Generativity: The Highest Form of Creation

Today, we embark on a new theme: “Complexity.” This is a profound field of study, bustling with cutting-edge research. So, why should we pay attention to it? I’d like to start by sharing a personal reflection.

Have you noticed that cultivation novels today are no longer content with merely comparing magic artifacts, flaunting exaggerated combat power, or leveling up like in a game? The truly advanced cultivation method is to nurture a world within one’s own heart.

For example, in Yanyu Jiangnan’s Dragon Concealment, the protagonist Wei Yuan cultivates a “Mind-World” named “Mortal Affairs” (人间烟火) — a new realm opened in the void with his Dharma-form as its core. This world exists within Wei Yuan’s “Sea of Consciousness,” carried by his spiritual awareness; it is an internal world. Initially, all inhabitants of the Mind-World are virtual characters, but over time, real people can freely enter and exit, and thousands of virtual characters become increasingly real, eventually connecting and integrating with the true world [1].

This feeling is somewhat akin to owning a series of AI agents in our reality, except these agents collectively form their own society. The beings within the Mind-World will offer you counsel, carry out tasks for you, contribute their strength… but they will also grow increasingly autonomous, forming different groups and factions, each seeking to develop and expand, ultimately even existing independently of you.

Wei Yuan often observes the prosperous and lively lives of the people in his Mind-World, finding endless joy in it.

Indeed, isn’t this far more interesting than how much money one earns, learning a new martial art, or leveling up a few times? True masters should be competing on the size of their respective Mind-Worlds.

While we cannot cultivate immortality in our reality, we can still create our own “small worlds”: for example, by founding a company, a school, or even simply raising a few children. Watching what you create develop and grow, becoming increasingly complex to the point where you can no longer fully comprehend it… isn’t this sense of accomplishment far more profound than publishing a few papers or obtaining a certain position?

This is “generativity.”

Ordinary creation often expects results to fully conform to its design, treating “unintended consequences” as problems. However, the highest form of creation deliberately leaves room for “outcomes you never designed,” reveling in the surprises that follow. We study complex systems not to make them obedient, but to personally construct a realm and then let it evolve freely.

In short, “generativity” is about bringing something into existence through you, but not having it live by you, nor change according to you.

This is a discipline prepared for those with the broadest minds, encompassing a sentiment and two core skills.

A Sentiment: Generativity #

Erik Erikson, the developmental psychologist, introduced the concept of “generativity” [2] in 1950. He believed that people in middle age encounter a life challenge called “generativity versus stagnation”: do you choose to merely maintain and satisfy yourself, living out your life confined to your own small plot of land, or are you willing to nurture future generations and create things that will endure into the future? The former is stagnation, the latter is generativity.

In 1992, Northwestern University psychologist Dan McAdams and colleagues developed this into a measurable theoretical model [3]—their defined generative behaviors include raising children, mentoring apprentices, transmitting skills, establishing institutions, and creating works that influence posterity.

Fast forward to 2021, Dutch organizational psychologist Friederike Doerwald and her colleagues compiled 48 studies involving over fifteen thousand people. The results showed that individuals with stronger generative motives tend to exhibit greater work drive, higher professional efficacy and job satisfaction, and better mentor relationships [4].

Of course, science cannot prove that generativity is the greatest joy in life—but we can generally say that generativity is a higher form of happiness.

Some happiness stems from acquisition: I gained money, status, achievements, and honor. Some happiness stems from experience: I read, loved, tasted, played. Some happiness stems from relationships: I was understood, and I understood others. None of these are reprehensible. However, generativity offers something entirely different—

Because of your arrival, a brand new causal starting point emerged in the world.

A student follows the direction you pointed, reaching places you never did; a child forms judgments different from yours, yet more suitable for themselves; an endeavor flourishes even more after your retirement.

Your radius of control is small, and from a certain point, it will become progressively smaller. However, your causal radius will grow increasingly large, to an extent you cannot imagine.

