encountered, we began to challenge the lack of other dimensions, particularly vis-à-vis time which was needed if we were going to step into new epistemes of inquiry.

At that stage we added a second infinity loop. Epiphany is the flow of macro-history from the present, via the present moment - which we refer to as the here and now - and out into potential futures. Epiphany delays (or interrupts) any impulse for action without adequate reflection. It achieves this through an exploration of past, present and possible issues and influences, from a variety of levels. As new narratives, literacies and practices evolve from this process the ideas themselves begin to express a paradigm shift to cultural renewal and conscious evolution.

Because the conversational space was already getting a little overcrowded at this stage, we imagined the two infinity loops intersecting at 180 degrees: Odyssey cycling from right to left in front of us, constantly ebbing between concrete and conceptual worlds, and an expanded “now” of consciousness – Epiphany - accelerating from the deep past, through our present point of alertness, and reducing speed as it flows in front of us into future decades and centuries. The importance of this added time dimension cannot be exaggerated: it had the dual function of speeding up our learning metabolism, from the inclusion of large-scale trends from the past, while simultaneously slowing it down in order to reflect on possible future patterns.

By now, we realised the power of the model was potentially unlike anything we had ever encountered in facilitated dialogue. It was creating an almost infinite conversational space in which we could forensically interrogate countless human activities, events, structures and decisions.

But there was still a missing piece to the puzzle - particularly in terms of morphological relations within and between various information domains. While it was always easy enough to talk about surface phenomena, especially those more easily observed, a lack of imagination and experience in using alternative contextual frameworks made it difficult for learners to transcend their own ingrained ontologies and epistemological preferences.

This missing morphological analysis we depict as an iceberg - which is why I started this essay in terms of oceans of knowledge. The iceberg is the central fulcrum on which both Odyssey and Epiphany loops are finely balanced. Try to imagine the entire conceptual structure floating in an ocean of possibility.

These two interwoven strands, poised on the morphological iceberg, bobbing around in an ocean of actual and potential knowledge, define four basic conversational domains. Topics within these domains can be examined from differing altitudes and through a variety of lenses. The most common of these are the interior-exterior and the individual-collective filters, derived from Ken Wilber’s integral theory, which I have written about extensively in describing the cycle of desire and consumption in which we are trapped.

Observable events appear in the tip of the iceberg. Our awareness of surface activity is often a distraction because we can only react to its presence. Yet most news items and policy formulation are attracted to this veneer. Everything happening below the surface is treated as a lower risk, when in fact, the deeper one dives, the greater meaning can be found. In the knowledge ocean, the fisherman will see patterns that he must anticipate and the tidal dynamics that can lead to an improved understanding of where to find the fish. But only the deep-sea diver, cocooned within a mini-submarine exoskeleton, can truly grasp the secret subterranean crevices and mysterious life-forms that occupy the deep.

This symbol of the iceberg, with the bulk of the structure hidden under the water, points to levels of knowledge and related understandings that will be needed if we are to find adequate solutions to certain problems – depending on their closeness to the surface of our awareness. It also indicates the kind of action we might take given the kind of inquiry we are able to conduct. And it implies the degree to which we can alter and shape more fundamental aspects of the human condition, if we have a mind to.

By their very nature, global-scale socio-economic and political transitions demand the ability to create new knowledge, then use that knowledge to turn conversations that matter into actions that make a difference. Discourse that is radically honest, courageous, expansive and out-of-the-box. Discourse that take you in surprising directions and that opens up entirely novel possibilities.

Sadly, strategic discourse of this kind is mostly missing in organisational and public life at a time when it is most needed. Organisations from local and state governments to the UN and WHO are trapped in a cognitive gridlock. Unable to break through this threshold they continue to use politically-correct, time-honoured practices, including routines that make matters far worse. This is why these organisations, founded in less chaotic times, albeit with good intentions, have reached the limits of their capacity to solve humanity’s most existential problems.

