The Difficulty of Change

Posted by Tessa den Uyl 

We often use the word 'change' in our conversation. Everybody seems to understand such expressions as: change yourself, we have to change, things are changing, change is needed, or if only something would change.

Change presupposes a certain kind of disruption in the way we think. We guide our perceptions through the creation of conceptual relations, which we think of as stable, of which we are consciously aware, and of which we recognise certain qualities within.

Upon such conceptual relations we act and react. And yet we desire change. This would not be so but for the fact that we question these relations.

In a world of myriad relations, we tend to extract only a few as valuable for the pattern of our proper life. And where we ascribe everything to specific relations in our life, desiring change signals trouble. Yet without change, we have no descriptive material. Without the stream of constant sensory change, how can we perceive life? 



This morning, in a small village in Morocco, I go out to buy a washing powder called Tide. My friend Ilias understands not Tide but tête, meaning 'head'. Ilias does not understand what I want. With the help of a description of laundry, and pointing to the package, eventually we arrive at 'Oh, you want Tide.' Now why would one buy a 'head' in a shop which sells products for the home?

Over the past two years, Ilias and I have conducted a dialogue over many such misunderstandings regarding pronunciation. I try to apprehend his pronunciation, to speak slowly, but today we’re still at the same place where we started.

We are stuck. Ilias thinks that I should learn to speak better French – or from my point of view, I should learn to speak his kind of French. We are caught in a no-man's-land, where there is a problem about who will leave their territory to risk entering another – in which proper communication becomes possible.

What do we learn from this situation, about change? We learn that, in attempting to communicate, both parties need to reconsider the relations which lie behind the words and concepts of their communication. The problem was never really about Tide or tête, but rather about different cultures and perceptions, different languages and foci.

Ilias and I have no 'common ground' where we may place our verbal misunderstandings. His change is not my change. 
My interests are not his, and the relations which he traces in this world are not mine.

However simple this example might seem, it illustrates the difficulty of finding the mutual understandings which are essential before we try to change something in the understanding of another: my lack must become his lack, and his lack must become mine. To be able to act for change, we have to be willing to change the descriptions of the world which we ourselves possess.

In arguments about words, there is always a defence of a supposed norm. And so it is with all change. Change challenges ideas of truth which each one of us carries about with us inside. Psychological change always trespasses on property in this sense – the property of truth. Could it be, then, that change can only come about when we are aware of the diversity among us?

Consider another example. A Yemeni woman exclaims: 'Sometimes I hope that a missile would just blow us all away' – meaning: destroy herself and her family. What the woman desires is her liberation by that same force which took the old, recognisable relations from her.

Often we desire change without having to let go of ideas we have previously used to describe and make sense of the world. We want to continue to recognise something, while (impossibly) including within that old recognition a new, unlived experience of change. This may be why the Yemeni woman 'desires' death – which is the most logical change we can imagine. Although death itself does not change.

Change poses the problem and risk of being reconstructed inside of previously constructed ideas, which are thought upon the logic of some existing principle. Change, then, will eventually serve the function of that principle. If there is to be true change, apart from the irreversibility of death, then this change is not found in adapting to previous notions.

Yet if change is something that does not conform to a previous pattern, then where does change live? Can change then be thought? In a certain way, change can only live in a space unknown to our psyche.

We long for change, knowing that change is about a combination of more things than we can consider. These unconsidered things create not only linguistic difficulties when we talk together, but muddy all of our living together. In whatever way we may use the word 'change', perhaps change truly means the inability to point to ourselves.

The Difficulty of Change

Posted by Tessa den Uyl 

We often use the word 'change' in our conversation. Everybody seems to understand such expressions as: change yourself, we have to change, things are changing, change is needed, or if only something would change.

Change presupposes a certain kind of disruption in the way we think. We guide our perceptions through the creation of conceptual relations, which we think of as stable, of which we are consciously aware, and of which we recognise certain qualities within.

Upon such conceptual relations we act and react. And yet we desire change. This would not be so but for the fact that we question these relations.

In a world of myriad relations, we tend to extract only a few as valuable for the pattern of our proper life. And where we ascribe everything to specific relations in our life, desiring change signals trouble. Yet without change, we have no descriptive material. Without the stream of constant sensory change, how can we perceive life? 