You might say, isn’t this merely the “three immortal achievements” of establishing virtue, merit, and words? Immortality, in fact, is a byproduct. Whether a person can leave a lasting legacy depends on numerous fortuitous factors and cannot be directly pursued. But “generativity” is a very tangible action; it focuses solely on whether something, because of you, has gained the ability to continue growing.

As you can foresee, generativity is not easy. Many have founded successful ventures, toiled to keep them running for decades, earning universal praise… Yet, once the founder exits, the business often perishes, and talent disperses… This “small world” then vanishes. If this truly were cultivation, your life’s endeavor would be considered a failure.

To successfully achieve generativity, you need to cultivate two core skills.

The First Core Skill: Organizational Closure #

The first core skill is called “organizational closure.” This concept originates from theoretical biology, where “organization” initially referred to the way living organisms are structured.

As I mentioned previously when discussing the “free energy principle,” a characteristic of life is that it is both open (meaning it constantly acquires matter and energy from the environment) and autonomous (meaning it can sustain itself). How is this achieved? Some scholars refer to it as “autopoiesis” [5], while a more recent term is “closure of constraints” [6]. The core essence of both is:

Can the critical links upon which the system’s survival depends mutually support each other and form a closed loop within the system?

For instance, the heart pumps blood, and the blood, in turn, nourishes the heart muscle, enabling the heart muscle to continue pumping blood—this is an internal self-sustaining loop within the system. Genes produce proteins, and proteins, in turn, read and replicate genes—this is, in a stricter sense, mutual production. Closure does not mean being closed off, but rather completing an internal cycle: these elements can self-cycle within the system without external control.

Therefore, “organizational closure” means that every critical link upon which a system’s survival depends can find another link within the system that nourishes it.

When a company is first founded, the founder needs to invest capital, recruit people, set direction, expand clients, cultivate new talent, and resolve disputes—this is perfectly normal. When a child is just born, parents also need to manage almost all their affairs—these all represent a state of being unclosed. Only when a company can operate independently of its founder, much like a child no longer requiring parents’ diligent care, can it be called organizationally closed.

So, how can you achieve organizational closure for your venture? You need to address the following three core questions:

First, can its output generate the next round of resources? Products bring customers and revenue, and that revenue must be sufficient to support the next round of R&D and personnel recruitment. Schools cultivate excellent students, who bring reputation, and reputation, in turn, attracts new students, teachers, and donors. The system’s output must be able to earn its own next round of investment; otherwise, if the founder still needs to solicit funds and seek help anew in every round, it means the system has not yet “weaned.”

Second, can the current cohort cultivate the next? You must establish a mechanism that continuously produces successors, rather than expecting a peerless hero to descend from the heavens every twenty years.

Third, can critical decisions still be made in the founder’s absence? It cannot always be the case that major clients must be personally negotiated by him, executive disputes must be arbitrated by him, and in exceptional situations, everyone is helpless, awaiting his word.

Whenever you have to personally “put out fires” and fill gaps, you should ask yourself: why must this task fall to me alone? Can this intervention be transformed into an institutional arrangement where “I am no longer needed to fill this gap next time”? Your firefighting does not indicate your exceptional ability; it merely shows that the organization has not yet achieved closure.

Next, let’s look at an example where success or failure cannot simply define a hero: Zhang Jian, an industrialist from the late Qing Dynasty and early Republic of China.

He was the top scholar (Zhuangyuan) of the Qing Dynasty in 1894. Responding to the call of the era, he shifted his main career from officialdom to industry, resulting in a series of successful ventures. Zhang Jian first founded the Dasheng Cotton Mill in his hometown of Nantong, and using it as a foundation, successively established schools, museums, libraries, hospitals, and theaters, almost single-handedly “generating” an entire modern city.

With such a grand undertaking, why is Zhang Jian’s name so little known?