This method, which we call the Wayfinding experience, is by no means the only solution that has been developed to help reframe cognitive, discursive and design activity. Nor is it recommended for investigating complicated phenomena. It is tricky to curate and taken out of context can be confusing. In practice a little knowledge can so easily overshadow the flow of free dialogue that is essential for effective strategic design.

On the other hand, it is engaging and reveals complex structures with ease. The strength of the curatorial approach, unlike conventional facilitation, means that participants remain unaware of the varied processes informing the experience in which they are immersed. To them it is simply a richer than normal conversation that is challenging and enlightening. An alchemical experience that resonates in the memory only because it allowed them to be at once a swimmer, a fisherman and a deep-sea diver in an unexplored, previously unfathomable, knowledge ocean.

Naturally Speaking

In natural systems, physical matter flows in cycles. Nutrients from one form of life become food for another. Organisms live and die, eventually returning to the soil or the sea where the cycle starts again. 

During the industrial revolution, we invented a different modus operandi. Industrialised, or mechanised production, was an innovative, rational response, to an escalating population requiring sufficient quantities of food, and whose labour, in exchange for wages, allowed workers to buy goods from the new factories springing up at the time. This was the birth of the first phase of capitalism. 

In simplest terms, the same system persists today. But now we can appreciate the unanticipated consequences of its impact across a number of socio-economic spheres - particularly as it pertains to the ethos of ownership and organising in contemporary society. 

1. Making & Growing

Chemical, mechanical, and electrical means are consistently applied to the mass production and distribution of products, as well as the cultivation of food and food-stock for farm animals. But mechanised production is linear and extractive. It generates a great deal of waste, too, as raw materials are taken from the Earth and processed into food or used to manufacture goods. 

When we finish using any product we expect to throw what is left away. But there is no such thing as away – everything we do not want or become weary of owning, habitually ends up as refuse or waste.

While organic material like food decays quickly, most other forms of waste contain toxins and synthetic substances that decompose very slowly, continuing to contaminate and clog up the oceans and the rivers, the landfills, and the sewers, for decades if not centuries. 

It does not have to be like that. Biomimicry encourages the copying of complex patterns in nature - creating industrial ecosystems that are regenerative and restorative by design. Instead of creating waste in the process of using raw materials, natural systems reuse and recycle resources over and over again. If there is any waste, it is inconsequential. 

This is not a new idea. After all nature itself has been doing it this way for millions of years. It is not even a novel idea in terms of industry and agriculture. With additive 3D printing or so-called desk-top manufacturing, it is easy to fabricate products ranging from human organs to entire buildings with such precision that no surplus is left over. 

Likewise using regenerative farming methods, it is possible for local farmers to eliminate the use of pesticides, fertilisers, and herbicides, in the process of restoring soils, increasing yields, producing crops that are more nutritious than was previously the case with large-scale agribusiness methods, and encouraging insects and other forms of life to flourish.

A distinctly contemporary issue in this regard is the problem of electronic waste. Higher consumption rates of electrical devices, as well as shorter life-cycles driven by planned obsolescence, are contributing to a rapid buildup of electronic waste. At least 44.5 million metric tons of unwanted electronic debris - including battery-powered or plug-tethered devices such as laptops, smartphones, and televisions - accumulate in waste dumps each year. By 2030, that is projected to grow to around 74.7 million tons. Electronic waste often contains plastics, hazardous materials in smartphones, such as cadmium and mercury, and refrigerant chemicals, like chlorofluorocarbons, that can leach into water catchments. 

Little of this waste is recycled, although electronic debris represents a potential urban mine, containing valuable metals such as iron, copper, and gold, that can be recovered. The value of this e-waste was estimated at around $57 billion in 2019, only $10 billion of which was recycled. Where are the entrepreneurs when you really need them? Hidden away in the bowels of our corporations perhaps...

2. Relating & Organising 

Following the industrial revolution, the automated factory became the standard model for organising almost everything - from school classrooms, clubs, and prisons to corporations. Within this template hierarchies of individuals and teams ensured that processes could be standardised, and efficiency pursued at all levels of the establishment.

