Indirect Work: A Regenerative Change Theory for Businesses, Communities, Institutions and Humans

Introduction

Making My Escape

In the summer of 1964, straight out of my junior year at a Baptist college in

Abilene, I hit the road with a carful of fellow students determined to see the

world. It was my first time away from Texas, and although I didn’t realize it, I

was engineering my escape from an abusive childhood and a narrow religious

culture that had no use for independent, outspoken women. Our little band of

renegades followed the fabled Route 66 to California, driving for three days and

sleeping on the ground at roadside parks in the time-honored tradition of college

students everywhere. By the time we washed up in Hollywood at the home of my

roommate’s uncle, I knew I was never going back. Nine weeks later, I had met and

married the man with whom I would have two children. Soon after, we moved

to Berkeley, where he would pursue a master’s degree and I could pick up where I

left off as an undergraduate.

It was a tumultuous time at UC Berkeley, with the rise of the free speech and

antiwar movements. I found my interests evolving as I moved from a focus on political

science to political philosophy. This led me to a survey course on Greek philosophy,

where my first encounter with Plato’s Socratic dialogues and the “allegory

of the cave” rocked my world. It was so obvious: in that mad ride from West Texas

to California, I had escaped from the cave. My eyes had been opened to a bigger

reality than I had ever imagined possible in my sheltered Christian upbringing.

Reading the dialogues awakened in me a fervent desire to become a philosopher

and to support others who, like me, were seeking meaning in their lives.

The allegory of the cave, which lies at the heart of Plato’s Republic, is one of the

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fundamental images of Western thought and culture. In the dialogue, Socrates

describes a cave in which people are chained in place, unable to move, watching

flickering shadows on the wall that they take to be reality. (This image is the basis

for the popular movie The Matrix, which also shows human beings enslaved and

pacified by an illusionary reality.) For one who has been freed from the chains,

it becomes apparent that the shadows are produced by puppeteers holding up

cutouts in front of a flickering fire. It takes a philosopher, a lover of wisdom and

seeker of truth, to endure the painful process of climbing out of the comforting

darkness of the cave to stand in the light of the sun.

Over the years, I’ve applied this image to my work in the world, which has

focused on evolving the underlying beliefs and premises that organize human

activity on our planet. Most of this work has been in the field of business and

organizational development, although some of it has spilled over into the fields

of governance and social change. For me, the shadows represent the world as it is

conveyed to us by our senses, and the chains are the paradigms and mental models

by which we interpret this world. The puppeteers are the priestly caste of experts

and opinion leaders to whom we look in order to learn what is true, right, and

good. The fire that casts the shadows is the cultural milieu that shapes what we

believe, know, and consider worthy of knowing.

It takes deep and diligent work to see the hidden machineries (the puppets and

puppeteers, chains and shadows) that generate consensus reality. Helping others

to see these machineries is even harder because they believe the puppet show. It’s

not enough to tell them they are caught in a shadow play. To free them from the

cave, one must build the capability and consciousness that will enable them to examine

the hidden sources of their perceptions of reality. One must grow a culture

and community of fellow seekers, each aiming to break the mechanical patterns

of their thought. This is what I mean by indirect work.

A philosopher doesn’t try to persuade us that this or that phenomenon is a

shadow on a cave wall. Instead, she provides us with the method and means to

step out of the cave and its illusions so that we can see for ourselves. We do this by

learning to challenge the apparent evidence of our senses and the interpretations

we make of this evidence. Indirect work teaches us to discern and then evolve the

reality-making apparatus within ourselves.

Introduction | 3

______________

Indirect Work is intended to serve as a key to my other writings, in particular my

books and blog posts.1 I have long understood that my words and teachings are

often misinterpreted because people try to understand them as direct instruction.

They want a template, something they can apply directly, something they can do.

But what I’m saying has to be approached from the vantage of an indirect mindset.

Otherwise, everything that I’m describing is downgraded to tactics rather than

experienced as an invitation to examine the source of one’s beliefs about reality.

I hope with this book to evoke a shift in perspective that will enable readers

to perceive the world in a new way. I sincerely believe that we will not make the

urgent changes needed with regard to all aspects of how we live if we don’t learn

to work indirectly. I’ve even built in a set of exercises, presented here as brief intermezzos,

to support this shift. I encourage you to use this text to challenge and

explore your own processes of reading and making meaning.

1 Carol Sanford is the author of five previous books: The Responsible Business: Reimagining

Sustainability and Success; The Responsible Entrepreneur: Four Game-Changing Archetypes for

Founders, Leaders, and Impact Investors; The Regenerative Business: Redesign Work, Cultivate

Human Potential, Achieve Extraordinary Outcomes; No More Feedback: Cultivate Consciousness

at Work; and The Regenerative Life: Transform Any Organization, Our Society, and Your Destiny.

She blogs at carolsanford.com.

Chapter One

A New Map

Once upon a time, I used to take client groups I was working with to visit projects

that I had helped establish. I wanted to inspire them and give them a sense

of what was possible. Then one day I realized that what I was doing was having

the exact opposite of its intended effect. When I walked onto the project sites, I

could see all kinds of things that were invisible to my tour participants. I could

see people thinking creatively on their feet, open to new insights and information

unfolding in present time. I could see processes and product offerings that were

systemic enough in their implications to transform industries. I could see managers

and workers interacting nonhierarchically, aiming toward shared purposes.

