It occured to me this morning after I posted that piece on affordances last night, I haven’t really blogged about the two loops model of change in living systems. That’s kind of a surprise to me because for the past 15 years or so this is one of the models that has formed a deep part of my practice in working with organizations. Like the Chaordic Path, it is a simple way to grasp deep and complex topics and a good way to introduce groups to concepts that explain more deeply how complex systems work.
(You’ll see me refer to this diagram as a map, model and tool throughout. I suppose it is all of these in different contexts).
So perhaps I’ll make this a series of posts on the two loops. I’ll start with a basic description of the model and then perhaps explore some aspects of application and some stories. If you have been to an Art of Hosting workshop with me, you probably have a version of this description in the workbook, so this won’t be anything new. If you want to see me teaching this online, there is a video here: The Two Loops Model of Change in Churches, which is from a webinar I gave to the Edge Network of the United Church of Canada in 2014. One of my favourite facilitation stories comes from using this map with the United Church, and I promise to share it. We disrupted an intergenerational conflict, and the process was so unexpected and oblique that the Moderator of the time, Gary Paterson, who was in attendance, picked it up and spent the last 18 months of his two-year term doing over 50 workshops using the model to examine the ways the Church is dying (and living). Whenever one uses a model or a map like this, one needs to adopt it for the context, but anyone with even a passing familiarity with the history of Churches can see how this is useful on a number of different levels.
At any rate, here’s the basic overview
The two loops model is a map of how change works in living systems. It charts the movement and relationship between systems of influence and emerging systems, and it is a helpful tool that invites leaders to reflect on where their organization is in this lifecycle and what kind of leadership is most useful.
This map was initially created in a swirl of community conversations in and around the Berkana Exchange around the turn of the century. It was first published by Margaret Wheatley and Deborah Frieze and called “The LIfe Cycle of Emergence” and is colloquially known as “the two loops model.” Back in the early 2000s when I was doing many Art of Hosting workshops with the Berkana Institute, we incorporated this work in our teaching, especially when we were working with teams embedded in a shared context. As a result, the picture you see above evolved, capturing the many stances and approaches needed to work in different areas of the map.
In living systems, change doesn’t happen in a linear or predictable way. The new forms are born within the old forms and they emerge in the midst of the legacy system. For us to cultivate and work with the life cycle of emergence, leaders need to muster the resources of the legacy system to support the emergence of the new while at the same time navigating the emotional terrain of simultaneous loss, grief, disappointment, creativity, excitement, and rigour.
This map tracks the emergence of new systems at every scale, from the personal through to teams, organizations, communities, societies and the planet.
At the heart of the map is the relationship between the “legacy system” and the “emerging system.” As systems ascend in their power and influence, leaders who can stabilize and structure the system for long-term sustainability are put in place. As long as systems are thriving, these stewards focus on maintaining and managing the long-term health and sustainability of the system.
But change is inevitable, whether it is internally driven or coming from the external context in which a system exists. As changes begin to play against the system, the system loses its fitness and ability to sustain itself and enters a period of decline in its influence. This is a very painful process as many people will try to hold on to what has been lost, and those who wield power unresourcefully can sometimes become more controlling as they use their power to attempt to sustain what is in decline. Without good hospicing of a dying system, this can result in pain and the inability to use the resources of the legacy system to support what is emerging..
The new is always with us, but it is rarely visible to the leaders who maintain the legacy system. It is often championed by outsiders who experiment with new forms and new practices. These outsiders are sometimes people who have left the legacy system to discover something else, and they are often also people who were never included in the legacy system and created new ways of being at the margins of the mainstream.