Because the cotton mill ultimately failed. In 1922, with the renewed influx of foreign goods after World War I, coupled with expensive cotton and cheap yarn, the Dasheng Mill not only incurred massive losses but also accumulated enormous debt… By the time Zhang Jian died in 1926, management control of the Dasheng factories had already been transferred to creditors [7]. A chain reaction followed: the Linggong Academy of Performing Arts, founded by Zhang Jian, ceased operation in 1926 [8]; the Nantong Museum lost its financial backbone, struggled with tight finances, and barely sustained itself by successively becoming affiliated with Nantong University and Tongzhou Normal School, only to be severely damaged during the Japanese occupation in 1938 [9].

However, the three higher education institutions founded by Zhang Jian merged in 1928 to form private Nantong University [10], and Tongzhou Hospital also continued, becoming the origin of today’s Affiliated Hospital of Nantong University [11]. Were it not for this, Zhang Jian’s name might be even less known today.

Looking at this through the lens of the “three questions” of organizational closure: In terms of resources, many of Zhang Jian’s projects long depended on the cotton mill for “blood transfusions,” lacking independent financial capability. In terms of talent, the schools and hospitals formed professional teams, developed knowledge traditions, and gained social reputation, thereby becoming able to find new supporters. In terms of decision-making, Dasheng’s credit and decisions were tied solely to Zhang Jian; later, the enterprises could only be taken over by creditors. Conversely, those endeavors whose management was entrusted to public institutions survived.

In stark contrast to this is another quasi-charitable project founded by a Chinese individual, which endured for a full 901 years [12]—namely, Fan Zhongyan’s Fan Clan’s Charitable Estate (范氏义庄) during the Song Dynasty.

In 1050, Fan Zhongyan donated over a thousand mu of land in Suzhou to establish a charitable estate, using the land rent to provide for the clothing, food, marriage, funerals, and examination travel needs of the Fan clan members [14]. The remarkable aspect of this operation is that Fan Zhongyan not only donated a sum of property but also established a comprehensive governance structure.

He designated these landholdings as common property of the Fan clan, which could not be divided or mortgaged by descendants. A “Zhu Feng” (主奉), publicly elected by the entire clan, served as the general overseer, with stewards responsible for daily affairs, and each branch separately appointing a “Guan Gou” (管勾) to represent its interests. Clan members received rice rations monthly, per person, requiring registration and verification. In bountiful years, two years’ worth of grain was set aside as a reserve against famine. Even the most senior elders in the clan were not permitted to interfere or take extra shares. Routine tasks like collecting rent and distributing rice were handled according to written rules; exceptional situations not covered by the rules were deliberated jointly by the stewards and various branches, with interested parties required to recuse themselves. If managers engaged in embezzlement or deception, clan members could audit accounts, impeach them, and ultimately even appeal to the government [15].

You see, there were landholdings that generated income but could not be privately divided, managers elected by the clan, mechanisms for acting according to rules and for joint deliberation, internal clan oversight, and the government as the ultimate enforcer—all conditions for organizational closure were met. Fan Zhongyan died in 1052, yet this charitable estate continued until the land reform of 1950 [13], outlasting any single dynasty of the Song, Yuan, Ming, and Qing. Who says the Chinese lacked a spirit of trust?

Anything that ceases immediately upon your departure is merely a function of your personal ability; only that which continues to develop after you leave represents the system’s capability, and thus, your generativity.

To reach this stage, you must first let go of your “sense of indispensability.” Only then can your “small world” truly develop its own metabolism, no longer needing you to “feed it spiritual energy” daily.

But, this is still not enough.

The Second Core Skill: Evolvability #

The second core skill is called “evolvability.”

We just discussed “baseline drift.” Any system is bound to change, but we hope it can change in a better direction, producing novel variations. Here, we can still draw wisdom from biology.

