(RE)SEARCH

January 21st, 2019

Do we think of entrepreneurs as researchers?  While the label might not seem inappropriate after a moment of consideration, it’s probably not the first thing we would ascribe to an entrepreneur.  Nor would we really think of a researcher as a kind of entrepreneur.  And yet, at their core, it doesn’t seem like their process is all that different.  Both are trying to finding something, to figure something out, and put things together in a way that hasn’t been thought of before.

So Is there really much of a difference?  We might relegate such a difference as the researcher within the institutional domain and the entrepreneur as outside of such a domain.  Or we might highlight the difference in motive: we generally ascribe the pursuit of money to the entrepreneur and the loftier pursuit of knowledge to that of the researcher.    And yet a researcher is required to seek out money, often in the form of grants in order to fund the often expensive process of research.  Whereas the entrepreneur can – with a little luck – bootstrap from absolutely nothing.

These differences are perhaps superficial if we refocus back on the core of what each does.  Each is searching for something.  But, the circumstantial influences of each most likely hinder the ones in each given domain and could prove useful to the other.

A simple example might be healthcare.  The researcher who is associated with an institution most likely has some kind of coverage which absolves this variety of stress.

Whereas the bootstrapping entrepreneur has no such stress net, unless of course they happen to be lucky enough to live in a country where this necessity is a given.

This is a practical difference, but the difference in strategy is perhaps even more important.

In some relative sense, the entrepreneur is throwing everything at the wall to see what sticks, whereas the institutional researcher is methodically designing experiments to slowly increment knowledge to create a richer context.  Both are looking for something in this process, but when the styles of each method are compared, one seems tediously slow and the other seems perhaps: reckless.

How many entrepreneurs would have found success instead of failure if they had been a little more methodical and incremental with their approach.  And how many researchers would speed up the rate of discovery if they performed a greater number of experiments instead of spending the time in the minutia of experimental design?  We’re probably more inclined to agree with the former and find discomfort with the later.

Is this because our feelings about such questions are absolutely correct?  Or is it because we are accustomed to associating a certain style of approach to each domain separately?

If we are comfortable with each style in it’s own domain, why do we find discomfort with a merging of such styles of inquiry?  Perhaps this is another niche of human thinking where The Identity Danger creeps in.

The strange lack of emotional overlap here hints at the real difference between these domains.  Institutional research carries within it an implicit contradiction and we can see it symbolically in the word ‘research’ itself.  The verb implies that researchers are merely searching through what has already been found in order to find connections that can solve our problems.  They are in essence searching again for what someone has already found.  But unpacked like this, it proves a fallacy.  Certainly researchers are building on top of previous knowledge, but the motive is to push forward and find something new with the help of previous knowledge.  The institutional shell for this process perhaps undermines this truth by implying that the solutions have already been found and catalogued, they just need to be… researched.  The reality is that many solvable problems have yet to be solved and we would do well to wonder if the concept of an institution devoted to the problem actually makes headway towards a solution or if it merely makes us feel better in the absence of faster more efficient headway?

The entrepreneur on the other hand operates with none of this implied denial and the underlying fear.  Leanness, often in the personal life of the entrepreneur leaves little time nor energy for such concerns.  The precious little time and energy must be spent actually doing things – throwing things at the wall of reality to see what will stick, what reality will take and run with.  The entrepreneur is like a water skier on the shore throwing a line out into the water of reality hoping a whale or shark will catch the end and pull that entrepreneur out over the water fast enough for one wild ride.

The real differences seem to be merely dispositional.  The entrepreneur invokes that fearless willingness to jump into the unknown and make things up as they go along, whereas the stereotypical image of the researcher is one who is safe in the certainty of routine inquiry. 

But beyond this, the entrepreneur and the scientist are one in the same, and it is perhaps an unfortunate ramification of constructed institutions that result in the simultaneous limiting of progress on the part of the scientist and scaring away more people from embarking on the entrepreneurial journey.

The institution burdens the researcher with the hoops and hurdles of bureaucracy and broadcasts to the would-be entrepreneur that the institutional path is the only reliable option. 