This morning, in a small village in Morocco, I go out to buy a washing powder called Tide. My friend Ilias understands not Tide but tête, meaning 'head'. Ilias does not understand what I want. With the help of a description of laundry, and pointing to the package, eventually we arrive at 'Oh, you want Tide.' Now why would one buy a 'head' in a shop which sells products for the home?

Over the past two years, Ilias and I have conducted a dialogue over many such misunderstandings regarding pronunciation. I try to apprehend his pronunciation, to speak slowly, but today we’re still at the same place where we started.

We are stuck. Ilias thinks that I should learn to speak better French – or from my point of view, I should learn to speak his kind of French. We are caught in a no-man's-land, where there is a problem about who will leave their territory to risk entering another – in which proper communication becomes possible.

What do we learn from this situation, about change? We learn that, in attempting to communicate, both parties need to reconsider the relations which lie behind the words and concepts of their communication. The problem was never really about Tide or tête, but rather about different cultures and perceptions, different languages and foci.

Ilias and I have no 'common ground' where we may place our verbal misunderstandings. His change is not my change. 
My interests are not his, and the relations which he traces in this world are not mine.

However simple this example might seem, it illustrates the difficulty of finding the mutual understandings which are essential before we try to change something in the understanding of another: my lack must become his lack, and his lack must become mine. To be able to act for change, we have to be willing to change the descriptions of the world which we ourselves possess.

In arguments about words, there is always a defence of a supposed norm. And so it is with all change. Change challenges ideas of truth which each one of us carries about with us inside. Psychological change always trespasses on property in this sense – the property of truth. Could it be, then, that change can only come about when we are aware of the diversity among us?

Consider another example. A Yemeni woman exclaims: 'Sometimes I hope that a missile would just blow us all away' – meaning: destroy herself and her family. What the woman desires is her liberation by that same force which took the old, recognisable relations from her.

Often we desire change without having to let go of ideas we have previously used to describe and make sense of the world. We want to continue to recognise something, while (impossibly) including within that old recognition a new, unlived experience of change. This may be why the Yemeni woman 'desires' death – which is the most logical change we can imagine. Although death itself does not change.

Change poses the problem and risk of being reconstructed inside of previously constructed ideas, which are thought upon the logic of some existing principle. Change, then, will eventually serve the function of that principle. If there is to be true change, apart from the irreversibility of death, then this change is not found in adapting to previous notions.

Yet if change is something that does not conform to a previous pattern, then where does change live? Can change then be thought? In a certain way, change can only live in a space unknown to our psyche.

We long for change, knowing that change is about a combination of more things than we can consider. These unconsidered things create not only linguistic difficulties when we talk together, but muddy all of our living together. In whatever way we may use the word 'change', perhaps change truly means the inability to point to ourselves.

Machiavelli’s Understanding of the Art of Politics

Posted by Bohdana Kurylo

Can Niccolò Machiavelli’s political philosophy be compared with a dance?

Niccolò Machiavelli, who is often regarded as the founder of modern political science, is generally deemed a propagator of cruelty and immorality. Yet while he broke with the conventional language of politics in his day – based upon Christian values and a Ciceronian belief that a prince achieved glory through virtue – it is more appropriate to think of him as a pragmatist who introduced a greater realism to political philosophy. More important still, it was Machiavelli’s creative interpretation that helped him convert politics into scientific art which could be applied in everyday practice.

In The Prince, Machiavelli offered a pragmatic approach to politics which, rather than focusing on moral values, combined the importance of skill and prudence. Inspired by the success of the Roman State, Machiavelli thought of history as being cyclical – as he thought, too, of political issues. His understanding of politics thus came with an interest in history and statecraft, and he drew his conclusions from historical examples of agents. This contributed to his pessimism in regard to human nature and morality. Therefore, his most famous work, The Prince, which shuns the received views, Christian and Ciceronian – in fact warns against them – states that a successful ruler should act according to the circumstances, whereas being ‘good’ will lead to his downfall.

It could be claimed that Machiavelli sought to justify vices when speaking of the conflict between morality and reality. However, as the political philosopher Leo Strauss rightly suggests, it would be unfair to echo ‘the old-fashioned and simple opinion according to which Machiavelli was a teacher of evil’. As an example, when making an analysis of Agathocles of Sicily, who came to power with wicked cruelty, Machiavelli clearly condemned his actions and stated that ‘one cannot call it virtú to kill one’s citizens, betray one’s friends, to break one’s word, to be without mercy, without religion’. In addition, Strauss remarks that many extreme statements of Machiavelli were not intended to be taken seriously, but rather had the pedagogic intention of freeing ‘young’ princes from effeminacy. In the view of professor of politics Maurizio Viroli, he did not ‘construct a new language’, but provided a new, more pragmatic assessment of the art of politics.



