Dave Snowden concluded his six-part series on the Channel and the Estuary this week. He used gangster movies and TV Series to illustrate the different kinds of contexts in which people are sense-making. The series contrasted the categorical ambiguity and gradients represented by the ecology of a tidal estuary with the managed and ordered passageway through uncertainty represented by the marked channel. The metaphors are meaningful for coastal people, and anyone who has had to navigate these kinds of marine ecosystems. The point is that navigating in the estuary and in the channel requires different approaches to sense-making.
The whole series deserves to be read and thought through, as it is an important declaration of what “complexity thinking” really is and what it requires from the complexity practitioner. It is also a warning against the way in which we receive the world in a pre-channeled, dredged state, made easier for us; “facilitated” one might say, especially by the digitization of our experience, which has dredged and channelled the world and offered us pre-designed categories of experience.
Dave’s series contains an embedded tribute to those whose lot in life requires them to practice estuarine thinking in a world of pre-cut channels. It recognizes the loneliness that such people sometimes experience and the separateness they often feel. It is also a call to action for an approach to organizational life that treats complexity as a context in which we are required to deploy “estuarine thinking.” These are lost capacities – exiled capacities, if you like – and we lose something essential if they disappear.
I have been wrestling with this series from the perspective of a person who hosts conversations in organizations and communities. Dave’s work has deeply shaped the way I view and practice facilitation over the past 15 years or so. It has left me in a liminal space of practice. I try to locate myself adjacent to those in the ‘facilitation’ world, those who are dialogic practitioners, and folks who are exploring the implications that complexity has for their practice. I say adjacent because I am aware that although I use the language of facilitation, dialogue, and hosting, I find that much of the practice in these fields fails to confront the complexity of human groups and systems. We all have work to do to build our practice around Dave’s invitation, not just in these posts but in his work in general as it relates to complex facilitation.
The thing about complexity is that once you see it you can’t unsee it, and Dave’s refection on the gangsters and business mavens from Guinness, Peaky Blinders and The Godfather had me noticing similar patterns in the stories I was encountering. Last weekend, we attended a screening of the 1961 version of the film West Side Story, which is unbelievably contemporary in many ways, not the least of which is that it explores what happens when people are born into a world of tight constraints not of their making. I have never seen the film or the musical, so this was all new to me. There is A LOT I can say about this film, and perhaps it deserves a whole other post to explore some of the themes, but one scene stood out to me in particular, and I think anyone who engages in facilitation (or community development or consulting or organizing) might find it beneficial to watch this and reflect.
The two gangs, the Jets and the Sharks, are locked in a struggle against each other, divided by ethnicity, neighbourhood, history, and class. Tony, the former leader of the Jets, falls in love with Maria, the younger sister of the Sharks’ leader. Their love crosses the boundaries of gangs, race, history, and tradition. Both gangs sing about the constraints of their worlds: childhood trauma, exclusion, racism, homesickness, loyalty, and the struggle to belong. At a critical point in the film, both gangs agree to meet at a dance in what they consider ‘neutral’ territory.
The dance is run by a social worker called Glad Hand, played beautiful by John Astin. Glad Hand, armed with his clipboard and his whistle, has some activities planned for the dance, and he naively tries to mix up the crowd of teenagers, probably so that they might have a different kind of experience of getting to know one another. His design for the evening is almost totally ignorant of the contexts that make it impossible for this dance to have any kind of success. It is a well-intentioned effort that goes terribly wrong. You can see the painfully earnest effort on Astin’s face, convinced that he is bringing a hopeful and helpful evening to this group of poor immigrant youth.
In the key scene, Glad Hand organizes the teenagers into a circle dance. the idea is that the girls walk one way and the boys walk the other and when he blows the whistle you have to dance with who ever you are standing in front of. He says “form a circle. Boys will be on the outside, girls will be on the inside.” Action, one of the Jets who has the best, most cynical quips in the films asks “And where will you be?” Glad Hand chuckles nervously with an awkward smile and ignores the question.
It takes a few moments for anyone to move into the circle. There is no trust between the teens and Glad Hand and everybody is HYPER aware of the dynamics in the room which Glad Hand has just gleefully ignored in favour of his plans and his clipboard. He has tried to create “safe” space and the gangs understand this as “neutral” space, which is a very different thing. “Neutral” requires that you keep your guard up and restrain your instincts. While Glad Hand is committed to civility, the gangs are actually committed to an uneasy peace in a social field that is filled with tension.