All of this was visible to me because of the new mind I was using to interpret the

phenomena in front of me, but it was always mostly invisible to the people on my

tours, who were working from their old minds, chained in Socrates’s cave. What

they saw simply served to reinforce what they already “knew” to be true.

I believe that this self-reinforcing pattern of thought is the crucial issue of our

moment. Most of us agree that things need to change, that neither society nor

our planet can maintain their integrity if we continue on our current path. But

confusion arises when we try to figure out what change actually means and how

to make it happen.

Many people believe that change means reshaping our practices, improving

what we do and how we do it. I call this working directly, as if we were all billiard

balls on a vast table. If we exert the right force in the right direction, we can knock

everyone into the ideal positions to function harmoniously and sustainably. This

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forms the basis for the majority of theories of change operating in the world today.

For me, these approaches to change are all working from an old mind. We’ve

modified what we do, but we haven’t addressed who we are. It’s no accident that

nearly every philosophical and spiritual wisdom tradition teaches that profound

and enduring change can only come from transforming who we are and how we

experience and understand the world. This is indirect work, an instrument with

the potential to change the world when it is understood within a framework for a

coherent theory of change.

Albert Einstein, in his characteristically pithy and quotable way, once said that

“you can’t use an old map to explore a new world.” Yet even with the best intentions,

this is what most of us do most of the time. As I write this text, aimed at

challenging the habits of outmoded and comfortable ways of thinking, I know that

readers will be using these same ways of thinking to navigate and understand it.

I want to invite you to set aside the old map, to allow the language in this book

to construct a new one in its place. It’s so much easier said than done, but here’s

a simple practice for you to consider. Whenever what I’ve written here seems to

confirm what you already believe and to fit with your current way of working,

pause and ask yourself what you are missing: “What is being said here that really

doesn’t fit? What requires me to change who I am and how I think?” Even if the

words I’ve written fall short of perfectly articulating this different mind, I believe

that, through our joint effort, you can challenge your own certainties in order to

make space for a new way of seeing the world. You will not be aiming for a static

template or model; you will be enlarging your capacity to observe and evolve your

own thinking and your potential to create change.

Intermezzos

To support this joint effort, I’ve interwoven my chapters of narrative with a series

of intermezzos, offering exercises for resourcing your reflection. These are

designed to help you notice the presence of the old map and begin to describe

for yourself the features of the new one. I know that it will be tempting to skip

these exercises and read straight through the book to see what the lady has to say.

The problem with this is that, although you may be entertained by what I have to

say, you won’t necessarily learn anything new about yourself and how you think.

Therefore, to get the most out of your reading, I encourage you to use the interA

New Map | 7

mezzos as a way to come into dialogue with your experience of the text.

The deeper purpose of the intermezzos is to develop your capability to manage,

filter, process, and discover ideas as they arrive in your mental space. This requires

intentional self-observing, the creation of a conscious awareness, separate from ongoing

mental activity, that allows one to objectively observe this activity. It is a common

spiritual or consciousness-development practice, and in some traditions, it is referred

to as cultivating an “inner witness.”

Once this witness is present, it becomes possible to really notice how we take

in influences from others, whether we are reading their words, listening to them

speak, or absorbing what they are modeling through their behavior. Learning is

at least as much about how one engages with new information and experience as

it is about the information itself. The extent to which a person can manage their

own mental state will have a decisive influence on what they are able to receive.

Some states allow us to see and be affected by something new, whereas others

filter and reinterpret what we’re seeing so that it fits within our preexisting categories

and assumptions. Some open us to surprising new depths of understanding,

while others sweep out the jewels because they seem to have no value. I suspect

that we’ve all had this experience in our lives, when we couldn’t receive a teaching

because we weren’t ready. The purpose of self-observing is to create greater likelihood

that we’ll be ready and won’t toss out the teaching because of old, ingrained

habits of thought.

Working with Intermezzos

You will encounter eight of these intermezzos as you read through the book. They

will invite you to pause, reflect, and do a bit of journal writing in response to a set

of questions. The intention is to evoke self-observing and self-discovery in relation

to what you’ve been reading. In my experience, this builds capability to choose

how your mind is working and at what level rather than hum along on autopilot.

As you read, pay particular attention to how your preexisting ideas shape what

you think I’m saying. Let your normal process of reading take hold, but at the

same time, be aware of it. Notice if you are renaming or restating the ideas and

concepts that I’ve offered in order to make them more familiar. Or notice if you

find yourself reshaping their meanings because you find my meanings too obscure.

See if you can catch yourself feeling aligned with what I’m saying rather

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than challenged by it—this is often an indicator of filtering out what’s genuinely

new in a concept and thereby losing its value.

If you do catch yourself doing any of these things, make some journal notes.

This can be a very powerful way to reinforce your self-observing and your ability

to gain more from what you’re learning. You can also make notes about how you