The concept of an institution may in fact be an offspring of a mass fear that we can all relate to on an individual level.  The fear inherent in taking a chance, venturing out into the unknown.  It is the act of searching the unknown for something new, as opposed to the empty achievement of researching something another person had tenacity to bring back from the unknown.

This episode references Episode 17: The Identity Danger.

A LUCILIUS PARABLE: BLACK WOLF

January 20th, 2019

During his travels Lucilius took a break and sat beneath a magnificent cedar tree for several years to meditate and contemplate the existence of things.

Local people took a notice to the strange man who sat in silent contemplation day after day and thinking him some kind of spiritual being, they took reverence to his presence and brought him daily food so that he could stay nourished while on the inner journey they all imagined he was embarking on.

One day a curious child walked up to Lucilius while he was meditating and asked a question and when the child reported the incident to his family later that night, word quickly spread that in fact it was an oracle that had taken up residence at the base of the great cedar.

People began to come from far and wide to ask Lucilius questions, and with patience and compassion he did his best to answer each of them.

One quiet day when the lines of people were gone and the air was still, Lucilius was meditating and a young boy appeared at the edge of the grove and slowly walked towards Lucilius.  The seated man opened his eyes and took in the image of a boy battered and bruised, dirty and crusted with dried blood on his shins and elbows.  The boy wiped sickness away from his running nose and kept his eyes averted from Lucilius.

“Can I help you?” Lucilius asked.

The boy kept his eyes averted, sniffed back his cold again and quietly said.  “They say you know what people should do and I don’t know where to go.”

“Where have you come from?”  Lucilius asked.

“My family wasn’t nice, so I left.”

“You have travelled far?”

The boy looked up around at the light speckling through the canopy and felt the warm breeze, as though for the first time in many months realizing the change in seasons.  He did not say anything but Lucilius could see the time in the boy’s face.

“Sit before me boy and rest yourself.”

The boy collapsed down in a tired heap before Lucilius, his eyes still averted.  Lucilius took a bowl of rice and vegetables that had been brought to him earlier in the day and held it out for the boy to take.

“They brought it for you,”  the boy said.

“I know just as well as you, how to go without food, but these generous people have kept me out of practice.  I’d be honored if you’d help me learn that strength of mind once more and take this food.”

The boy’s shifty eyes met the bowl again and again until the silence stretched out his hand and he took the food.  The boy ate furiously and Lucilius watched the story of his face, set hard, primed for the next hardship, expecting it, balanced on the edge of bitterness.

When the boy was finished, and he set the bowl aside, he drank deeply from a wide piece of bamboo full of water.  Then he sat silent, his eyes still averted from Lucilius.

And then Lucilius began:

“When I was a boy, growing up far from here, there was a pack of white wolves that lived in the forest to the north of our town.  And to the south were the farmers and shepherds.  My father contracted me out to the shepherds and the farmers and I would work the fields and watch the sheep.  But when I had time to myself, I loved to walk off alone into those woods and during those walks I would often see the white wolves.  The villagers hated the white wolves because they would sometimes take a sheep, a lamb or a cow.  Everyone wanted to know where the white wolves were so they could kill them, but no one was willing to go off into the woods to find them.  Of course, I never told anyone I knew where the white wolves were because the wolves never bothered me.

One season a new litter was born and the smallest was a tiny black wolf.  I watched the wolf try to grow with his brothers and sisters but they would all growl at him and the rest of the pack too did not like the small black wolf.  Even his father and mother would nip at his heels and he got the least milk of the whole litter from his mother, which kept him small.  Everyday they were vicious with him and some days I worried that he would not make it.  And then finally one day, he simply left.

I was still under the contract of my father at the time and had to work for the farmers and the shepherds.  I was young and I thought the work was boring.  All the time all I wanted to do was walk back out into the woods and see the white wolves.  But most of my days were spent watching sheep.  There was one sheep in particular that was a constant problem.  This sheep was always trying to leave the herd and walk off in any direction.  Every season there is one or two in a large herd like this, but this one seemed particularly unwise.  The herd is safe for a sheep, but this sheep could not sense this truth.  He wandered off all the time and we shepherds would chase after him. 