As the circle dance begins Glad Hand is clearly waiting for his chance to impose a predetermined outcome, where the Sharks girls will end up with the Jets boys and vice versa. It’s transparent and manipulative. The kids in the dance are looking anxiously around themselves, scanning the room and knowing exactly where they are in every moment. Glad Hand blows his whistle when the circles are lined up perfectly for his agenda. Immediately everyone catches on to what is happening. They stop, look around and break the exercise and go back into their couples and groups, and the dance disintegrates into a ritualized gang war, with the two sides doing their own thing more divided than ever. As the circle breaks down you can see the police officer running to Glad Hand and clearly reprimanding him for the situation he has created. This is the last we see of the social worker.
This is deeply familiar to me, and perhaps you too. For many of us the facilitation journey starts with tools and methods. A devotion to these creates a situation in which the context and pre-existing constraints are pushed into the background. When a group rebels against what I am doing. my experience has been that it is almost always the result of my own ignorance to what is happening in the group. These are hard lessons to learn, but important. It’s why I wrote the series on theory, to recognize that the dialogic containers in which we are working are embedded in multiple constraint regimes and landscapes of context which exert a more powerful influence on the present moment than a facilitated method.
Dave’s recent series pushes us to understand the capacity needed not only to enter into the ambiguous and uncertain space of complex situations, but to navigate once we are there. It calls me to a practice of constant self-reflection, knowing that in any situations it is impossible to map the next step, and recognizing that the channel markers I encounter are often the ones I have put down before, to protect myself, to avoid the messiness I can’t handle, to steer the group into a place where I am most comfortable or hopeful. Channels are not bad in and of themselves. But one cannot lose sight of the estuary in which the channel is dredged.
Relentless self-awareness is critical to leading in the estuary. Being aware of where we are in relation to what is happening, and knowing how to respond to the steadily changing context is the capacity. It is not often what people are contracting you for; so often the client wants certainty and structure and guidance. What is needed in complexity instead is a kind of learning scaffolding that for developing the capacity that people have for being in the estuary. Dredging a channel does not mean that we are no longer navigating in the salt marsh. On the contrary, it may well rob us of the ability to be able to do so.
On the advice of several people I have been reading Vanessa Machado d’Oliveira’s Hospicing Modernity and I have reached the end of “The Most Important Chapter” which outlines the seven key tools that d’Oliveira invites the reader to use as they navigate the text. The seventh tool is an invitation to a kind of lectio divina (my framing) on a text called “Co-Sensing with Radical Tenderness.” I invite you to visit that link, read the text and follow the exercise there, which is different from the one in the book.
As I am working my way through each of the seven tools, I am reminded of the various lessons I have learned in my life especially working in a with Indigenous communities. These are lessons that throw my own position in the world into uncertainty and knock me off centre constantly. I can find how each of these seven tools has come into my life in different ways in the voices of different people who have schooled me, often publicly, in ways that were humbling. D’Oliveira says that this book is written for people in a situation of low intensity struggle, where we have choices about how to benefit from, respond to, and perpetrate the violence of modernity. That’s a useful perspective, and a better term than ‘privilege’ which implies that all is well in a person’s life. Low intensity struggle is a thing, but it’s useful to see it in context. The pedagogy of “learning this from a book” is itself firmly rooted in modernity.
The book is not a simple exercise. It is uncomfortable to read, and even through I wrestle with paradoxes and entanglements all the time, it still places me in a slightly uneasy position, an unsettled position, as it were. And it is remarkable in being able to hold me there, suspended in being unsettled, which I have always said is exactly the place where settlers need to be in order for a post-colonial world to ever have a chance at life.
For reference, the seven tools are:
- Mastery AND depth education: about different ways of knowing and having wisdom and intelligence
- Wording and worlding the world: about how we use stories
- The bus within us: about the different voices we carry inside us
- Low- and high-intensity struggle: understanding what choices we have, especially important for folks in lo-intensity struggle to understand.
- Generative disillusionment AND excited capacities: yeah, it’s falling apart. So now what? (Dave Pollard’s writing has helped me to understand this from my perspective.)
- Co-sensing with radical tenderness: see above.
I don’t know where this book is going. Parts of it don’t make sense to me. Some of it seems performative, some of it seems like the real wisdom is hidden from view, probably because I don’t have the eyes for it. I think this is the intention of the book. It does not bring comfort, it does not make sense. It is directed at me NOT as a teaching guidebook per se, but as a lesson in what I will never know as much as it is a set of invitations about what I can learn. It reminds me very much of the hula ceremonies we were in 16 years ago on Hawai’i as I was walking in an immensely tense interface between Americans and Hawaiians and we were confronting these very same questions about modernity and what it would take to work from a platform of reverence.