In the world of business, this quickly led to employees being used as human resources, to be mined primarily for their manual labour and latterly for their knowledge. A totally new industry appeared out of nowhere to manage these frequently impulsive and recalcitrant resources, and to impose at least the illusion of orderliness.

When measurements were instituted, in the form of cultural climate surveys, executives began to rue the fact that no structure imposed on workers appeared ideal. Most were suboptimal in some form, while some even caused staff to become actively disengaged.

Initially, the proposed band-aid was a mixture of sanctions and rewards. Metrics of every kind littered the industrial management landscape - from goals and objectives to key performance indicators, process efficiency dashboards, and retention targets. 

Gradually, smarter enterprises realised that organisations could do better by emulating nature – especially in terms of cycles, information flows, and aesthetics. Liquid forms of organising were adopted as a way of designing work to be more intrinsically motivating. Pointless work was eliminated. As the workplace became more flexible, recruits were invited to contribute to the overall goals of the enterprise as they saw fit, finding ways to shape the culture rather than being required to fit into a pre-existing "founders" mould.

Many large corporations still resist this way of organising of course. The myth of top-down control remains pervasive in organisations that assume restrictive practices are best, instruct staff to leave their individuality at the door each day, and impose a variety of controls and performance indicators on their staff in a constant battle to get ahead of the competition. 

3. Owning & Earning

The field that most owes its credentials to arcane theories is surely economics. At its core, the idea of exchange within an economic framework is quite straightforward. But, as with industrialized production and organisational design, we managed to complicate matters by intervening clumsily in what should be a simple set of transactions. 

By establishing discrete institutions to handle differing roles, introducing astute ideas like credit and debt, adding layers of complexity via tax and investment laws, and allowing the invention of impenetrable financial instruments, like derivatives and credit default swaps, for example, which few people really understand, we have managed to turn the economy into a factory-like global casino. This has trapped us in a prison where we are prevented from imagining anything better. Even the least radical ideas are pronounced contrary to the ethos of free markets, too expensive or counterproductive. 

Meanwhile, instead of growing the resilience needed to provide solutions in the face of major societal shocks, like the current pandemic for example, or the massive problems we will encounter as a result of global heating, economic orthodoxy insists on skipping from controlling inflation to maintaining price stability in a myopic dance of detailed fixation.

It is not as though innovative ideas for dealing with the new realities are impossible to find.  Beginning with Sweden’s Riksbank in 1668, central banks and their monetary policy tools have been available as lenders of last resort for centuries - specifically to provide financial markets with the liquidity needed in times of crisis. 

Nowadays it is not hard to imagine the fiscal equivalent – state-funded employers of last resort. Imagine this as a job-guarantee program, comprising a living wage and benefits package. Because there is always work to be done, it would become instantly available to anyone who wanted a job but was unable to find work in the private and government sectors. Especially in times of crisis. Such a scheme could be expected to eliminate unemployment and its associated cost burden, bolster self-esteem and mental health, and provide additional care and protection for local communities and the environment.

Likewise, a Carbon Bad Bank, established by the state to acquire and reassign stranded carbon assets from large fossil fuel corporations, thus leaving them with clean balance sheets for investing in renewables and associated products, is surely another idea whose time has come if we are truly serious about the rapid decarbonisation of the economy.

These few examples clearly illustrate how the crisis of imagination besetting us today can be overcome. But we need to move beyond the cognitive and emotional thresholds that keep us tethered to obsolete ideas or trapped in dispensable ideological compartments.

Nature can show us better ways. Nature is complex - meaning it is abundantly resilient, and its patterns easily replicated. Our tendency to make things more complicated than they need to be can be remedied by accessing complexity, designing our most life-critical systems in cycles and flows, using organising principles that are open and fluid, and thus avoiding the hierarchies and imposed artificiality of the industrial era and its practices.