On a day off I was walking through a new part of the woods, far away from where I usually watched the white wolves and it was then I came across the Black Wolf.  He was crazy in the eye.  Crazy from hunger, his dry tongue hanging off to a side and breathing so heavily.  I could see every bone along his side, and as he looked at me, I thought he seemed to know me, but I I think I simply wanted to see this in the animal’s eye.  As I think back now, that Black Wolf was ready to come after me.   

But in that moment, his breathing calmed.  His eyes narrowed past me and his body grew tense as he crouched lower, charging the angles of his legs.

As I turned to look behind myself the Black Wolf shot past me, so close I felt the mangy fur slide along my skin.  Then I saw his aim.

The lone sheep had wandered far from the herd and stood dumbly at the edge of a clearing. 

The lone sheep did not even have time nor the air in it’s lungs to bleat as the Black Wolf tore into it’s neck, taking the sheep’s body down into an instant feast.

I watched the Black Wolf tear at the meat for the entire day, until the sheep was nearly gone.  The Black Wolf’s face was a slick dark black with the blood of the kill and afterwards he laid down next to the mess and slept, and there I slept near that Black Wolf through the night.  When I awoke, he was gone.

Years later, after I’d left the village and experienced some of the world, I returned to see my sister.  During my visit, I went on one of my old walks through the woods and I came across the pack of White Wolves still living near the same den.  I was happy to see them, and it was then that I remembered the day with the Black Wolf years before.  Just as I began to wonder about the Black Wolf’s fate, he emerged from the den, larger than all the rest, and a litter of grey wolves in tow.”

The boy before Lucilius sat with wide eyes.  Lucilius met the boy’s eyes and continued.

“The Black Wolf was forced to go off on his own, but as a lone wolf he carried the lessons of his pack, and it was these lessons, however brutal, however hard won that allowed him to survive and eventually return as a leader.  But the lone sheep did not carry the lessons of the herd, otherwise the sheep never would have left the herd, and for that ignorance that sheep paid with his life.  But it was that sheep’s ignorance that allowed the Black Wolf to eat and grow strong and become a stronger wolf than the rest of the pack.”

Lucilius breathed deeply and looked up at the canopy shifting gently to a high breeze.

“Today a sheep came to me, but a wolf will leave.”

The boy’s wide eyes were set and deep in them Lucilius could see the same dark fire.  The boy stood and turned to leave.  The two took a last look at one another and then the boy walked off. 

Lucilius then returned to his meditation.

EVERYBODY IS RIGHT

January 19th, 2019

Each person has a completely different circumstance.  Drawing similarities between the circumstances of two different people is perhaps unwise because doing so glosses over the details, and as we like to say, this is where the devil lives.

Each person occupies their own physical space which cannot be inhabited by another person simultaneously.  This fact is so yawningly obvious and yet we are very quick to forget the ramifications of such a fact.  On a literal, physical level, no two people can inhabit the same exact perspective.  The most literal example of this is taking turns looking through a telescope or a microscope.  Even if we achieve the exact same view of a celestial body or some microbe in a petri dish, we are not viewing it at the same time.

On top of this, no two people have the same exact neural functioning.  Brains, like situations and circumstances, might have many similarities but again, to say they are the same glosses over the details.  The details in this case are what separate an Albert Einstein from, well, anyone and everyone else.  The same is true in reverse though.  No matter how smart or talented a person is, they cannot somehow magically inhabit the existence of another person.  Attempting to approximate this sort of feat through empathy, compassion and an intelligent modelling of another person’s mind is certainly a worthwhile, useful endeavor, and perhaps near the core of what we like to admire in our species.  But it is still an approximation.

Since the task is an impossible one, it might seem hopeless and therefore pointless, but this admission of impossibility can fundamentally level-up our ability to listen and communicate.

The reason is simple: because of the unique attributes and circumstances of each individual’s existence, everyone is limited to their own point of view.  Given each particular physical circumstance of location, timing, and neurology, it’s impossible to have come to a different point of view – as far as we understand the laws of the physical world.  This is true on both a literal level and a figurative level. 