Leadership in times of fundamental change – whether it is the reorganization of a team or department or whole-scale social changes in demographics, economics, or social systems – requires us to build and foster connections between the legacy and emerging systems. As the emerging system is developing, leaders can support experimentation and safe-to-fail work, allowing for learning about what the new system can look like. Before even naming the new systems we can discover the affordances for change that already exist by seeking patterns in the system that are coherent with a preferred intention for change. There are no guarantees that change will occur down any of these particular affordances, but working with emergence requires us to probe and explore to find out what might work. Often leaders need only go to the margins of their system to learn about promising practices that may later appear in the new iteration of their system. Connecting people into networks and nourishing communities of practice with the resources that are channelled from the dying system can make change work smoother and less conflict-riddled. Many systemic shifts are made worse by the conflict between the two loops, where the legacy system leaders try to hold on to what they have always done, and the leaders of the emerging system, who are shut out of access to the power and resources of the legacy system, organize in opposition to what has gone before.
In living systems like forests, the old nourishes the new and willingly gives itself to the emergence of the next form of life. In human systems where such transitions are accomplished with grace, creativity and energy, it is often due to the leadership that guides the lifecycle of emergence by creating spaces for connection and resourcefulness, which allows the rest of the people affected by these systems to transition seamlessly to the new.
Think of how computers have replaced typewriters as an example of how, over the period of about a decade, users were able to transition to a new way of doing the same things, but with more power. Everything about writing has changed, but we still use the same keyboard, and it became the primary way most people could transition from typewriters to computers.
For leaders, the two loops model helps to begin to understand a non-linear theory of change and helps us to assess where our strengths lie and what connections and capacities we need to develop to work with emergence.
A quick note here to connect a key idea from complexity work with the two loops model of change that I’ve used essentially as a theory of change in living systems ever since I started working with it back in the Berkana Institute days when we were looking for ways to explain why networks alone weren’t the answer to change work.
Just a warning. This is a theory-heavy post, and I recommend you read the linked papers and blogs to dove deeper.
What is unique about the model pictured above (and click through if you’re reading this on email, as the featured images don’t appear in the email version of these posts) in terms of traditional change models is that the seeds of the new system is indicated as starting within the existing system. Like any living system, the future comes from a connected disruption with the current and the past. An elephant will not produce a codfish as its offspring, nor will a thistle grow from an apple seed. Living things over time can change and be changed by their environments and relationships, but they are more likely to evolve along some lines rather than others. A cod fish and an elephant (and indeed a thistle and an apple tree) may share a common ancestor 1.6 billion years ago, but that ancestor at some point differentiated itself into several Kingdoms and Phyla and Families with different characteristics shaped by the relationships inherent in its environment. Living systems have a history and those histories are carried forward as “affordances.”
I first learned about affordances through the work of Mark O Sullivan and his application of the theory to learning football, a complex sport requiring complex learning strategies. But these ideas have been around for a long time. In ecological psychology, the concept of affordances comes from J.J Gibson and is summarized nicely in this paper by Hugo Letiche and Michael Lissack:
The term “affordance” was first coined by the perceptual psychologist J.J. Gibson (1977, 1979); it referred to actionable properties between the world and an actant (person or animal). To Gibson, affordances are relationships. They exist: they do not have to be visible, known or desirable. Affordances entail the possible relationships amongst actors and objects; they are properties of the world. For instance, affordances are what objects or things offer people to be done with them. Affordances are bestowed by the environment. They are what it offers, provides and supplies. Affordances invite activity, reaction and point to possibilities. An affordance is a relationship between something in the world and the intentions, perceptions and capabilities of a person or persons.
— Letiche and Lissack, Making room for affodances
Affordances are important because, as they say in the paper:
Affordances can bring us from a possibility space to an activity. In the relationships between persons and situations, the move from activity to consciousness and back again, can be co-shared and co-experienced. Affordances are in effect ‘complementary relating contrarieties’, providing the non-dualist logic needed in social complexity studies. One will be drawn out by affordances, made to do thin
— Letiche and Lissack, Making room for affodances
The two loops model of change represents this space as the beginning of the line of the new and the space out of which it emerges. When we are looking for the weak signals of what might be the next state of a system or its replacement, we need to look within the present for the patterns of stability and the patterns of volatility that give us a clue about what to nudge, what to strengthen and what to disrupt. If we want to bring new relationships and patterns of behaviour into being, we can try to interact with these patterns to see which provides the greatest affordance for the direction in which we want to travel.
