Category Archives: complexity economics

The apprentice crowdsorcerer: learning to hatch online communities

I am working on the construction of a new online community, that will be called Edgeryders. This is still a relatively new activity, that deploys a knowledge not entirely coded down yet. There is no instruction manual that, when adhered to, guarantees good results: some things work but not every time, others work more or less every time but we don’t know why.

It is not the first time I do this, and I am discovering that, even in such a wonderfully complex and unpredictable field, one can learn from experience. A lot. Some Edgeryders stuff we imported from the Kublai experience, like logo crowdsourcing and recruiting staff from the fledgling community. Other design decisions are inspired from projects of people I admire, projects like Evoke or CriticalCity Upload; and many are inspired by mistakes, both my own and other people’s.

It is a strange experience, both exhalting and humiliating. You are the crowdsorcerer, the expert, the person that can evoke order and meaning from the Great Net’s social magma. You try: you say your incantations, wave your magic wand and… something happens. Or not. Sometimes everything works just fine, and it’s hard to resist the temptation of claiming credit for it; other times everything you do backfires or fizzles out, and you can’t figure out what you are doing wrong to save your life. Maybe there is no mistake – and no credit to claim when things go well. Social dynamics is not deterministic, and even our best efforts can not guarantee good results in every case.

As far as I can see, the skill I am trying to develop – let’s call it crowdsorcery – requires:

thinking in probability (with high variance) rather than deterministically. An effective action is not the one that is sure to recruit ten good-level contributors, but the one that reaches out to one thousand random strangers. Nine hundred will ignore you, ninety will contribute really lame stuff, nine will give you good-level contibutions and one will have a stroke of genius that will turn the project on its head and influence the remaining ninety-nine (the nine hundred are probably a lost cause in every scenario). The trick is that no one, not even him- or herself, knows in advance who that random genius is: you just need to move in that general direction, and hope he or she will find you.
monitoring and reacting rather than planning and controlling (adaptive stance). It is cheaper and more effective: if a community displays a natural tropism, it makes more sense to encourage it and trying to figure out how to use it for your purposes than trying to fight it. In the online world, monitoring is practically free (even “deep monitoring” à la Dragon Trainer), so don’t be stingy with web analytics.
build a redundant theoretical arsenal instead of going pragmatic (“I do this because it works”). Theory asks interesting questions, and I find that trying to read your own work in the light of theory helps crowdsorcerers and -sorceresses to build themselves better tools and encourages their awareness of what they do. I am thinking a lot along a complexity science approach and using a little run-of-the-mill network math. For now.

These general principles translate into design choices. I have decided to devote a series of posts to the choices my team and I are making in the building of Edgeryders. You can find them here (for now, only the first one is online). If you find errors or have suggestions, we are listening.

Economist pride (Italiano)

2 Replies

Inutile negarlo: noi economisti non siamo simpatici alla gente. La nostra disciplina è soprannominata “la scienza triste”; veniamo accusati, in modo più o meno velato, di complicità con i peggiori eccessi del capitalismo di rapina; alcuni dei più famosi e rispettati esponenti della professione si sono visti affibbiare dalla stampa soprannomi da supercriminale dei fumetti, come “Dottor Destino” (Nouriel Roubini) e “Il Cigno Nero” (Nassim Taleb). Non mi risulta che questo succeda ai linguisti o agli astronomi.

La scienza economica, proprio come la scienza in generale, ha i suoi scheletri nell’armadio: posizioni ideologiche a cui è stata data una copertura di pretesa oggettività; previsioni completamente sbagliate; prescrizioni di politica economica che hanno causato molta povertà e sofferenza. Ma altrettante sono state le vittorie intellettuali, le invenzioni straordinarie, i contributi di valore alla prosperità umana. A mio modo di vedere, questo dualismo è inevitabile, perché l’economia politica nasce da una costola della filosofia morale: Adam Smith, da molti considerato il fondatore della disciplina, scrisse una Teoria dei sentimenti morali a cui teneva almeno quanto alla più famosa Ricchezza delle nazioni. E la filosofia morale non è un pranzo di gala: è un campo in cui devi fare scelte terribili ad ogni passo. Libertà o eguaglianza? Meritocrazia o sicurezza? Come i Cavalieri Jedi di Guerre Stellari, i filosofi morali e i loro cugini economisti sono sempre esposti sia al lato luminoso che a quello oscuro della Forza.