We didn’t get that quite right, either.
A screen cap from the video of Thibaut Garcia & Antoine Morinière playing Bach together with tremendous groove.
Brian “Ponch” Rivera writes a lot about the OODA loop, learned from his experience as a fighter pilot. His latest post dives into the OODA Loop basketball and Constraints Led Approaches to coaching in sport. I like most of what he writes about but one thing kind of sticks in my craw is his use of the word “harmony.”
I’ll quote him here:
Before we go anywhere, we need to kill a common mistake.
Most coaches and leaders in highly interdependent activities — basketball, soccer, rugby, business — think the goal is synchronization. Get everyone doing the right thing at the right time. Run the play. Execute the plan. Sync up.
That is not harmony. And Boyd was very specific about the difference.
Synchronization is rigid. A scripted play synchronizes five players into a predetermined pattern. It looks clean. It breaks down the moment the defense does something unexpected, which is every single time against a good team.
Harmony is something else entirely. Boyd described it as the “power to perceive or create interaction of apparently disconnected events or entities in a connected way.” He listed it as one of five essential ingredients for survival and growth, alongside insight, Orientation, agility, and initiative — what we now call IOHAI.¹
Think about a jazz ensemble. Miles Davis didn’t hand John Coltrane or his session players a script. He gave them a key, a tempo, a direction, and trusted each musician to interpret what they heard in real time and respond. The result wasn’t chaos. It was coherent, adaptive, and unrepeatable. That is harmony. That is a reciprocal team. That is what high-performing organizations look like when they’re actually working.
A high-performing team works the same way. Every player reads the same environment, operates from the same principles, and responds to what actually unfolds rather than executing what was planned in a locker room thirty minutes ago. The connection between players isn’t mechanical. It’s mutual understanding.
Okay…I’m not sure about that. When Ponch says that getting everyone doing the right thing at the right time is not harmony, I think he’s wrong. That exactly what harmony is. If I play a C and you play an E and someone else plays a G we have a very nice C major triad. If we want it to sound as a chord (which creates overtones and a richness in the sound) we have to get everyone doing the right thing at the right time.
In his work, I believe John Boyd uses the term “harmony” to point to a kind of coherence and alignment that allows different actors to act as a coherent whole. In music, especially jazz, from which Ponch draws an example, we call that groove, not harmony.
When Miles Davis handed out music, he did in fact hand out a kind of script, with a melody line and chords which contained the harmony. The tempo and direction might be indicated on the lead sheet (but not always). Even tempo and direction are not groove. Groove is what they create together in the playing of the piece. If the band was really smoking hot that night they might play the piece fast and hop to it, or they could take some tempo off and play looser. But what they were doing in the moment was groove, not only harmony, and I think groove is what Boyd and Ponch are trying to get at.
This matters because how you KNOW what the groove is very different than how you know what harmony is. Groove is so very embodied. You know it when you have it and you know when you don’t. Harmony is captured right there on the lead sheet. You merely need to sound two notes together to hear it. It’s actually pretty mechanical, and has very little to do with the musicians themselves. What they bring to the work is the groove.
The other day at a music rehearsal, after we were finished, the young daughter of a friend of mine sat down at the piano and started improvising some music. She was playing on the white keys, not paying attention to the melody, but more just practicing independent fingering. The music made very little sense. It was random, harmonically and rhythmically, but there were patterns. It sounded a bit like Bach, runs of eighth notes heading in different directions, but without the harmonic relationship that Bach writes.
I was trying to have a conversation and what started bugging me was not the dissonance, but the lack of time feel. So I sat down beside her and just played a gentle pulse on a C note, quiet enough that it didn’t get in the way of her playing, but I asked her to just listen to the beat and play along with it. Immediately, her random meanderings continued, but we both started nodding along with the groove, intuitively, naturally. Her lines started becoming a little more funky. She improvised some syncopation, threw in some triplets, and left space. Instead of a wandering set of kind-of-eighth notes, she started improvising with time as well. Harmony wasn’t big deal. She played lots of “wrong” notes, but what we were doing was WAY more musical. It was coherent, aligned and coordinated.
So I get what Boyd and Ponch are saying, but harmony isn’t the right term for it. What they are pointing to is different and much more important than harmony in the context of dynamic decision making, because it is an ineffable, felt sense of togetherness that arises in the space of dynamic interactions between people and is perceived socially and corporeally.
