What do hedgehogs, foxes, birds and frogs have in common?
Give up? Well, they’re all used to explain the importance of having range.
David Epstein’s 2019 book Range: Why Generalists Triumph in a Specialized World makes for a fascinating read, introducing various analogies to explain why having a breadth of knowledge and experience is so vital.
Predicting the future
Let’s start with the hedgehogs and foxes. Referencing Philip Tetlock’s well-known nicknames, Epstein explains the key differences between the narrow-view hedgehogs “who know one big thing,” and the integrator foxes, “who know many things”. Epstein explains:
Hedgehog experts were deep but narrow. Some had spent their careers studying a single problem [...] They fashioned tidy theories of how the world works through the single lens of their specialty, and then bent every event to fit them. The hedgehogs, according to Tetlock, ‘toil devotedly’ within one tradition of their specialty, ‘and reach for formulaic solutions to ill-defined problems.’
He continues:
Outcomes did not matter; they were proven right by both successes and failures, and burrowed further into their ideas. It made them outstanding at predicting the past, but dart-throwing chimps at predicting the future.
And the foxes?
Foxes, by contrast, "draw from an eclectic array of traditions, and accept ambiguity and contradiction." While hedgehogs are narrow, foxes explore outside of one domain, exhibiting breadth in their thinking. Remarkably, hedgehogs performed especially poorly at making long-term predictions, even within their areas of expertise.
These nicknames effectively explain why specialists struggle with long-term predictions, but how else does having a broader perspective matter? And how can we develop this range in the first place?
Cowabunga dude!
Epstein argues that the way to develop range is by sampling widely, gaining a breadth of experiences, taking detours, experimenting relentlessly and juggling many interests. And a certain someone by the name of Michelangelo did just that…
Popular lore holds that the sculptor Michelangelo would see a full figure in a block of marble before he ever touched it, and simply chip away the excess stone to free the figure inside. It is an exquisitely beautiful image. It just isn't true. Art historian William Wallace showed that Michelangelo was actually a test-and-learn all-star. He constantly changed his mind and altered his sculptural plans as he worked. He left three-fifths of his sculptures unfinished, each time moving on to something more promising.
Michelangelo was not only a sculptor and painter but also a master architect and designer of fortifications in Florence. In his late twenties, he even turned away from visual art to focus on writing poems, many of which were left unfinished. Epstein highlights:
He started with an idea, tested it, changed it, and readily abandoned it for a better project fit. Michelangelo might have fit well in Silicon Valley; he was a relentless iterator.
Whilst abandoning a project midway through may sound chaotic and unproductive, there is some science behind it. Epstein points to the work of entrepreneur and best-selling business writer, Seth Godin, to explain why.
In his 2007 book, The Dip, Godin writes:
'Quitters never win and winners never quit' is bad advice: it’s true that quitters can’t win, but in fact winners quit all the time. The key to quitting successfully is quitting the right things at the right time. Strategic quitting is a hallmark of successful organizations and people. Serial and reactive quitting are habits of unsuccessful people.
So, what exactly does Godin mean by that? Epstein unpacks the idea:
Godin argued that 'winners' – he generally meant individuals who reach the apex of their domain – quit fast and often when they detect that a plan is not the best fit, and do not feel bad about it. ‘We fail,’ he wrote, when we stick with ‘tasks we don't have the guts to quit.’ Godin clearly did not advocate quitting simply because a pursuit is difficult.
Esptein summarises:
The important trick, he said, is staying attuned to whether switching is simply a failure of perseverance, or astute recognition that better matches are available.
The birds and the... frogs?!
In a specialised world, then, it’s best to be an integrator fox who knows when to quit. Got it! But where on earth do the birds and frogs come into it?!
Well, not every organisation will be teeming with foxes, and some degree of co-habitation with narrow-minded hedgehogs will be required. In which case, the most successful and innovative organisations are the ones who create an environment where both specialists and generalists can collaborate and follow their own curiosity.
To explain this point, Epstein refers to the work of eminent physicist and mathematician, Freeman Dyson.
Dyson argued we need both "visionary birds" and "focused frogs" to succeed. Writing in 2009, he explained:
Birds fly high in the air and survey broad vistas of mathematics out to the far horizon. They delight in concepts that unify our thinking and bring together diverse problems from different parts of the landscape. Frogs live in the mud below and see only the flowers that grow nearby. They delight in the details of particular objects, and they solve problems one at a time.
As Dyson put it, the world is both broad and deep: “We need birds and frogs working together to explore it.”
Epstein adds that Dyson was concerned about the growing prevalence of “frogs” in science – specialists unable to adapt as the field evolves. He warned, “This is a hazardous situation for the young people and also for the future of science.”
This old thing?!
Changing as science itself does, is one thing, but sometimes success can be found in embracing what you know. Gunpei Yokoi – legendary game designer for Nintendo – did just that, utilising an approach he termed "lateral thinking with withered technology."
Lateral thinking, coined in the 1960s, involves reimagining information in new contexts by connecting disparate ideas to create fresh uses for old concepts. Yokoi’s term "withered technology" referred to tech that was so widely understood and accessible it no longer required specialised knowledge. His philosophy focused on using cheap, simple technologies in novel ways. Instead of delving into new tech, he preferred to think more broadly about existing ones.
And so, the Game Boy was born. Epstein writes, balancing disdain and disbelief:
From a technological standpoint, even in 1989, the Game Boy was laughable. Yokoi's team cut every corner. The Game Boy's processor had been cutting edge – in the 1970s. By the mid-1980s, home consoles were in fierce competition over graphics quality. The Game Boy was an eyesore. It featured a total of four grayscale shades, displayed on a tiny screen that was tinted a greenish hue somewhere between mucus and old alfalfa.
But forget Sega and Atari. Ask anyone what the must-have toy of the late '80s and early '90s was, and I’m confident that grey rectangular block with pink buttons would top the list. Having sold 118.7 million units, it was far and away the most successful console of the 20th century. Epstein explains why:
What its withered technology lacked, the Game Boy made up in user experience. It was cheap. It could fit in a large pocket. It was all but indestructible… Unlike its power-guzzling color competitors, it played for days (or weeks) on AA batteries.
Old hardware was well-known to developers, both at Nintendo and beyond. Freed from the need to learn new technology, they produced games at a rapid pace. The likes of Tetris, Super Mario Land and The Final Fantasy Legend all launched in the first year, and were all smash hits.
With simple technology, Yokoi's team sidestepped the hardware arms race and drew the game programming community onto its team.
And thank God he did! My life today might look a whole lot different had my interest in computers not been piqued by Nintendo during my formative years. You wouldn’t be reading this article now, that’s for sure!
Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m off to listen to some classical music, write some poetry and paint the Welsh landscape... and quit half way through.
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