Its that time of year when we are getting ready to invite people back to Bowen Island for our annual Art of Hosting. Since 2004, folks have travelled from all over the world to come to this gathering. Over four days and three nights, we will be diving in with each to explore powerful tools for participatory leadership, engagement and hosting conversations.
Our team this year consists of myself, Caitlin Frost, Amanda Fenton and Teresa Posakony, four long time Art of Hosting stewards who have extended their practice into other related fields. These are some of my closest colleagues in the work, and people with whom I have done some of most interesting, engaging and complex work in my career. We each bring a deep set of practices and experiences to our work and we all love teaching.
Caitlin is one of the world’s foremost practitioners of The Work of Byron Katie, a practice of self-inquiry that has been used by leaders and participants in our program to develop a strong personal leadership practice for inquiring into limiting beliefs. Being able to show up resrouceful in challenging work is a crucial aspect to participatory leadership, whether you are leading an organization, a community or a single meeting. The Art of Hosting is predicated on the ability of hosts to hold space when we are uncertain of outcomes and dealing with emergence. Caitlin will be leading a half day of work during the workshop to introduce participants to the practice and demonstrate ways of using similar practices collectively, so that groups can increase their capacity for working in complexity.
Amanda is a steward of The Circle Way, which is the core practice behind the Art of Hosting. Understanding how to lead and work in Circle gives hosts and leaders a powerful practice ground for participatory leadership. It is a place where hosts can learn how to practice standing in places of power and leadership and how to lend their attention to holding open the space that is needed for voices and leadership to emerge within a system . Circle practice is not simply about a dialogue method, but is instead a ground for developing the leadership skills needed for participatory work.
Over the past decade, Teresa’s work has combined skillful participatory practice with a curiosity about how to change systems, especially those systems that are responsible for health and education. Using a combination of learnings from research in neurology, epigenetics, adverse childhood experiences and resilience, Teresa has put together a body of work to bring trauma informed practice to leadership, participatory gatherings and systems change.
This year we are also being joined by a colleague from Japan, Yurie Makihara who uses dialogue and participatory leadership in her work with businesses and municipalities in Japan on sustainability issues.
As for me, I get to bring my deep interest in designing process for complex challenges, using hosting for planning, action and evaluation to address tricky strategic work into this work. What I love about teaching is how much more I learn about my own work as I share it with my colleagues and with participants who are bring real life challenges to the program.
It’s not all about us though. It’s also about you, the participants. each Art of Hosting is highly experiential and you are invited not only to bring your own work and curiosities to Bowen, but bring your courage to step up and host with us. We have participants coming from a variety of sectors including business, education, social services, churches, local and indigenous governments and philanthropy. The conversations and connections that are formed on Bowen often last year, between diverse folks from a variety pf places. We invite you to join us as well.
An interesting review essay by John Quiggan looks at a new book by Ellen Broad called Made by Humans: The Ai Condition. Quiggan is intrigued by Broad’s documentation of the way algorithms have changed over the years, from originating as “a well-defined formal procedure for deriving a verifiable solution to a mathematical problem” to becoming a formula for predicting unknown and unknowable futures. Math problems that benefit from algorithms fall firmly in the Ordered domains of Cynefin. But the problems that AI is now be deployed upon are complex and emergent in nature, and therefore instead of producing certainty and replicability, AI is being asked to provide probabilistic forecasts of the future.
For the last thousand years or so, an algorithm (derived from the name of an Arab mathematician, al-Khwarizmi) has had a pretty clear meaning — namely, it is a well-defined formal procedure for deriving a verifiable solution to a mathematical problem. The standard example, Euclid’s algorithm for finding the greatest common divisor of two numbers, goes back to 300 BCE. There are algorithms for sorting lists, for maximising the value of a function, and so on.
As their long history indicates, algorithms can be applied by humans. But humans can only handle algorithmic processes up to a certain scale. The invention of computers made human limits irrelevant; indeed, the mechanical nature of the task made solving algorithms an ideal task for computers. On the other hand, the hope of many early AI researchers that computers would be able to develop and improve their own algorithms has so far proved almost entirely illusory.
