Thinking in Systems: A Primer

Obvious. Yet subversive. An old way of seeing. Yet somehow new. Comforting, in that the solutions are in our hands. Disturbing, because we must do things , or at least see things and think about things , in a different way.

This book is about that different way of seeing and thinking. It is intended for people who may be wary of the word “systems” and the field of systems analysis, even though they may have been doing systems thinking all their lives. I have kept the discussion nontechnical because I want to show what a long way you can go toward understanding systems without turning to mathematics or computers.

I have made liberal use of diagrams and time graphs in this book because there is a problem in discussing systems only with words. Words and sentences must, by necessity, come only one at a time in linear, logical order. Systems happen all at once. They are connected not just in one direction, but in many directions simultaneously. To discuss them properly, it is necessary somehow to use a language that shares some of the same properties as the phenomena under discussion.

Pictures work for this language better than words, because you can see all the parts of a picture at once. I will build up systems pictures gradually, starting with very simple ones. I think you’ll find that you can understand this graphical language easily.

I start with the basics: the definition of a system and a dissection of its parts (in a reductionist, unholistic way). Then I put the parts back together to show how they interconnect to make the basic operating unit of a system: the feedback loop.

Next I will introduce you to a systems zoo—a collection of some common and interesting types of systems. You’ll see how a few of these creatures behave and why and where they can be found. You’ll recognize them; they’re all around you and even within you.

With a few of the zoo “animals”—a set of specific examples—as a foundation, I’ll step back and talk about how and why systems work so beautifully and the reasons why they so often surprise and confound us. I’ll talk about why everyone or everything in a system can act dutifully and rationally, yet all these well-meaning actions too often add up to a perfectly terrible result. And why things so often happen much faster or slower than everyone thinks they will. And why you can be doing something that has always worked and suddenly discover, to your great disappointment, that your action no longer works. And why a system might suddenly, and without warning, jump into a kind of behavior you’ve never seen before.

That discussion will lead to us to look at the common problems that the systems-thinking community has stumbled upon over and over again through working in corporations and governments, economies and ecosystems, physiology and psychology. “There’s another case of the tragedy of the commons,” we find ourselves saying as we look at an allocation system for sharing water resource among communities or financial resources among schools. Or we identify “eroding goals” as we study the business rules and incentives that help or hinder the development of new technologies. Or we see “policy resistance” as we examine decision-making power and the nature of relationships in a family, a community, or a nation. Or we witness “addiction”—which can be caused by many more agents than caffeine, alcohol, nicotine, and narcotics.

Systems thinkers call these common structures that produce characteristic behaviors “archetypes.” When I first planned this book, I called them “system traps.” Then I added the words “and opportunities,” because these archetypes, which are responsible for some of the most intransigent and potentially dangerous problems, also can be transformed, with a little systems understanding, to produce much more desirable behaviors.

From this understanding I move into what you and I can do about restructuring the systems we live within. We can learn how to look for leverage points for change.

I conclude with the largest lessons of all, the ones derived from the wisdom shared by most systems thinkers I know. For those who want to explore systems thinking further, the Appendix provides ways to dig deeper into the subject with a glossary, a bibliography of systems thinking resources, a summary list of systems principles, and equations for the models described in Part One.

When our small research group moved from MIT to Dartmouth College years ago, one of the Dartmouth engineering professors watched us in seminars for a while, and then dropped by our offices. “You people are different,” he said. “You ask different kinds of questions. You see things I don’t see. Somehow you come at the world in a different way. How? Why?”

That’s what I hope to get across throughout this book, but especially in its conclusion. I don’t think the systems way of seeing is better than the reductionist way of thinking. I think it’s complementary, and therefore revealing. You can see some things through the lens of the human eye, other things through the lens of a microscope, others through the lens of a telescope, and still others through the lens of systems theory. Everything seen through each kind of lens is actually there. Each way of seeing allows our knowledge of the wondrous world in which we live to become a little more complete.

At a time when the world is more messy, more crowded, more interconnected, more interdependent, and more rapidly changing than ever before, the more ways of seeing, the better. The systems-thinking lens allows us to reclaim our intuition about whole systems and

Then we can use our insights to make a difference in ourselves and our world.

INTERLUDE • The Blind Men and the Matter of the Elephant

Beyond Ghor, there was a city. All its inhabitants were blind. A king with his entourage arrived nearby; he brought his army and camped in the desert. He had a mighty elephant, which he used to increase the people’s awe.

The populace became anxious to see the elephant, and some sightless from among this blind community ran like fools to find it.

As they did not even know the form or shape of the elephant, they groped sightlessly, gathering information by touching some part of it.