The other thing that kind of sticks in my craw is that Ponch only allows comments on his substack from paid subscribers which means I have to post this here and hope he finds it with some trackback ping. I have no idea how Substack works, but remember, paywalls break hypertext.
And if you want to witness a bit of what I am talking about, check out Bach’s Goldberg Variations arranged for two guitars, performed by Thibaut Garcia & Antoine Morinière. You can hear the harmony that Bach wrote, but you have to watch and feel the groove these two fellows create together. It’s intimate, sensual, deeply responsive, kind, perceptive, generous and spacious. Bach didn’t write that.
Participants in a meeting of the Japanese OD Network self-organizing in a dialogic container to discuss what they learning from an embodied experience of constraints, Kanzan University, Nagoya, 2019
Dave Snowden is publishing a TON of stuff these last few weeks, much of densely theoretical and full of references to thinkers and traditions that would probably take years to properly unpack. Nevertheless I appreciate these posts because “anthro-complexity” – the name he has given to his body of work – has been the most influential body of theory in helping me to think through the ideas of dialogic containers, hosting, sense-making, and leadership.
What has been missing from his work is a clear definition of anthro-complexity. I have described it as “the complexity of human systems” as a short-hand way of differentiating it from other ways of thinking about complexity. At any rate, Dave took a crack at a provisional definition this week:
Anthro-complexity holds that human complex adaptive systems are part of the natural world and embedded within it, while being irreducibly different from other natural systems in ways that matter for how we understand and intervene in them. Their agents have intelligence, identity, and intention: a reflexive capacity enacted in language, relationship, and cultural practice rather than located in any bounded interior; a sense of self always constituted in interaction with others, shaped by history, narrative, and cultural membership, and never fully available to conscious inspection; and the ability to act toward imagined futures in ways that alter the very conditions being acted upon. These are not complications to be managed but constitutive features of the system. Meaning does not simply emerge; it is enacted through embodied experience, narrative, and distributed social interaction, and it is always path-dependent, culturally situated, and shaped by history that cannot be undone.
This shifts the practitioner’s question. Not what this system is for, but what it is doing and what is becoming possible or impossible within it. Not “what should this system become?” but “what are the energy gradients, what can be shifted and what cannot, and what micro-interventions change the conditions under which different futures become available?” The role is not to design outcomes but to attend to what is already emergent, to read the terrain: what flows, what resists, what the material, the skills, the habits, the experience and the natural evolved talent (in other words, the craft) affords; and to intervene with and through the natural grain of how meaning actually forms rather than imposing frameworks from outside.
I like this for a number of reasons:
- The embedded nature of human systems means that we have to take into consideration the many contexts in which they are embedded and to which they are related.
- Meaning is both emergent and enacted, which means that people are making and enacting meaning alongside the emergence and enactment of the system. And as they do so they influence the system in different ways.
- Dave’s “practitioner’s question” is one that I too am trying to address. Yes to not designing outcomes. Yes also to attending to what I call (borrowing from Juarerro) the constraint regimes at play, which shape emergence, affordances, flows, exchanges, boundaries. attractors, connectors and identities.
- And furthermore, I agree strongly that the practitioners’s role is not imposition of frameworks or methods. In my practice I see methods as something I might call constraint-craft.
My own exploration of this world uses the term “host” for this work, as it connects to participatory practice in the Art of Hosting community and takes the emphasis off of the action of “facilitation” which essentially means “to make things easy.” I don’t do that. I design and offer scaffolding for experiences to for participants and groups to be together making sense of the work in order to act. And a lot of my writing here has been in-the-public thinking through of this problem of “facilitator as a person with an outsized profile” and “facilitator as a person who uses that power and trust to immediately vacate the field for participants to get to work.”
So I appreciate this definition and Dave’s continued clarity on these topics both as a way to clarify what we are actually talking about and as a set of ideas from which we can truly critique facilitation while also building up a role of host as complexity practitioner who crafts with constraints to enable meaning and action through and understanding of emergence, interaction and affordances. I think I have one more post in me on the series on theory that I have been writing (part 1, part 2, part 3) and it will be about the role and craft of the practitioner, the host, the person who builds the scaffolding of constraints, and what that craft looks like and what pitfalls we have to avoid.
The landscape dictates what is possible and what is not.
This is the third of a series on facilitation, dialogic containers and context. In it I want to develop a theory of context for facilitators on that explains not only how dialogic work succeeds, but why it sometimes cannot.