Why, then, are we suddenly hearing so much about “AI algorithms”? The answer is that the meaning of the term “algorithm” has changed. A typical example, says Broad, is the use of an “algorithm” to predict the chance that someone convicted of a crime will reoffend, drawing on data about their characteristics and those of the previous crime. The “algorithm” turns out to over-predict reoffending by blacks relative to whites.
Social scientists have been working on problems like these for decades, with varying degrees of success. Until very recently, though, predictive systems of this kind would have been called “models.” The archetypal examples — the first econometric models used in Keynesian macroeconomics in the 1960s, and “global systems” models like that of the Club of Rome in the 1970s — illustrate many of the pitfalls.
A vast body of statistical work has developed around models like these, probing the validity or otherwise of the predictions they yield, and a great many sources of error have been found. Model estimation can go wrong because causal relationships are misspecified (as every budding statistician learns, correlation does not imply causation), because crucial variables are omitted, or because models are “over-fitted” to a limited set of data.
Broad’s book suggests that the developers of AI “algorithms” have made all of these errors anew. Asthmatic patients are classified as being at low risk for pneumonia when in fact their good outcomes on that measure are due to more intensive treatment. Models that are supposed to predict sexual orientation from a photograph work by finding non-causative correlations, such as the angle from which the shot is taken. Designers fail to consider elementary distinctions, such as those between “false positives” and “false negatives.” As with autonomous weapons, moral choices are made in the design and use of computer models. The more these choices are hidden behind a veneer of objectivity, the more likely they are to reinforce existing social structures and inequalities.
The superstitious reverence with which computer “models” were regarded when they first appeared has been replaced by (sometimes excessive) scepticism. Practitioners now understand that models provide a useful way of clarifying our assumptions and deriving their implications, but not a guaranteed path to truth. These lessons will need to be relearned as we deal with AI.
Broad makes a compelling case that AI techniques can obscure human agency but not replace it. Decisions nominally made by AI algorithms inevitably reflect the choices made by their designers. Whether those choices are the result of careful reflection, or of unthinking prejudice, is up to us.
In general I think that scientists understand the limits of this approach to modelling, and that was borne out in several discussions that I had with ecologists last week in Quebec. We do have to define what we mean by “prediction” though. Potential futures can be predicated with some probability if you understand the nature of the system, but exact outcomes cannot be predicted. However, we (by whom I mean the electorate and policy makers who work to make single decisions out of forecasts) do tend to venerate predictive technologies because we cling to the original definition of an algorithm, and we can come to believe that the model’s robustness is enough to guarantee the accuracy of a prediction. We end up trusting forecasts without understanding probability, and when things don’t go according to plan, we blame the forecasters rather than our own complexity illiteracy.
Helping a friend with a design challenge today. He is running a small group process at the end of a day of presentations about energy futures in a small community. He initially thought that it would be good to end the day – in which 120 people are gathered to hear about energy futures – with action steps, but these kinds of gatherings are not good places to come up with action planning. Instead I advised him to use a World Cafe for reflection process to produce the elements of a shared vision. IN a little over an hour, good work can get done without raising expectations to high or demanding too much commitment from folks who just came to hear some presentations.
Here is the design I sent him.
You have a short time. Here’s a design:
Get people into groups of four. If you can, get them around tables with some markers and paper in the middle. If not, just have them move into groups of four chairs.
Tell people not to get comfortable. They will be moving twice in the next hour.
Give them a simple question: “what have you heard today that excites you about our future here?”
Tell them they have 20 minutes to share in their groups and discuss that question.
After 20 minutes stop them all, have everyone stand up together and move to different groups.
Repeat
And repeat again.
Towards the end of the third round, say fifteen minutes in, give each group three post it notes and a pen. Ask them to reflect and agree on three things they heard commonly across all conversations.
To harvest, your ask anyone to read out one of their post it notes. Then you invite any group with a similar one to shout BINGO! And bring the notes to a wall in a nice neat cluster. I’m serious. The goal of the process is to get clusters.
Repeat until all the post it notes are on the wall. Have people come up to the wall and give the clusters names. Get the core team to look at the clusters and write a shared purpose statement from it. This is what you can present back the next day.