Keeping this ironclad fact in mind can be a useful tempering agent when in discussion with someone who seems stubborn.  In a physical sense we are all very stubbornly limited to our own experience.  And this isn’t a choice nor an option that we can edit.

In a sense: everyone is right, no matter what buffoonery they are spouting and shouting to the world.

Such a blanket statement, however, is self-cancelling.  If everyone is right then the concept of being ‘right’ is effectively meaningless, at least in the argumentative sense where a person can be wrong.  To be clear, it would be completely unproductive to use this argument that ‘everyone is right’ in an actual argument.  It is a thought exercise to increase the ability to leverage our intellectual compassion while trying to understand the perspectives of others.

If we admit to ourselves that any given individual had to come to their particular perspective in some way, regardless of how much we disagree with that perspective, then instead of seeing that person as ‘wrong’, we can focus far more productively by asking:  what might help this person’s perspective evolve?  What haven’t’ they experienced that I have?  Or vice versa.  What have they experienced that I’m blind to?  What questions have cracked open my thinking that they’ve never heard?

Our goal should not be to manipulate another person’s perspective to be in line with our own, but probably: to curiously engage with the potential for both that other person’s perspective and our own to evolve as a result of dialogue.

Even things that are in sync with one another are not the same things.  Like two people performing a complicated dance together.  Neither becomes other in such a process, but, the two together achieve something that is impossible to do alone. 

This phenomenon of being in sync is perhaps exactly what our debates and arguments should aim for.  Instead of trying to dominate the dance floor alone, so to speak, with some kind of superior performance, our debates and arguments will be far more productive if we figure out how to think together.  There is perhaps a fear and a threat to identity inherent in this possibility, but this is not true, just as two people trying to dance with one another field no risk of becoming the other.

The only thing they actually risk, is succeeding together.

This episode references Episode 42: Level-Up.

AXIOMATIC MISTAKE

January 18th, 2019

All our actions, plans, goals and thoughts operate with underlying axioms.  An obvious one is perhaps the reliability of gravity.  We hold it as an under lying premise of our time awake and alive that some magical-seeming force is going to keep us close to the earth, perpetually.  Axioms about physical reality, particularly regarding how our own body moves in space in concert with gravity are perhaps the first axioms that we learn considering that crawling and attempts to stand are succeeded before most other milestones of growth that infants achieve. 

However, the process does not stop, and we continue to intuit new axioms as we move forward.  Nothing guarantees that these axioms are correct, and since such axioms can be so simple, we can spend much time, years, decades, even a lifetime without realizing that some of our underlying suppositions about reality are just plain wrong.

As the story species, we experience narratives as far stickier concepts than subtler, more counter-intuitive ideas. Indeed our brains seem almost hardwired to cling to a story, however fatuous, rather than confront new information that causes friction with our underlying axioms. 

When a new piece of information is anything short of a slap in the face, we tend to have a talent for ignoring that piece of information. 

When people do experience a big wake up call, not only is the experience destabilizing, but often such people will reflect on the past and wonder how they could have been so blind to certain things. 

Hindsight is 20/20 as we like to say.  And this phrase gets at the heart of our relationship with our own axioms.

Perhaps we held the axiom that a certain person could be trusted.  Perhaps due to our pesky wish for certainty and an identity we can cling to, we ignore the red flags, the warning signs, the bits of information that seem to contradict our underlying axiom.  Until they either add up, or an event that simply cannot be ignored is in clear and present conflict with our original axiom.

We can look at something even simpler, something harmless, almost ridiculous.  We’ve all seen someone playing a sport who gets a hold of the ball and accidentally runs in the wrong direction.  It’s often funny because the mistake is one of such obvious naiveté.  The player simply got disoriented, or forgot that the teams had switched sides.  The axiom of such a situation could not be simpler.  It’s just two parts representing each team’s side which are identical.  But the mistake is one we can make in all manner of ways in other parts of life.  Picking up the ball and accidentally scoring for the wrong side.