And so a critical part of using the two loops model is to spend a lot of time occupying that space in the nascent, unformed moment before the new begins to take shape. Study the stories and patterns of behaviour and the desire lines that limit and enable the evolution of the new from the cauldron of the current state of things. Affordances are rarely visible; they can be felt, perceived, apprehended, noticed and worked with. They show up as tendencies, habits, possibilities, opportunities and surprises.
Me and some friends “villaging” back in 1996 or so at a session at The Irish Heather in Vancouver. That’s me blissed out on the bottom right of this photo. We are playing traditional Irish tunes together.
Barbara Holmes today in a post at the Centre for Action and Contemplation:
It takes a village to raise a child. It takes a village to survive. For many of us, villages are a thing of the past. We no longer draw our water from the village well or share the chores of barn raising, sowing, and harvesting. We can get … almost everything that we need online. Yet even though our societies are connected by technology, the rule of law, and a global economy, our relationships are deeply rooted in the memory of local spaces.
Villages are organizational spaces that hold our collective beginnings. They’re spaces that we can return to, if only through memory, when we are in need of welcoming and familiar places. What is a village but a local group of folks who share experiences, values, and mutual support in common? I’m using the word “village” to invoke similar spiritual and tribal commitments and obligations.… When there is a crisis, it takes a village to survive.
In each generation, we are tested. Will we love our neighbors as ourselves, or will we measure our responsibilities to one another in accordance with whomever we deem to be in or out of our social circles? And what of those unexpected moments of crisis, those critical events that place an entire village at risk? How do we survive together? How do we resist together? How do we respond to unspeakable brutality and the collective oppression of our neighbors?
Our lifelong efforts to map our uniqueness do not defeat our collective connections. Although I’m an individual with a name, family history, and embodiment as an African American woman, I am also inextricably connected to several villages that reflect my social, cultural, national, spiritual, and generational identifications. These connections require that I respond and resist when any village is under assault.…
— Barbara Holmes. https://cac.org/daily-meditations/a-collective-response/
I like this idea that connection alone doesn’t equal community. Connection alone is not enough to create spaces where we make meaning of our lives or generate meaning and life with and for others. Instead, there is a need to enliven the space of connection with purpose, shared identity, and meaning.
I am working on a book on dialogic containers, and it really comes down to the principle that what is “contained” in these kinds of contexts is “meaning.” I once heard Jennifer Garvey-Berger use the term “life-giving contexts” in a webinar, and it really struck me that THIS is what we are trying to do when we are working with “containers” in dialogue and participatory leadership work. It is not enough to hand each other a business card or place an organization’s pamphlet in the centre of a circle. That does not create a dialogic container; it does not create a life-giving context for action.
Villages, as Barbara Holmes points out, DO. And a village is not merely a collection of uninhabited houses. It is an emergent identity of a place of human life. You may live in an apartment building, but do you live in a village? What is the difference between your building and a village? What can you do to make it more village?
The answer to that question is the essence of dialogic organizational and community development. The answer to that question leads you to meaning-making together.
I asked DALL-E to make this image, because I can’t find the great photo i took of streams converging on a beach.
This is one of the things I love about my daily RSS feed. The first thing I see today on my NetNewsReaders list is this blog post from my fiend Mark McKergow in Edinburgh who shares his framework of time, which he has articulated in the Uers Guide to the Future. I like this conception of time, because of the big hole in the which he calls “Ant Country”. Ant Country is that time when the context you are in is important. Mark describes it as the “least useful zone” for planning, becasue it is too far away to predict wat will happen there, but not far enough away that it provides the somewhat reassuring clarity of a vision or a destination. It’s where anything can happen, where life is going to self-organize around your efforts in unpredictable ways, knocking you off course or delivering the resources you need right when you least expect them. “Planning” is rarely helpful here – think about the five year plans we all made in 2019 – but you can and should be prepared for this zone.