World Cafe is perfect for this. It works because it is based on a basic structure of small groups of four people, switching conversations to allow a whole group to deeply explore a question, and a harvesting strategy that makes visible what’s being collectively learned. And you can do it in a little over an hour.
Learn more about The World Cafe.
All facilitation work happens within containers and those containers are separated from the rest of the world by thresholds. When you enter a meeting, you are removing yourself from the world and entering into a space where specific work is being done. It’s no exaggeration to say that this is almost a ritual experience, especially if the work you are doing involves creating intangible outcomes such as team building, good relations, conflict resolution or community.
Good participatory meetings have the characteristics of the Four Fold Practice within them: people are present and hosted with good process. They participate and co-create. In order to do this, participants need to make a conscious step over a threshold into the container.
Thresholds are as old as humanity. The boundary between in and out is ancient. Being welcomed into a home, a family, a structure or a group comes with ritual behaviours to let you know that you have left one world behind and entered into another.
In meetings, these thresholds are multiple and nested. My friend Christie Diamond once said “the conversation begins long before the meeting starts, and continues long after the meeting is over.” That has rung true for the thousands of conversations I have hosted and participated in over my life. And on reflection, I can trace a series of threshold that are crossed as we enter into and leave a conversational space. At each step, my “yes” becomes more solid and my commitment to the work becomes more important and concrete. See if this scheme makes sense:
- Invitation is noticed
- Engage with the call, connect it to my own needs
- Making time and space to engage (committing my resources)
- Physically moving to the space
- Arriving in the field of work
- Entering the physical space
- BEGINNING THE WORK
- PARTICIPATING IN SUB-CONTAINERS WITHIN THE MEETING
- FINISHING THE WORK
- Leaving the space
- Exiting the field of work
- Returning home
- Reorganizing resources to support the change
- Re-engaging with the world
- Working from a changed stance
Each one of these crossings happens whether you are coming into someting as mundane as a staff meeting or something as important as attending your own wedding. Often time facilitators pay attention only to numbers 7-9 and many times 7 and 9 are given short shrift.
I’m curious to hear about your own experiences of crossing thresholds for important meetings.
The Art of Hosting is predicated on a very simple set of practices which we call the Four Fold Practice. This framework emerged from a conversation in the late 1990s between Toke Moeller, Monica Nissen, Carsten Ohm and Jan-Hein Nillson about what patterns make for a meaningful conversation. After talking about it for days, the clarity that arose was that people experience meaningful conversations when they are present, when they participate, when they are hosted and when they co-create something. Simple.
The next question then became, what if these four patterns were actually practices that could be cultivated both by individual leaders/facilitators and by groups? What would that be called?
The answer was, “That would be called the art of hosting.” And so a collective inquiry was born that has spread around the world and been taken up by tens of thousands of people working in all forms of leadership, organization, and community.
I sometimes feel that the four fold practice doesn’t get the attention it deserves. Sometimes people can confuse the Art of Hosting with the methods we use or the way we harvest conversations or the tools that help us design things. But that’s not what it is. The Art of Hosting, at its deepest essence, is these four practices.
Today we are beginning an Art of Hosting workshop with some community foundations in British Columbia and tonight we began by introducing the four fold practice in some depth, because when all else fails, coming back to these practices will at least remind you how to invoke patterns that make engagement and dialogue meaningful. We began by telling the story of the practice and where it came from (you can learn a bit about that here) and then we led people in a simple exercise to explore it.
Getting into pairs we asked people to spend 5 minutes on the question “Which of these practices are you strongest on, and what’s a story about that?” We heard a bit in plenary about what was strong with folks, and there are lots of assets and experiences in the room
Then we asked people to talk about which of these practices they were weakest on and what they were eager to learn about. These learning questions were captured on index cards and placed in our centre where we will use them to focus our teaching and inquiry over the next three days.
It’s a simple way to dive into these practices, acknowledge that there are lots of ways to come into an Art of Hosting workshop, and build on the strengths that people have. And it allows us to discover the learning agenda in the room and tie it to the practice. It’s a rich harvest.