As a name becomes a noun
How does our human desire for predictable systems prevent us from seeing the richness of the world?
About 1200 years ago, a Persian scientist wrote two important texts about computation and arithmetic. Muḥammad ibn Mūsā al-Khwārizmī worked at the Grand Library of Baghdad during the Islamic Golden Age, and was one of the most famed scholars of the period. Although there are few recorded details about his life, we do know where he was born: Khwarazm, an oasis region that spans modern day Uzbekistan and Turkmenistan.
Centuries passed and al-Khwarizmi’s work remained influential. In the early twelfth century, there were Latin translations in circulation, beginning with the words “Thus spoke al-Khwarizmi” which in Latin reads Dixit Algoritmi.
A love of control
In English, “algorithm” came to mean a set of rules that enable calculations. We apply it primarily to computer programs but it can also mean any systematized effort from bureaucracy to baking recipes. An algorithm is any set of rules or instructions that help calculate an answer to a problem.
We do like systems, don’t we? We like proven – even scalable – methods for solving problems. We like the confidence that comes from control. I suspect that many of the voices on social media explaining, inspiring, instructing and directing us, are expressions of our attraction to solid answers. I also suspect the people behind those videos – the content creators who do not seem to be able to make us more content – feel that their advice adds stability in an uncertain world.
Rules do that.
And here’s the tricky bit. Because rules are meant to keep us on the straight and narrow – while there is great wisdom and goodness in that as well as scalable solutions – there can also be limitations and a lack of openness to other ways of seeing.
Translations
When my children were small, they had a Sunday school lesson about the crossing of the Red Sea. They were encouraged to draw the scene as they imagined it. Child number one drew Miriam with her tambourine. Child number two drew parallel lines and small dots, a seemingly abstract image, so not following the rules at all. His picture didn’t look anything like Moses and the Israelites mid-flight.
Until he explained that it was the view from above.
Some of us see things differently. If our rules and systems prohibit different ways of seeing, we are poorer for it and our world view grows smaller.
Another story. My mum was a fabulous cook and her cookbook collection occupied the long wall in the kitchen. She had memorized some recipes; for others, she needed to look them up. Her cookbooks were filled with annotations and emphases, and she measured and timed things carefully. She taught me a lot. But I don’t cook like that now. I’m a lot more experimental. I work from ingredients and towards experiences I want on the table. You could say I cook intuitively. Which means my kids won’t remember my specific spaghetti sauce but I hope they have learned a different approach to rules and will know how to turn whatever flour they have into the kind of bread they want to eat.
What my mother taught me has been translated over time – just as a name can become a noun. Every translation can help us see more of the richness of the world.