In 1996, evolutionary biologists Günter Wagner and Lee Altenberg proposed that variation and selection do not automatically lead to progress; the true key to success lies in whether the system’s structure allows local modifications to produce local improvements, rather than collapsing entirely with a single change [16]. In 2007, John Gerhart and Marc Kirschner proposed the theory of “facilitated variation,” adding another layer of meaning: biological innovation rarely starts from scratch but rather grows new forms by retaining a set of stable core “parts” and recombining them [17].

In short: an evolvable system must have a stable core and a variable periphery.

This is like a house: the more solid its load-bearing structure, the more confidently one can renovate its interior rooms.

Here are three core principles:

First, set boundaries, not a script. Few things are truly worth keeping fixed: why the endeavor exists, whom it serves, and what are the absolute inviolable bottom lines—these constitute the system’s “slow variables.” As for specific products, methods, and organizational structures, successors should be allowed to adjust them according to actual circumstances. The most dangerous “cultural inheritance” is arguably to enshrine the founder’s temporal limitations as if they were ancestral dogma.

Second, minimize the cost of trial and error. Every innovation attempt should allow for localized piloting; even if it fails, it won’t cripple the whole, and successful experiences can be learned from elsewhere. We cannot allow every innovation to mean a complete reorientation.

Third, accept the screening of reality. You cannot merely verbally “encourage innovation,” let everyone propose a bunch of new ideas, yet no one bears the consequences, and no project is ever truly eliminated.

Among counterexamples, the one I most want to mention is Emperor Taizu of Ming, Zhu Yuanzhang.

Zhu Yuanzhang came from humble origins and seized power through violence, yet he prided himself on his progressive thinking. In the 28th year of Hongwu (1395), he promulgated the Ancestral Injunctions of the August Ming, stipulating in its preface: “All my descendants, respectfully receive my command; do not act clever, disturbing the laws I have already established; not a single character shall be altered” [18]. In September of the same year, he further decreed to the Ministry of Rites: if anyone in later generations dared to propose changing the ancestral laws, “they shall be treated as treacherous officials and granted no pardon” [19].

This effectively blocked the path for normal institutional evolution. Zhu Yuanzhang’s maritime prohibition policy long suppressed private overseas trade [20], causing the Great Ming to miss the opportune moment to transform flourishing maritime trade into a stable tax base and naval power. Furthermore, the hereditary weisuo (garrison) system he established became increasingly hollowed out due to widespread desertion by military households, forcing the court to spend extra money to recruit soldiers [21]. Yet the sea remained, and the court invariably needed military forces. The persistent demand for maritime trade, undeterred by the prohibition, turned to smuggling, eventually leading to the “Wokou” (Japanese pirate) menace in later generations [22]. After the mid-Ming Dynasty, military expenditures devoured 60% to 90% of the central government’s fiscal revenue, becoming the heaviest burden on the national treasury [23].

Later, the practice of opening up maritime trade during the Longqing era proved that with even a slight loosening of policy, Chinese merchants could quickly integrate into the global trade system, and the state could transform maritime trade into monetary customs duties [24].

Precisely because of Zhu Yuanzhang’s strictures, and because later generations were compelled to make changes, people could only resort to various expedients to circumvent the ancestral injunctions. The result was that the old system nominally remained in operation, while new methods could only barely grow as exceptions and temporary measures. Consequently, unclear responsibilities, conflicting rules, rampant rent-seeking, and ever-increasing fiscal costs became endemic, with every reform burdened by the heavy load of all past “patches.”

Had it not been for Zhu Yuanzhang’s rigid constraints, the Great Ming could have legitimately pursued continuous reforms. Maritime wealth, shipbuilding technology, firearm development, and oceanic organizational capabilities might have steadily accumulated within a legitimate institutional framework, forming a virtuous cycle of “trade—finance—navy—technology”… Even if it couldn’t directly trigger an industrial revolution, it could have ensured China’s place in the era of great maritime exploration, securing a more advantageous starting point for modernization.

The reality, however, was that a founder who had died two hundred years prior, by virtue of an “ancestral system” tablet, continuously exercised a veto over subsequent decisions. Isn’t this absurd? This is precisely the outcome of being spoiled by power, becoming arrogant to the point of delusion, and presuming one’s eternal presence.