Each thought that he knew something, because he could feel a part. . . .

The man whose hand had reached an ear . . . said: “It is a large, rough thing, wide and broad, like a rug.”

And the one who had felt the trunk said: “I have the real facts about it. It is like a straight and hollow pipe, awful and destructive.”

The one who had felt its feet and legs said: “It is mighty and firm, like a pillar.”

Each had felt one part out of many. Each had perceived it wrongly. . . . 2

This ancient Sufi story was told to teach a simple lesson but one that we often ignore: The behavior of a system cannot be known just by knowing the elements of which the system is made.

PART ONE

System Structure and Behavior

— ONE —

The Basics

_____________

More Than the Sum of Its Parts

A system isn’t just any old collection of things. A system * is an interconnected set of elements that is coherently organized in a way that achieves something. If you look at that definition closely for a minute, you can see that a system must consist of three kinds of things: elements , interconnections , and a function or purpose .

For example, the elements of your digestive system include teeth, enzymes, stomach, and intestines. They are interrelated through the physical flow of food, and through an elegant set of regulating chemical signals. The function of this system is to break down food into its basic nutrients and to transfer those nutrients into the bloodstream (another system), while discarding unusable wastes.

A football team is a system with elements such as players, coach, field, and ball. Its interconnections are the rules of the game, the coach’s strategy, the players’ communications, and the laws of physics that govern the motions of ball and players. The purpose of the team is to win games, or have fun, or get exercise, or make millions of dollars, or all of the above.

A school is a system. So is a city, and a factory, and a corporation, and a national economy. An animal is a system. A tree is a system, and a forest is a larger system that encompasses subsystems of trees and animals. The earth is a system. So is the solar system; so is a galaxy. Systems can be embedded in systems, which are embedded in yet other systems.

Is there anything that is not a system? Yes—a conglomeration without any particular interconnections or function. Sand scattered on a road by happenstance is not, itself, a system. You can add sand or take away sand and you still have just sand on the road. Arbitrarily add or take away football players, or pieces of your digestive system, and you quickly no longer have the same system.

When a living creature dies, it loses its “system-ness.” The multiple interrelations that held it together no longer function, and it dissipates, although its material remains part of a larger food-web system. Some people say that an old city neighborhood where people know each other and communicate regularly is a social system, and that a new apartment block full of strangers is not—not until new relationships arise and a system forms.

You can see from these examples that there is an integrity or wholeness about a system and an active set of mechanisms to maintain that integrity. Systems can change, adapt, respond to events, seek goals, mend injuries, and attend to their own survival in lifelike ways, although they may contain or consist of nonliving things. Systems can be self-organizing, and often are self-repairing over at least some range of disruptions. They are resilient, and many of them are evolutionary. Out of one system other completely new, never-before-imagined systems can arise.

Look Beyond the Players to the Rules of the Game

The elements of a system are often the easiest parts to notice, because many of them are visible, tangible things. The elements that make up a tree are roots, trunk, branches, and leaves. If you look more closely, you see specialized cells: vessels carrying fluids up and down, chloroplasts, and so on. The system called a university is made up of buildings, students, professors, administrators, libraries, books, computers—and I could go on and say what all those things are made up of. Elements do not have to be physical things. Intangibles are also elements of a system. In a university, school pride and academic prowess are two intangibles that can be very important elements of the system. Once you start listing the elements of a system, there is almost no end to the process. You can divide elements into sub-elements and then sub-sub-elements. Pretty soon you lose sight of the system. As the saying goes, you can’t see the forest for the trees.

Before going too far in that direction, it’s a good idea to stop dissecting out elements and to start looking for the interconnections , the relationships that hold the elements together.

The interconnections in the tree system are the physical flows and chemical reactions that govern the tree’s metabolic processes—the signals that allow one part to respond to what is happening in another part. For example, as the leaves lose water on a sunny day, a drop in pressure in the water-carrying vessels allows the roots to take in more water. Conversely, if the roots experience dry soil, the loss of water pressure signals the leaves to close their pores, so as not to lose even more precious water.

As the days get shorter in the temperate zones, a deciduous tree puts forth chemical messages that cause nutrients to migrate out of the leaves into the trunk and roots and that weaken the stems, allowing the leaves to fall. There even seem to be messages that cause some trees to make repellent chemicals or harder cell walls if just one part of the plant is attacked by insects. No one understands all the relationships that allow a tree to do what it does. That lack of knowledge is not surprising. It’s easier to learn about a system’s elements than about its interconnections.