Here’s the framework:
User’s Guide to the Future Framework, originally published in McKergow and Bailey, Host, 2014.
I am working with a couple of clients right now looking at their future and it strikes me that there is always an oscillation between that far future and the immediate here and now, and many people can’t actually distinguish between the two, or worse set, they see them as closely connected. Here it is useful to distinguish once again between ordered systems and unordered systems, which helps us distinguish between knowable future and unknowable ones. In his article, Mark talks about ascending Everest, and also uses the metaphor of taxi drivers getting passengers to knowable destiations. These are “knowables” even if the route from here to there is yet to be discovered.
In many ways the near future zones and the far future zones are equally easy to identify. What is right in front of you is yours to do, and you can see what you’re doing when you take a step forward. For the far future it is easy to identify where you want to go, whether that is a knowable and fixed place like a peak or an address, or a hoped for dynamic state, like a generally productive and meaningful work culture, one which might look very different from where we are today. The more knowable and fixed the future state is, the more you can concentrate on backcasting, using experts perhaps who can advise you how to get there (like a map or a cabbie with The Knowledge), or who can help you deal with the technical challenges (like a Sherpa). Linear planning can be very helpful in these cases, as the act of moving into that future is a process of discovering knowable information. Much of that information might already be available, and if it isn’t there are probably people around who can help you find it in a good and accurate way. That doesn’t take the influence of context out of the Ant Country stage, but staying true to the line you have marked through that country will give you a strong sense of direction and a robust plan to get where you are going. One must be careful to pay attention to the vagaries of Ant Country, but in general fidelity to a well put together plan is what you need.
But in the case where you are trying to shift a culture or engage in other highly emergent kinds of work, two things come into play that will help you through Ant Country. The first is knowing that your present state does indeed matter. A lot. Even though you might still be making adjustments and evaluating your immediate need, the history of the system you are in and then nature of the current state actually liit what is possible if you intend to make a move from a current place (overwork, poor morale, a sense of purposelessness) to a more desired state (ease, support and connection, meaningful work). Identifying that far off horizon is important because it orients you in a direction of travel. Instead of worrying about what needs to be in place before getting over the horizon, essentially everything from here to there is ant country. What I typically advise then is to look for patterns in our surrent state of being that provide us with information about what is more possible. That could ean looking for examples or patterns where small hints of our desired future are present. If what you want already exists somewhere in the system, it might be easier to try to grow more of that than to start fresh. This is what we call “affordances.” And it also means looking at the reason why these things never seem to take off, because that gives us some sense of things that we might try in the here and now and the near future. When we are heading in a direction with an unknowable future state, playing with emergence is the goal.
This means that we need to drive directly into Ant Country. We can start doing some things and then open ourselves up to the influences of context and the swirls of randomness that alter our course. Ant Country suddenly becomes the source of creativity and outside knowledge that helps break us out of the patterns that have hindered us and starts giving us options for new ways to get to the better place we have been aiming at. Instead of our plans, especially when we are trying to discover new things and break old habits, we need to get good at participatory leadership and iterative Adaptive Action…what? so what? now what?…probe, sense, respond…observe, orient, decide, act…all the little heuristics that help guide us in this zone are about making sense of the present moment and holding on to the desired future. And then comes the Deep Breath Moment.
Mark’s piece talks about the Deep Breath Moment:
This dynamic steering and adjustment is fine… until, sometimes, a more fundamental adjustment is called for. I call this a ‘deep breath moment’. It’s the time when the far future is re-examined, hopes and aspirations are revised, and a new direction is set.
I’ve experienced this several times in my life and work. What surprises me is that it can creep up without being noticed and appear suddenly, a realisation that something needs to change. Other times it can be a dawning realisation, something that starts as a quiet idea, keeps coming back and seems to get louder and louder until it’s inescapable. But when you do a re-set, a revision of hopes and set a new direction, the effect can be dramatic. Often previously stuck things start to move quite quickly – like pushing on the (push) door when you’ve been fruitlessly pulling and getting nowhere. Things fall into place in different ways. New connections get made. New possibilities arrive. And what was a frustrating stuckness becomes once again a moving and flowing process.