Characteristics of Evolvability #

So, what does something with evolvability truly look like?

Nintendo, a company that originally sold Hanafuda playing cards, has now become a globally renowned gaming enterprise, creating Mario, Zelda, and the Switch, and even bringing Mario’s world into movies and theme parks. What it has upheld is not the playing cards themselves, but the joy people derive from gaming.

Harvard University, initially a small college in the colonies training learned ministers, has developed into a world-class research university spanning numerous fields such as arts and sciences, law, medicine, and business. What it has upheld is not theological curricula, but the transmission and innovation of knowledge.

Journey to the West, originally an opera and storytelling tradition based on the pilgrimage for scriptures, eventually evolved into a chaptered novel, and has since been adapted into comic books, animations, TV series, and games, growing into an even grander universe. What it has upheld is not the specific details of the “Eighty-One Tribulations,” but the core theme of pilgrimage from which any generation can embark anew.

The United States, originally an agrarian republic composed of 13 states along the Atlantic coast, has now grown into a modern nation with 50 states, wielding immense influence in the global economy, technology, military, and culture. The U.S. has upheld, yet also evolved, its Constitution: the main text of the Constitution still consists of the original seven articles from 1787, with only 27 amendments added over two hundred and fifty years—the Constitution can theoretically be rewritten, but in practice, it is extremely difficult to rewrite…

The original creators of these endeavors, if they were to visit today, would certainly not recognize their current forms, but they would most likely feel gratification rather than anger: “Thank you for not mechanically adhering to my initial design, and thank you for preserving that initial core value of mine worth retaining, allowing it to develop far more grandly.”

To reach this stage, you must completely relinquish your “right of final interpretation.” Only then can your “small world” truly detach from your Sea of Consciousness: you are no longer its master, but merely its original pioneer.

Generativity: Balance and Realm #

Organizational closure prevents a system from perishing, while evolvability prevents it from rigidifying and decaying. The former ensures the system can survive without relying on you; the latter prevents it from becoming a fossil.

However, an inherent tension exists between the two: organizational closure relies on standards, replication, and transmission, requiring the system to “remember”; evolvability relies on dissent, deviation, and trial-and-error, requiring the system to be “adaptable.” So, where exactly is the “right measure”? Fan Zhongyan’s charitable estate rules could be revised, and later generations modified and supplemented them multiple times; yet Zhu Yuanzhang’s ancestral injunctions strictly forbade revision. So, what exactly are the founder’s unchangeable original intentions?

In fact, as long as the endeavor can fulfill its promises, uphold its core bottom lines, and continue to endure and prosper, that is good.

Laozi said: “I do nothing, and the people transform themselves.” He also said: “The greatest rulers are those whose existence is unknown to the people; next are those who are loved and praised; next are those who are feared; next are those who are despised.”

Ordinary generators demand to retain ownership of what they create, even needing to inspire fear in others to do so.

Excellent generators no longer demand ownership; gratitude from people is sufficient.

Great generators do not even hope that others will remember them.

In fact, becoming a great generator is not beyond reach. One must know that there are not many people in the world who can remember the name of their great-grandfather.

A gatha serves as testament:

To grasp things to one’s chest is ultimately to possess; To let oneself enter the world is truly to generate. Branches need not follow my command; When I depart, spring deepens, and the city thrives on its own.

Notes #

[1] Yanyu Jiangnan: Dragon Concealment, serialized on Qidian Chinese Network.

[2] Erik H. Erikson, Childhood and Society (New York: W. W. Norton, 1950).

[3] McAdams, Dan P., and Ed de St. Aubin. “A Theory of Generativity and Its Assessment Through Self-Report, Behavioral Acts, and Narrative Themes in Autobiography.” Journal of Personality and Social Psychology 62, no. 6 (1992): 1003–1015.