In the university system, interconnections include the standards for admission, the requirements for degrees, the examinations and grades, the budgets and money flows, the gossip, and most important, the communication of knowledge that is, presumably, the purpose of the whole system.

Some interconnections in systems are actual physical flows, such as the water in the tree’s trunk or the students progressing through a university. Many interconnections are flows of information—signals that go to decision points or action points within a system. These kinds of interconnections are often harder to see, but the system reveals them to those who look. Students may use informal information about the probability of getting a good grade to decide what courses to take. A consumer decides what to buy using information about his or her income, savings, credit rating, stock of goods at home, prices, and availability of goods for purchase. Governments need information about kinds and quantities of water pollution before they can create sensible regulations to reduce that pollution. (Note that information about the existence of a problem may be necessary but not sufficient to trigger action—information about resources, incentives, and consequences is necessary too.)

If information-based relationships are hard to see, functions or purposes are even harder. A system’s function or purpose is not necessarily spoken, written, or expressed explicitly, except through the operation of the system. The best way to deduce the system’s purpose is to watch for a while to see how the system behaves.

If a frog turns right and catches a fly, and then turns left and catches a fly, and then turns around backward and catches a fly, the purpose of the frog has to do not with turning left or right or backward but with catching flies. If a government proclaims its interest in protecting the environment but allocates little money or effort toward that goal, environmental protection is not, in fact, the government’s purpose. Purposes are deduced from behavior, not from rhetoric or stated goals.

The function of a thermostat-furnace system is to keep a building at a given temperature. One function of a plant is to bear seeds and create more plants. One purpose of a national economy is, judging from its behavior, to keep growing larger. An important function of almost every system is to ensure its own perpetuation.

System purposes need not be human purposes and are not necessarily those intended by any single actor within the system. In fact, one of the most frustrating aspects of systems is that the purposes of subunits may add up to an overall behavior that no one wants. No one intends to produce a society with rampant drug addiction and crime, but consider the combined purposes and consequent actions of the actors involved:

Altogether, these make up a system from which it is extremely difficult to eradicate drug addiction and crime.

Systems can be nested within systems. Therefore, there can be purposes within purposes. The purpose of a university is to discover and preserve knowledge and pass it on to new generations. Within the university, the purpose of a student may be to get good grades, the purpose of a professor may be to get tenure, the purpose of an administrator may be to balance the budget. Any of those sub-purposes could come into conflict with the overall purpose—the student could cheat, the professor could ignore the students in order to publish papers, the administrator could balance the budget by firing professors. Keeping sub-purposes and overall system purposes in harmony is an essential function of successful systems. I’ll get back to this point later when we come to hierarchies.

You can understand the relative importance of a system’s elements, interconnections, and purposes by imagining them changed one by one. Changing elements usually has the least effect on the system. If you change all the players on a football team, it is still recognizably a football team. (It may play much better or much worse—particular elements in a system can indeed be important.) A tree changes its cells constantly, its leaves every year or so, but it is still essentially the same tree. Your body replaces most of its cells every few weeks, but it goes on being your body. The university has a constant flow of students and a slower flow of professors and administrators, but it is still a university. In fact it is still the same university, distinct in subtle ways from others, just as General Motors and the U.S. Congress somehow maintain their identities even though all their members change. A system generally goes on being itself, changing only slowly if at all, even with complete substitutions of its elements—as long as its interconnections and purposes remain intact.

If the interconnections change, the system may be greatly altered. It may even become unrecognizable, even though the same players are on the team. Change the rules from those of football to those of basketball, and you’ve got, as they say, a whole new ball game. If you change the interconnections in the tree—say that instead of taking in carbon dioxide and emitting oxygen, it does the reverse—it would no longer be a tree. (It would be an animal.) If in a university the students graded the professors, or if arguments were won by force instead of reason, the place would need a different name. It might be an interesting organization, but it would not be a university. Changing interconnections in a system can change it dramatically.

Changes in function or purpose also can be drastic. What if you keep the players and the rules but change the purpose—from winning to losing, for example? What if the function of a tree were not to survive and reproduce but to capture all the nutrients in the soil and grow to unlimited size? People have imagined many purposes for a university besides disseminating knowledge—making money, indoctrinating people, winning football games. A change in purpose changes a system profoundly, even if every element and interconnection remains the same.

To ask whether elements, interconnections, or purposes are most important in a system is to ask an unsystemic question. All are essential. All interact. All have their roles. But the least obvious part of the system, its function or purpose, is often the most crucial determinant of the system’s behavior. Interconnections are also critically important. Changing relationships usually changes system behavior. The elements, the parts of systems we are most likely to notice, are often (not always) least important in defining the unique characteristics of the system—unless changing an element also results in changing relationships or purpose .