Here’s the idea:
- Dialogic containers are the scale at which humans experience the greatest immediate agency, but they exist inside larger contexts that determine whether that agency can produce lasting change.
- The contexts have different scales with increasing stability and increasing time scales over which change happens, and that has implications for what we can do within any given facilitated dialogue.
- Understanding these contexts helps us to design and host containers and processes that bring us the best possible chance of catalyzing bigger changes.
Introduction: Driving down the mountain with Adam Kahane
Back in November 2006 I attended an Art of Hosting gathering in the mountains above Boulder, Colorado which was unique in the hundreds of Art of Hosting events I’ve attended or led before or since. There were some important Art of Hosting stewards there alongside folks from the Authentic Leadership in Action Institute. There were a group of consultants from a new company called “Generon” which later became Reos. One of my fond memories of that event is singing “Me and Julio Down by the Schoolyard” with me on guitar and Adam Kahane giving his all on the choruses!
It was an important event because it brought together people who had many differences about what we felt the role of dialogue is in system change. Adam was working on the Power and Love polarity, and was very interested in the what happens if dialogue just becomes about love and good vibes while failing to address power in the room. Many of us in the Art of Hosting community were really doubling down on the relational and inner work we felt was necessary for change to happen. It was a swirling encounter of folks with a fierce commitment to practice, and a lot of experience, but a nascent understanding of what lay beyond our competencies.
It took my a while to unpack it, but Adam and I drove back to Denver airport together and we had a chance to talk about it with respect to some of the bigger work he was talking on with the Generon group. For Adam, I think everything was about how change can happen at meaningful scales where power keeps things in a certain way. Dialogic containers are lovely because we can create whatever we want inside of them, but Adam was challenging me not be naive about the reality that these experiences are embedded in a bigger context.
The question that haunts me
My work at the time was engaged with some big systemic issues including food systems, youth suicide and Indigenous child and family services, and I was working with people and organizations that had power and reach. The question that haunted me (and still does) was something like “Why can’t we get things to really change?” No one wants youth suicide, children being placed in unsafe care, food systems that poison people and planet. Of course the current set-up benefits people with power and money who are able to profit from it and keep it going. But still. Why was youth suicide not a thing we could change?
I landed on the idea of “community action systems” which was my way of trying to name the context that Adam was also speaking about. I wrote a long post about it. In that post, you can see my early orientation to good work in complexity: starting with what is, working to shift it and seeing what happens.
Twenty years after writing that post, I think the inquiry is still valid. But my study of complexity and my dedication to linking dialogue to change has given me some further insight. And so I offer this third post in a series about theory and facilitation on the ecology of dialogic containers.
Connecting facilitation practice to good theory
Good dialogue feels transformational. In a good and deep conversation, we learn something, we may have our opinions changed, or discover insights together that we have never seen before. We might have a part of identity slip away. We can find healing, beauty, joy, conflict, or coherence. Because the change happens right away, and often within and between, dialogue feels like it is the key to systemic change. “If this encounter can have such a profound affect on me right here,” the thinking goes, “imagine what would happen if we did this at scale?”
I like that thought. I clung to that thought for most of my professional life. I fervently believed that if we could just get the right people in the room and have the right conversations, the right things could happen. Some small victories validated this approach a bit, but like a stone dropped into still water, the ripples can be measured for a while – profoundly beautiful radiating waves of energy – but at some point, the lake absorbs the effort and the far shore never feels the effect.
A couple of decades of reflection and learning about complexity led me to Snowden’s work, where anthro-complexity is an attempt to build a coherent theory of the complexity of human life. Dave introduced me to Alicia Juarrero, whose most recent book, Context Changes Everything, is a critical text in creating a theory of stability, which I feel is critical to any theory of, or attempt to make, change. If you don’t understand how things remain stable and persistent over time, it’s very difficult to know where to affect change, let alone what to do once you are successful.
Through my love of football and my the work of Mark O Sullivan, I was introduced to ecological complexity, which is derived form the work of James Gibson and from which the idea of “affordances” comes. Ecological complexity says that actions are embedded in interconnected contexts and are enabled from the constraints and possibilities that define those contexts. All this is important to understand because if we want to understand why things are hard to change we need to look at the constraint regimes that keep them in place and find ways to discover the affordances for action. That points back to why Dave named one of his frameworks “cynefin”, one meaning of which is “habitat,” specifically a habitat that makes some things possible and not other things.