Di recente mi è capitato di leggere Towards a General Theory of Consumerism: Reflecions on Keynes’s Economic Possibilities for Our Grandchildren (in questo libro) di Joseph Stiglitz e Governing the Commons di Elinor Ostrom. Stiglitz usa da maestro la teoria neoclassica per illuminare un problema su cui si riflette troppo poco, e cioè il perché, pur potendoselo permettere, le società moderne non scelgano di lavorare meno, rinunciando a un po’ di consumi in cambio di tempo libero. Tra le altre cose, Stiglitz mostra come semplicissime estensioni del modello standard conducano a ribaltarne le previsioni: per esempio, in un modello a due settori non è necessariamente vero che l’aumento del salario in un settore conduce a una riduzione dell’offerta complessiva di lavoro. In me questo suscita ammirazione per la potenza e la flessibilità del modello e un certo imbarazzo nel riscontrare quanto male venga utilizzato nella discussione comune.

Ostrom racconta gli sforzi di diverse comunità umane, dalla Svizzera alle Filippine, nel coordinarsi per gestire in modo sostenibile risorse comuni come tratti di mare pescoso, foreste o sistemi di irrigazione. Successi, fallimenti, episodi di auto-organizzazione e tentativi di riforma dall’esterno sono analizzati con rigore teorico, potenza esplicativa, radicalità, empatia.

Joseph, Elinor: grazie. Questa è l’economia del Lato Luminoso, quella che volevo studiare da ragazzo e che mi rende orgoglioso di essere, nel mio piccolo, un lontano parente dei grandi pensatori come voi. Se organizzate una parata per rivendicare l’orgoglio di essere economisti – un po’ sul modello del Gay Pride, che ha funzionato bene – contate su di me.

Economist pride

1 Reply

There is no denying that we economists are hardly everyone’s favorite characters. Our discipline is known as “the dismal science”; we are accused, in a more or less implicit fashion, of supporting the worst excesses of rogue capitalism; some of the most senior and best known members of the profession are known by the media with comic books supervillain nicknames like “Doctor Doom” (Nouriel Roubini) or “The Black Swan” (Nassim Taleb). This does not happen to linguists or astronomers.

Just like science in general, economic science has its share of skeletons in the closet: ideologies that were given a coverage of objectivity; wildly off-the-mark forecasts; policy prescriptions that failed to prevent, and even caused, much suffering and poverty. But just as many were the intellectual victories, the extraordinary inventions, the valuable contributions to human prosperity. I think this dualism is inevitable, because political economy is the offspring of moral philosophy: Adam Smith, that many regard as the father of the discipline, wrote a Theory of moral sentiments that he cared for just as much as for the more famous Wealth of nations. And moral philosophy is no walk in the park: it is a minefield, in which you have to make terrible choices with every step you take. Liberty or equality? Meritocracy or stability? Like Jedi Knights in Star Wars, moral philosophers and their cousins, economists, are always exposed both to the light and the dark side of the Force.

Recently I chanced to read Joseph Stiglitz’s Towards a General Theory of Consumerism: Reflecions on Keynes’s Economic Possibilities for Our Grandchildren (in this book and Elinor Ostrom’s Governing the Commons. Stiglitz deploys standard neoclassical theory like a true master to illuminate a problem we don’t think enough about: why is it that, though they could in principle afford to, modern societies do not choose to work less, exchanging some consumption for leisure time. Among other things, Stiglitz shows how elementary extensions to the standard model lead to reverting its result: for example, in a two-sector model it is not always true that increasing salary in one of them leads to an overall reduction of labour supply. To me, that inspires awe for the power and the flexibility of the model, and not a little embarassment for the unsophisticated way it is often wielded in common political discourse.

Ostrom tells of the efforts of several human communities, from Switzerland to the Philippines, in coordinating to manage common resources like fisheries, forests or irrigation systems. Successes, failures, institution provision through self-organization and reform attempts from outside are analyzed with theoretical rigor, explanatory power, radical thinking and empathy.

Joseph, Elinor, thanks. This is the Light Side economics, the one I wanted to study as a young man and that makes me proud of being somehow related to great thinkers like yourselves. If you organize a parade to affirm the pride of being economists – modeled on the Gay Pride, which seems to have worked well – you can count on me to show up.