Think for a moment about that player, picking up the ball and running in the wrong direction.  When would be the worst time to reassess the axiom of whose side is whose and when would be the best time.  The answers are obvious.  Reassessing the axiom as soon as possible would be best.  Simply because the longer we run with the wrong axiom, we are amplifying the mistake, creating more of a problem the longer we keep going with the wrong direction.  If we ever get the sense to turn around and double check what is going on, we’ll realize we’ve made more work for ourselves if we wish to achieve our goal.  The error has compounded, all because of an incorrect thought.

Mental errors of such kinds are unavoidable, but we can test them strategically by a combination of being mindful about our priorities in life and developing metrics to determine if any real progress is being made towards the goals we’ve prioritized.  The last missing ingredient is to take action and continually poke reality for feedback. 

The player running in the wrong direction is gleefully misguided, thinking they are far ahead of the pack.  While the pack doesn’t even chase, but watches as a battery of embarrassment charges with each step.  Poking reality in this case would be as simple as looking back to double check awareness of the whole situation.  This is the invaluable benefit of having a Well-Oiled Zoom.   Being able to harness and direct a laser-like focus is an excellent ability, but to focus on the wrong task doesn’t just waste time, it can severely undermine all sorts of other aspects of our hopes and goals.

For this reason, we should perhaps be suspicious of our own deeply held beliefs and axioms.  For the very reason that they are placed more insidiously than anything else and because of this we can be lead far astray.

This episode references Episode 54: The Well-Oiled Zoom, and Episode 32: Rear-View.

CAUTIOUS TRAITOR

January 17th, 2019

This episode is dedicated to S.E. Wells for inspiring a meditation on the following concepts.

The roots of the word ‘caution’ point towards a meaning that is more akin to observation.  We might think of the observational phase required to take effective precautions. 

If the meaning and use of the word ended here, we might be able to keep it handy as a useful tool, however, the word clearly has a modern dimension that weighs us down.

‘Being cautious’ is generally praised as a good thing.  It invokes the roots of the word – that of being observant, looking forward, recognizing dangers.  It sings a song similar to the thoughtful pause.  But like a mockingbird, caution is a wholly different animal when compared to a genuinely thoughtful pause.

The thoughtful pause is devoid of any preconceived emotion.  Whereas caution carries a deep bass note of fear.

Our thinking goes that we should be cautious of real dangers and these real dangers are something to wisely fear.  And yet, we live in the safest version of human society yet conceived.  The real dangers that we should genuinely fear are now far less obvious.  Texting while driving is an excellent fit here.  Every year many people die because someone had to text someone about being 5 minutes late, or about something they just heard on the radio, or any variety of thought that completely lacks urgency.  This strange phenomenon is something that we should actually feel fear about, and yet, complacency is the overriding natural disposition.  In such a case, where have our evolutionary tools of caution and fear gone?  Unfortunately they are at work at far less appropriate tasks.  Fear is without a doubt chiefly employed by the human psyche as a needless limiting factor on our own personal agency.  It is the roadblock we place in front of ourselves. 

While ‘facing one’s fears’ is a healthy maxim touted as the courageous option, it is caution that whispers a slow drip of reasons into our argument, slowly soaking it, weighing it down, until we cannot move forward for our own benefit.  Caution has become that I.V. drip through which fear slowly but steadily subverts our most productive notions. 

We must be cautious of letting our fear control us, hold us back, and what this should mean is taking a good look at what real risks are present – if any - and then throwing caution to the wind and diving straight into that thing we fear.  Chances are there are no true real risks.  Most of the things that we fear doing in life are not at the risk of life itself which is really the only thing that we should be mindful of when hesitating to move forward with our aims.

Caution is a double agent, masquerading as our ally, but in secret it’s an operative of fear.  The two live in the same house of our mind, pretending to speak different languages, feigning knowledge of one another. But like an aging spy working for some anachronistic agency, these mechanisms are long past their prime. 

In fact, caution may be a bigger problem than fear itself.  Fear, properly framed, can function like a compass that actually illuminates the directions we should pursue in life.  This is how ‘facing one’s fears’ can be a powerful directive.  But it’s caution which tempers our muster, slows our rise to action, seeds doubt and sets our thoughts chasing their own tails in unproductive loops of circular thinking. 

This episode references Episode 23: Pause, Episode 63: The Etymology of Fear and Episode 57: Compass.