How the elephant got his trunk: what evolution can teach us about complexity

Reminds me of Kaufmann’s mention that the adjacent possible is “historical”, in other words the culmination point, the result or outcome, of past events. In that sense, the past is both a constraint on the future (via the adjacent possible) and the source of what is possible in the adjacent possible.

The substratum of possibilities (with its own historical trajectory that shapes it) that things evolve out of can perhaps be better described as a constraint rather than a cause.

How the elephant got his trunk: what evolution can teach us about complexity

An Eternal Golden Braid

I am rediscovering my love of Hofstadter’s Gödel Escher Bach (aka GEB) through a deep reading group on Clubhouse. This week was Chapter X, Levels of Description. Re-reading this prior to and with the room, I realized that my initial reading of this all those years ago (40?!?) was very likely the genesis of one of my key wonderings, Layers of abstraction, the cost of convenience, and the commoditization of experience.

From chess, to management, to programming, chunking of information, fractals and the cost associated with learning and execution, this chapter covers a lot of ground. Hardware vs. software? Yep, that’s in there as well.

Yeah, I love this book. And this deep reading group, and the people who are in it. And, for that matter, I’m really starting to appreciate Clubhouse, even if their server does seem to get overloaded quite frequently.

“As the prison gate closed behind him…”

I recently joined a community of writers, more accurately a community of people getting together to support each other as we write and work on our writing. Part of this are fortnightly writing prompts, one fiction and one non-fiction. Though most (ok, all) of what I usually write is firmly in the non-fiction category, I thought it would be good to give the non-fiction prompt a go, and see what happened. This is the result of one of those prompts.

As the prison gate closed behind him, he saw someone waiting for him. This wasn’t completely unexpected, of course, given the nature of this place and the purpose of the traveler’s journey here. But it is one thing to know what to expect and another thing entirely to actually experience it.

The person awaiting his arrival was a sight of splendor, the apparent source of illumination in the otherwise dark and dreary space. Their clothing, if that was the correct word for it, was immaculately clean and almost ridiculously colorful, shedding light from across the spectrum that was at once pure white and a rainbow of color. Though it looked new, beyond new, the patterns and designs in the fabric betrayed its age, dating it to an era several hundred years ago when this place had served other, more cheerful, purposes.

This was not true of anything else here, far from it. Everything else showed its age. And the darker purpose to which the place had become home. Most notable, and the easiest to visually date, were the bodies. From the relatively fresh, with most of the flesh still intact, to the quite old, the skeletons where all of the soft bits had faded away so that the bones fell from each other and rolled apart. This was a helpful, though unnecessary, reminder of what lay in store for the traveler should he lose his way, forget his purpose.

As he looked around the room, he wondered what purpose had brought those who had come, and fallen, before him. And what fate they had met. Obviously, their ultimate fate had been death, that much was obvious from the carnage on display. But how had that fate been meted out, and how had they faced it? Would the traveler be subject to the same ordeal as one of these past heroes-in-training? Could he learn from what he could observe before it all began and improve his chances of success, or was he to face something unique to him, something that only he would be presented and that only he could overcome.

There was more here than just bodies. Beyond the physical structure, there was something about this place, something he couldn’t quite put his finger on. And then it came to him – he was seeing this space as it was at the time each of his predecessors had arrived, had greeted the awaiting resident, and then met their fate. He found that if he focused his attention on one particular corpse or set of bones he could filter out all of the other temporal layers from his sight, and see a vision of the experience that person had endured.

He had heard the stories, but again the living of it was quite different from the hearing of it.

He was starting to get pulled into another of these visions, not remembering how many he had already viewed, when he remembered where he was. Why he was there. He returned his gaze to the person awaiting him. A knowing smile, a “yes, it is quite a sight isn’t it” smile, spread across their face to let the traveler know that all was as it should be. They then motioned the traveler toward them as they turned and started walking, head turned over their shoulder to see the traveler’s reaction.

What else could he do? The traveler started walking.

Sometimes reinventing the wheel is exactly what you need

Don’t reinvent the wheel.

The argument for not re-inventing the wheel is often one of efficiency. The wheel has already been invented, it’s a commodity; just get the cheapest wheel you can find, a wheel is a wheel.

An argument for re-inventing the wheel is one of effectiveness for the job at hand. What would vehicles today be if they were restricted to using the “original” wheel?

But wait, you say, an iteration of the wheel isn’t a reinvention of the wheel, it’s just an improvement, a “re-imagining”. The people who went from solid wheels (of rock, perhaps) to hollow wheels with spokes weren’t reinventing the wheel. Or were they?

Consider the tracks that were developed for heavy machinery and armored combat vehicles. These are not “wheels” in the traditional sense. Those vehicles would not be possible if the wheel had not been reinvented. Would we have been able to send humans to the moon if we hadn’t reinvented the wheel?

I think where most people get bogged down on this is the question of form over function.

If what you need is an actual wheel, a circular object into which you can insert some sort of axle and then place a chassis of some sort onto that axle so that the resulting vehicle can move from place to place, then what you have is not an issue of invention but rather a question of selection: pick the right wheel that already exists for the job, maybe modify its form slightly to meet your needs.

If, on the other hand, you have a need for a means of providing locomotion for an as yet not designed or built system of some sort, then limiting yourself to a “wheel” that has already been designed may be overly limiting. And reinventing the wheel may be exactly what you need to do.

Accepting change: thoughts inspired by turning left

“If the light is green, and there is no one coming in the other direction, you can turn left.”

This is what I learned about turning left at stoplight (aka traffic signal) many years ago when I learned to drive. Over time, though, turning left at a signal has gotten a bit more involved.

In addition to the basic green light, traffic signals gained a left turn arrow, that would let you know when it was OK to turn left without worrying about oncoming (or side) traffic. Sometimes you could turn left with the flow of traffic on your side, sometimes you and traffic opposite would turn left together.  A sign declaring Left Turn Yield On Green appeared on these signals for when the arrow was not lit, just in case the mere presence of the arrow made you forget that simple rule.

[A short detour: When we lived in NJ, there were many intersections that did not have left turn arrows, but had signs declaring Delayed Green. It took me a little while to realize what this meant was, “Your light is green, the other direction’s traffic is not, so go ahead and turn left if you like.” Of course, this was at the seemingly rare intersection where you could actually turn left by turning left.]

Some intersections then earned an actual Left Turn Signal, where a left turn could only be made when the arrow was green, independent of the regular flow of traffic. I assume these are in place to help support efficient traffic flow or safety, but they can be a bit irritating when the main light is green, there is no traffic, and you are stuck with a red arrow and can’t turn until the light cycles through.

There is now a newer variation on the theme, something I first noticed several years ago: a left turn signal, separate from the main flow signal, that included a flashing yellow arrow in addition to the red and green arrows, with an accompanying sign letting you know, Left Turn Yield on Flashing Yellow. At first I thought this a bit silly, not sure what benefit this really gave. But then I had occasion to use one of those flashing yellow arrows to turn left, when the main flow light was red.

I have to admit, it kind of freaked me out a bit the first time I made that turn with the main light red, knowing that the light for the other direction was green. “Freaked out” may be a bit strong, but it was definitely an unfamiliar and uncomfortable feeling. I’ve been driving for 30+ years, and this was a significant change.

A good lesson for any type of change (maybe in your life or your company): acknowledge the change, understand its history, and give it a chance.