Changing just one leader at the top—from a Brezhnev to a Gorbachev, or from a Carter to a Reagan—may or may not turn an entire nation in a new direction, though its land, factories, and hundreds of millions of people remain exactly the same. A leader can make that land and those factories and people play a different game with new rules, or can direct the play toward a new purpose.

And conversely, because land, factories, and people are long-lived, slowly changing, physical elements of the system, there is a limit to the rate at which any leader can turn the direction of a nation.

Bathtubs 101—Understanding System Behavior over Time

A stock is the foundation of any system. Stocks are the elements of the system that you can see, feel, count, or measure at any given time. A system stock is just what it sounds like: a store, a quantity, an accumulation of material or information that has built up over time. It may be the water in a bathtub, a population, the books in a bookstore, the wood in a tree, the money in a bank, your own self-confidence. A stock does not have to be physical. Your reserve of good will toward others or your supply of hope that the world can be better are both stocks.

Stocks change over time through the actions of a flow . Flows are filling and draining, births and deaths, purchases and sales, growth and decay, deposits and withdrawals, successes and failures. A stock, then, is the present memory of the history of changing flows within the system.

Figure 1. How to read stock-and-flow diagrams. In this book, stocks are shown as boxes, and flows as arrow-headed “pipes” leading into or out of the stocks. The small T on each flow signifies a “faucet;” it can be turned higher or lower, on or off. The “clouds” stand for wherever the flows come from and go to—the sources and sinks that are being ignored for the purposes of the present discussion.

For example, an underground mineral deposit is a stock, out of which comes a flow of ore through mining. The inflow of ore into a mineral deposit is minute in any time period less than eons. So I have chosen to draw (Figure 2) a simplified picture of the system without any inflow. All system diagrams and descriptions are simplified versions of the real world.

Figure 2. A stock of minerals depleted by mining.

Water in a reservoir behind a dam is a stock, into which flow rain and river water, and out of which flows evaporation from the reservoir’s surface as well as the water discharged through the dam.

Figure 3. A stock of water in a reservoir with multiple inflows and outflows.

The volume of wood in the living trees in a forest is a stock. Its inflow is the growth of the trees. Its outflows are the natural deaths of trees and the harvest by loggers. The logging harvest flows into another stock, perhaps an inventory of lumber at a mill. Wood flows out of the inventory stock as lumber sold to customers.

Figure 4. A stock of lumber linked to a stock of trees in a forest.

If you understand the dynamics of stocks and flows—their behavior over time—you understand a good deal about the behavior of complex systems. And if you have had much experience with a bathtub, you understand the dynamics of stocks and flows.

Figure 5. The structure of a bathtub system—one stock with one inflow and one outflow.

Imagine a bathtub filled with water, with its drain plugged up and its faucets turned off—an unchanging, undynamic, boring system. Now mentally pull the plug. The water runs out, of course. The level of water in the tub goes down until the tub is empty.

Figure 6. Water level in a tub when the plug is pulled.

Now imagine starting again with a full tub, and again open the drain, but this time, when the tub is about half empty, turn on the inflow faucet so the rate of water flowing in is just equal to that flowing out. What happens?

The amount of water in the tub stays constant at whatever level it had reached when the inflow became equal to the outflow. It is in a state of dynamic equilibrium —its level does not change, although water is continuously flowing through it.

Figure 7. Constant outflow, inflow turned on after 5 minutes, and the resulting changes in the stock of water in the tub.

Imagine turning the inflow on somewhat harder while keeping the outflow constant. The level of water in the tub slowly rises. If you then turn the inflow faucet down again to match the outflow exactly, the water in the tub will stop rising. Turn it down some more, and the water level will fall slowly.

This model of a bathtub is a very simple system with just one stock, one inflow, and one outflow. Over the time period of interest (minutes), I have assumed that evaporation from the tub is insignificant, so I have not included that outflow. All models, whether mental models or mathematical models, are simplifications of the real world. You know all the dynamic possibilities of this bathtub. From it you can deduce several important principles that extend to more complicated systems:

The human mind seems to focus more easily on stocks than on flows. On top of that, when we do focus on flows, we tend to focus on inflows more easily than on outflows. Therefore, we sometimes miss seeing that we can fill a bathtub not only by increasing the inflow rate, but also by decreasing the outflow rate. Everyone understands that you can prolong the life of an oil-based economy by discovering new oil deposits. It seems to be harder to understand that the same result can be achieved by burning less oil. A breakthrough in energy efficiency is equivalent, in its effect on the stock of available oil, to the discovery of a new oil field—although different people profit from it.