All of these folks work on this problem and their work is incredibly useful to dialogue practitioners and process designers. But in my world of facilitation I see hardly anyone connecting this body of work with facilitation and dialogue practice.
This matters because dialogic containers are places of the most active and intimate agency in groups of people. In dialogue we have maximum agency for change. We can create, occupy and exchange within dialogic containers at a very rapid place. A mind can change in a moment, a four-hour meeting can create new and powerful relationships through shared experiences. New ideas can be birthed. Creativity bubbles, possibility emerges.
Scales and tempos
No dialogic container is a neutral or a blank space. It is nested inside of and alongside of other contexts that influence it. These contexts exist at different scales and have different tempos. Change happens at a slower pace. There is much less creativity and possibility in a large bureaucratic system than there is in a small team. Communities trying to initiate a new way of delivering services, like harm reduction around drug use, must do so within a cultural framework that says “for example “drugs are bad.” Changing the cultural changes the possibilities for coherent ways of being, but changing a culture is hard.
In an ecological setting, a dialogical container is a lightly resourced structure that can create powerful change that acts upon its participants. This recent post on making beauty together talks about that. Constraints provide a downward causality, which is what Juarerro argues. So what are the contexts, scales and tempos that can influence dialogic containers? A useful list might be:
- Dialogic containers
- Situational settings
- Institutional fields
- Cultural fields
Let’s look at these in more detail.
Dialogic containers
Dialogic containers are the most agile and flexible scales. Spatially, people are directly encountering one another, whether face to face or online, and things happen in an instant. Conversations move along in minutes or hours, and decisions can be made, minds changed, conflicts inflamed or resolved in the blink of an eye. Think about the moment you said yes to a marriage proposal or a job offer or an invitation to something that changed your life. Dialogic containers are places where we practice our own agency, we have maximum freedom to act based on how we have made sense of things, and where change can occur immediately.
However, as the entire field of social psychology and cognitive science tells us, what I call dialogic containers themselves are constituted of context specific constraints which influence behaviour. Physical constraints are the most obvious, and all facilitators know that part of their job is creating space that is conducive to a meeting’s purpose. The nature of the space affects how people can organize, how well they are able to participate and how present they can be to the task at hand. Choices about room layout, light, size, temperature and colour all influence participants’ experiences.
Dialogic containers are also subject to internal constraints that enable the likelihood that some things will emerge and others will not. Facilitators and process designers have some influence in this space both in the moment and in the invitation process that helps bring people into the container. In my own practice of highly participatory work I find that it is very important to identify a shared necessity for participants that links with their intrinsic motivations to be present and contributing. The more we connect the meeting to urgent necessity of the moment, the more deeply participants invest in and participate in the process.
A plenary meeting is not the smallest way a group can of people can organize and engage. When groups break into sub-groups, multiple dialogic containers form, each subjected to the same kind of internal constraints that enable or limit participation. In dialogue facilitation, this technique is used deliberately to break up a field for many reasons. Sometimes we want to increase creativity or diversity for idea generation, or to disrupt unhelpful patterns like groupthink or a conversation that seems to be going around in circles.
Situational settings
Dialogic containers are set within a moment in time and a space that matters. Current events in the organization such as a recent conflict or structural change can influence the way a meeting goes. A strategic planning retreat is very different if the organization is riven with conflict than when everything is going well. Team culture can be influenced with a change in leadership, which is something we see all the time in sports. A group that has been together through struggles and celebrations will have a strong internal coherence that will be very different from a group coming together for the first time in unfamiliar territory. Situational awareness can still be rapidly changing contexts, on the scale of days or months, and they are the context that is most immediately influential to the group. Many times I have engaged in a long planning process that began when the situation was one way but by them time we met together “things had changed.” If one doesn’t adjust the nature of the dialogic container with situational awareness, “fit” become an issue. We will be doing the wrong thing for the wrong reason.
I once ran an Open Space meeting for a group of people who had been preparing to put to use a substantial pit of government funding organize a community health network. It took us a few months to craft the invitation and make sure everyone could come, and to prepare them to participate well in Open Space, including setting up ways that their work on the day could be put to use after the meeting. All was ready to go and people arrived and were excited to get to work on this opportunity. As I stood open to Open Space, the government representative whispered in my ear that the financial commitment had changed, but he didn’t want anyone to know about it. There was to be no money and he thought I should just invite the group to do the work anyway but not to mention that there would be no funding. I asked him to disclose that to the group and his response was “it’s not public yet.”