The first thing to say is that this is not a sign of bad planning. On the contrary; it’s a sign that the User’s Guide to the Future is being used well. One of the wonders of viewing the world as emergent is to acknowledge that the unexpected will sometimes happen, and that’s just how it is. The key thing is not to totally prevent the unexpected (which would be futile) but to respond to it well and to use it constructively.
In complex work, I recognize this deep breath moment as one of two things happening. First, it may be that I have found myself in a productive channel flowing towards that desired future. That is a sweet place to be in, but it means, like all affordances, that other options are now closed off to me. I am clearly committed to this path. Deep breath. “We all choose our regrets” as Christopher Hitchens was reported to have once said. Even in the service of the good and right thing that you wanted, possibilities are now forever gone. I find this an important moment of threshold crossing: especially the older I get. It’s poignant. I want my kids to grow up and be strong, but that means there will be that one moment when I picked them up and held them in my arms for the last time. Sigh.
The other deep breath moment I have experienced is the one where I have reached a dead end and I have to move out of the deep channel I am in and make the trek up and over a ridge to a better valley. In our lives perhaps we experience that with relationships that don’t work out businesses that fail, ideas that never take off. We put a ton of time and energy into them and they are over. Sometimes we double down, engaging in sunk cost redemption until someone takes a hold of us in the wilderness of Ant Country and says: “buddy, you’re done. Use your lats amount of energy to get up here and we’ll carry on.”
Working with clients, there is always a temptation to reassure them that the path from here to there is knowable, if we just study things are little more and make a good choice. But remember, the moment of a decision is a madness. Entering Ant Country is inevitable, and it’s going to require a deep breath, some keen awareness of where you are and where you have come from and some solid personal practice to stay in it.
Funeral urn by Charles LaFond.
My friend Charles LaFond is a potter. He is also a man who understands how to make space sacred, whether it is the space inside of which life unfolds or a space between two people deepening into friendship and ever-generative mutual blessing. He is also cheeky while being earnest, and his work plays constantly with the dance of the sacred and the profane. His funeral urns, for example, come with his own cookie recipe, and he encourages you to use them as cookie jars until you expire, after which your body, which by that time will be composed of the most amazing cookies, can be stored within.
Today I was in a local gallery here on Bowen Island talking to one our local artists, Kathleen Ainscough whose work explores liminality, and especially the space where the natural world encounters the built environment. We dove deep into the subject of containers. I brought up Charles because we discussed how containers impart meaning to the things they contain. This is true of both the physical world and the social world. Kathleen noted that we carry french fries in disposable containers, making our meal meaningless. It’s a different story if you were to eat those same french fries out of your own funeral urn!
The point here, of course, is that life is enriched by meaningful experiences, and those experiences can often be induced with the emergence of a powerful and thoughtful container and a set of practices that helps us move from one world to another. Even in the example of eating french fries, there is something different, if only marginally, in eating fish and chips from a container made from one’s own local newspaper, than it is eating one from a piece of waxed paper with a fake newspaper printed on it. The same meal becomes a little different, a little bit more meaningful.
Containers induce meaning. If we meet in disposable settings, the contents of those meetings are likely to be just as disposable. If we don’t have time to build a thoughtful social container at work, then we can’t expect thoughtful responses to important challenges. No, you cannot do the same quality of work in a one-hour meeting as you can in a four-hour meeting. The emergence of rich social containers does not happen in a short stand-up meeting. Similarly, if our conversations happen on meaning-depleted social media pages, they are likely to be thin on relationality and thoughtfulness. Many of us prefer the slower conversations that happen in places like this blog, or in physical life, than on the endlessly scrolling field of social media sites.
The container itself is intimately connected to the meaningfulness of what happens within. Even in the play of sacred and profane, it is about the attention we give to what surrounds things and experiences that builds the importance of what takes (its) place within.