[4] Doerwald, Friederike, Hannes Zacher, Nico W. Van Yperen, and Susanne Scheibe. “Generativity at Work: A Meta-Analysis.” Journal of Vocational Behavior 125 (2021): 103521.

[5] Maturana, Humberto R., and Francisco J. Varela. Autopoiesis and Cognition: The Realization of the Living. Dordrecht: D. Reidel, 1980.

[6] Montévil, Maël, and Matteo Mossio. “Biological Organisation as Closure of Constraints.” Journal of Theoretical Biology 372 (2015): 179–191.

[7] Köll, Elisabeth. From Cotton Mill to Business Empire: The Emergence of Regional Enterprises in Modern China. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Asia Center, 2003.

[8] Nantong Municipal People’s Government: “Notice from the Municipal Government on Issuing the Fourth Batch of Cultural Relics Protection Units in Nantong City, Consolidating Cultural Relics Protection Units, and Adjusting the Names of Some Municipal-level Cultural Relics Protection Units,” https://www.nantong.gov.cn/ntsrmzf/szfwj/content/c2977b63-b0a1-452b-b89c-5ee57a404cd6.html.

[9] Central Commission for Discipline Inspection and National Supervisory Commission Website: “Nantong Museum: China’s First Public Museum,” https://www.ccdi.gov.cn/toutu/201506/t20150601_127144.html.

[10] Nantong University: “1928: Private Nantong University,” https://www.ntu.edu.cn/2023/0809/c8043a217714/page.htm.

[11] Affiliated Hospital of Nantong University: “Centennial Anniversary Special Article One: Zhang Jian – The Path to Founding the Hospital by Connecting China and the West,” https://www.ahnmc.com/shownews.asp?id=3319.

[12] Fan Zhongxin: “The Operational Model of Financial Foundation for Autonomous Organizations in Traditional Consanguineous Society—Preliminary Interpretation of the Contractual Significance of ‘Fan Clan’s Charitable Estate’ in the Northern Song Dynasty,” Journal of East China University of Political Science and Law, no. 6 (2022).

[13] Pan Guangdan, and Quan Weitian. A Survey of Land Reform in Southern Jiangsu. Beijing: Sanlian Bookstore, 1952, pp. 59–60.

[14] Twitchett, Denis. “The Fan Clan’s Charitable Estate, 1050–1760.” In Confucianism in Action. Stanford: Stanford University Press, 1959.

[15] Rules of the Fan Clan’s Charitable Estate, compiled by Chen Menglei, 1725.

[16] Wagner, Günter P., and Lee Altenberg. “Complex Adaptations and the Evolution of Evolvability.” Evolution 50, no. 3 (1996): 967–976.

[17] Gerhart, John, and Marc Kirschner. “The Theory of Facilitated Variation.” PNAS 104, suppl. 1 (2007): 8582–8589.

[18] Imperial Ming Ancestral Injunctions, Preface, revised edition of Hongwu 28 (1395).

[19] Veritable Records of Emperor Taizu of Ming, Vol. 241, entry for Gengxu in the 9th month of Hongwu 28.

[20] Von Glahn, Richard. “The Political Economy of the East Asian Maritime World in the Sixteenth Century.” In East Asia in the World. Cambridge University Press, 2020, 44–64.

[21] Li Du: “A Brief Discussion of the Recruiting System in the Ming Dynasty,” Wen Shi Zhe, no. 2 (1986).

[22] Kung, James Kai-sing, and Chicheng Ma. “Autarky and the Rise and Fall of Piracy in Ming China.” The Journal of Economic History 74, no. 2 (2014): 509–534. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0022050714000345.

[23] Guan Hanhui, and Li Daokui. “A Tentative Exploration of Ming Dynasty GDP and its Structure,” China Economic Quarterly 2010, no. 3, pp. 6–47.

[24] Wan Ming: “How Globalization: Ming Dynasty China and the World,” Social Sciences in China, no. 2 (2024).