The fact was, it wasn’t a secret. Some of the participants knew this and others hadn’t and all were sworn to secrecy, so no one felt comfortable raising the issue. As I called for topics to be posted there was silence. Finally one of the group members stood up and said “I think we all need to talk about this and we like to ask our facilitator and government rep to leave the room while we do so.” I was relived and grateful. While my client and I waited outside the meeting room for a few hours we talked about the ethics of what had just happened and how the situation very much had a role to play in why this meeting was not going to go the way he wanted it to.
Dialogic containers do not arise in a vacuum. they are the product of an immediate situation that can change quickly and influence what will emerge in the container.
Institutional fields
Institutional fields represent a broader context in which dialogic containers function. Here we see that behaviours and possibilities are contained by things like policies, laws, decision making authority, incentives, resources and even persistence behavioural patterns like workload and job function. All of these constraints are helpful because they provide stability to institutions. This stability usually takes years to change, especially in established institutional settings like government, education systems, and large corporations. The stability is helpful because it protects the resources and, where applicable, the duty of care that institutions hold. Institutional fields make it very difficult for change to occur and become a deep source of frustration for facilitators who craft dialogic containers for innovation and change, only to see good ideas mire in the stability of the institutional field.
Oftentimes I will hear from leaders that they want highly participatory events that generate good leads but that we have to “manage expectations” in terms of what is possible. I get it because a good dialogic container can generate feelings of excitement and possibility and experiences of change but institutions may have something to say about how much and how fast things can go. This is why my process design conversations include an important check-in about the “architecture of implementation.” In other words, I want everyone to be clear on what we know about how the results of a meeting will be used. The worst leaders are the ones who want the group to feel fully empowered (“oh I want everyone to think freely and come up with great ideas they can champion”) but have no intention of opening up affordance within the organizations to make novel ideas take root.
This interface between dialogic containers in which change is generated, and institutional setting in which stability is maintained is a critical space for understanding change. The bigger results of work done in dialogic containers are subject to the affordances that are in place between that container and the instiututional field, and that often makes it hard for emergent strategy produced in a container to find an easy way into and institutional field. Change is almost always unanticipated and oblique to the established institutional fields.
In a recent Open Space I did with a tribal government, over two days a group of employees began to talk about instituting a four-day work week for the tribal government employees. This issue emerged during the meeting and the tribal CEO watched it happen. When they asked her is this was possible she answered honestly: “I don’t know.” But she alos committed to doing her best o make it happen which meant that she needed to take a well thought out proposal to the tribal council. In order to make it more likely to succeed, she told they group they would need to back their proposal with data and with examples from other tribal governments and anticipate the questions that different tribal council members would have.
Because there was no established affordance for the change, making the change was going to be a high effort endeavour. The institutional field needed to be shaped to make it easier to say yes if the proposal was to succeed. This is familiar to everyone who studies and practices politics and change, but understanding the relationship between the active change landscape of a dialogic containers and the active stability landscape of an institutional field using ecological concepts helps make this work clearer. How can we carve a deep channel that makes it easy for these two contexts to be linked? That what affordances are. If we can find some that are pre-established affordances, that’s helpful. If we need to create some, then it’s unlikely that our change work will be effective until we do, and that should influence the way we initiate work ion teh dialogic container by influencing who we invite, and what we talk about.
Cultural field
Institutional fields may be the most visible contexts in which dialogic containers exist, especially in discreet and well defined organizational settings, but cultural field are alos at play. In organizations “they way we’ve always done things” can be as important a constraint as a law or a policy. So too can professional cultures, social norms, cultural status and personal relationships. These can affect what is considered “knowledge” or “authority” in a cultural setting. A person that shows up to a public local government meeting with a slide show of charts and spreadsheets is trying to establish authority within a managerial culture that values these kinds of artifacts, regardless of of how accurate the knowledge is. A person at the same meeting with a true and personal story might be dismissed as merely anecdotal, even though the story may reveal more about the situation that data that has visualized in a socially acceptable way.
Organizational cultures evolve over years. They are not changed quickly and they are not changed predictably. Even longer are the societal cultures and norms that shape behaviours. Wittgenstein coined the term “form of life” to describe the collected shared background of a human community’s practices, activities and ways of doing things that are long established and context specific for a society or culture. Forms of life have a powerful effect on the way institutions are shaped (and the regulatory environment inside which they are shaped) and they provide an incredibly robust and persistent field that limits what affordances are possible.
In the world of global sport, we can see how forms of life affect how global association football is organized and trained differently in North America and Europe. North American professional sports are organized around closed leagues where there is no incentive NOT to finish last. This is becasue the teams are “franchises” of the league rather than individual organizations who have agreed to play each other in a league. In North American professional soccer, promotion and relegation is extremely are and only recently has emerged in the United Soccer League, a competing professional league to Major League Soccer. MLS will likely never have promotion and relegation because team owners buy their franchises as members of the top tier of soccer and protect their investments by always staying in a league that generates shared revenues across all the clubs.
The biggest scale of these contexts are the civilizational scales that take multiple generations to change. These contexts are the stable and unchanging seas in which all work takes place. A culture that is rooted in liberal economics, featuring capitalist and market-based structures of productivity and distribution will always treat shared ownership and reciprocal gifting as counter cultural, even at the smallest scale.
Implications of contexts for making change
There is a helpful polarity of change work I use, which I initially got from Snowden. A Robust system survives by resisting change and a resilient system survives by being changed. As we look at the different scales of contexts inside of which dialogic work occurs, we can see increasing robustness the wider the context is. The reason why cultural contexts are so enduring is that they a deeply embedded in values that produce structures that guide behaviours and thinking in a particular way. Proponents of the idea that humans have no free will point to these larger constraint regimes to point out that, essentially, no matter how strong you are as a swimmer or how much progress you are able to make against the current, the river will always carry you back downstream.
Importantly, the degree to which a context is robust tells you a lot about how it changes. Robust systems are incredibly resistant to change, but when they do change, it is often catastrophic to the existing order. That means whole scale breakdown of a robust system will often collapse into chaos. If a group of people inside these contexts do not have the resources to manage the chaos (including expertise, connection and resourcefulness) things can become perilous. On the other hand, resilient systems are generally composed of flexible and loosely content structures that change all the time in small ways. Watching a forest change into a marsh through beaver activity is amazing. At no time does the ecosystem suffer a catastrophic loss of life or diversity (as it would if was instantly flooded by a dam break). Instead the system gradually changes over time, with the life being supported largely by what happens at the edges, where different contexts meet. These are called “ecotones” in ecology and they provide fresh resources, refuges, places to incubate new life and diversity. In the natural world the ecotone is where new species and new adaptive capabilities are born. The same is true in human life where the ecotone introduces new ideas, new connections and requisite diversity to the system which can be carried back to the centre of the system to be explored and experimented with.
At the immediate level, making meaning together can help create the local conditions for improved lives and that is why we gather to figure out how to improve organizational life. Occasionally there exists an affordance in a system of contexts like this that allows for the larger contexts to change, sometimes quite rapidly. Thomas Kuhn famously analyzed this in his work on paradigm change in the natural sciences. Science is a special case as a context because it has an in-built mechanism for both preserving its stability and making wholesale change, even when that change can throw the entire careers of established scientists into the bin!
But in general, larger contexts dictate the kinds of things that are more likely to happen than not. These are affordances, and good strategy seeks to find and use these affordances, especially if the change we are trying to make is structural or systemic. Single meetings, or even extended gatherings of powerful dialogue will not succeed in making changes to the larger contexts unless affordances exist to do, or unless the group has the power to overwhelm the constraints of the bigger contexts.
What this means for facilitation
This theory has been important to my facilitation practice. For most of my career I have enlisted to host dialogues with the hope that bigger things might change. If a group does not have access to power and influence and the ability to make changes to the larger context, these gatherings can feel very buoyant and optimistic but the results very quickly hit “the real world.” that is not to say that dialogue has no power. Held with a knowledge of the contexts in mind, dialogic practice can live in the ecotone of a larger system, cultivating the possibility of change, creating new and surprising connections, or developing new collective knowledge that can have and influence and effect on a broader context.
Dialogic containers remain the places where we experience the most agency and the most authority over our actions and our futures. Done well, many participants leave good dialogues with a sense of possibility and connection. Harvested well, and realistically, dialogic work can become the crucible for new ideas and connections that can catalyst change. On its own, dialogue is rarely effective in influencing the broader contexts that keep problems in place. Working to discover affordances and blockages in the context, building an architecture that supports implementation, and developing a theory and strategy for preserving gains made suddenly makes the encounter in the dialogic container important, more high stakes and more effective.
As Juarrero says, context changes everything. Dialogic containers give us a place where agency is immediate and creativity is possible. But the wider contexts in which those containers sit determine whether the results of dialogue can travel beyond the room. The work of the facilitator is therefore not only to host good conversations, but to understand the landscapes of constraint in which those conversations take place.