In The Prince, Machiavelli proposed the twin conceptions of virtú and Fortuna. Whereas Fortuna is chance or contingency, virtú is open to interpretation, and may be associated with prudence, skill, and the ability to adapt to contingencies. This further emphasises the fact that he introduced a new kind of political understanding which was independent of any established norms, and tied to the idea of flexibility. The Prince provides Cesare Borgia as an example of a ruler who acquired his principality by chance, and had great virtú in taking advantage of his power. Although virtú alone is likely to be useless for the achievement of the highest goals and glory, Machiavelli believed that, through flexibility and bravery, it could win over Fortuna, since ‘Fortuna is a lady’. In doing so, he made room for chance and flexibility in politics, knowing that focusing on rigid scientific rules would be detrimental.

Understanding Machiavelli’s perception of politics is complicated by the presence of both scientific and creative elements in it. At first sight, The Prince gives historical examples and practical advice. However, despite pragmatic scientific elements, it is more art, as it understands that there is more than one interpretation for doing politics. Mutatis mutandis (the necessary changes having been made), there is a likelihood of failure if the prince does not continue to adapt to changing circumstances, because ‘he will continue to behave in the same way’. Moreover, Machiavelli emphasises that the notions of luck and flexibility are influenced by one’s own interpretation, thus further highlighting that there is no set way by which success is achieved. The text shows, too, the importance of self-presentation and the ‘creative use of deception’ as a part of virtú, describing politics as a ‘space of appearance’.

In many ways, Machiavelli’s perception of politics can be compared to a political dance – for which one should learn the right moves, but also listen to the melody and be flexible enough to adjust to its flow. Clearly a dance, like politics, can be different to other dances, and would require different costumes, too, to accentuate the movements – which recalls Machiavelli's statement that the prince’s qualities should change, depending on the situation. In fact, The Prince, as much as it is political science, exemplifies the artistic side of Machiavelli’s understanding of politics, which applied the art of politics to everyday practice.

Machiavelli’s Understanding of the Art of Politics

Posted by Bohdana Kurylo

Can Niccolò Machiavelli’s political philosophy be compared with a dance?

Niccolò Machiavelli, who is often regarded as the founder of modern political science, is generally deemed a propagator of cruelty and immorality. Yet while he broke with the conventional language of politics in his day – based upon Christian values and a Ciceronian belief that a prince achieved glory through virtue – it is more appropriate to think of him as a pragmatist who introduced a greater realism to political philosophy. More important still, it was Machiavelli’s creative interpretation that helped him convert politics into scientific art which could be applied in everyday practice.

In The Prince, Machiavelli offered a pragmatic approach to politics which, rather than focusing on moral values, combined the importance of skill and prudence. Inspired by the success of the Roman State, Machiavelli thought of history as being cyclical – as he thought, too, of political issues. His understanding of politics thus came with an interest in history and statecraft, and he drew his conclusions from historical examples of agents. This contributed to his pessimism in regard to human nature and morality. Therefore, his most famous work, The Prince, which shuns the received views, Christian and Ciceronian – in fact warns against them – states that a successful ruler should act according to the circumstances, whereas being ‘good’ will lead to his downfall.

It could be claimed that Machiavelli sought to justify vices when speaking of the conflict between morality and reality. However, as the political philosopher Leo Strauss rightly suggests, it would be unfair to echo ‘the old-fashioned and simple opinion according to which Machiavelli was a teacher of evil’. As an example, when making an analysis of Agathocles of Sicily, who came to power with wicked cruelty, Machiavelli clearly condemned his actions and stated that ‘one cannot call it virtú to kill one’s citizens, betray one’s friends, to break one’s word, to be without mercy, without religion’. In addition, Strauss remarks that many extreme statements of Machiavelli were not intended to be taken seriously, but rather had the pedagogic intention of freeing ‘young’ princes from effeminacy. In the view of professor of politics Maurizio Viroli, he did not ‘construct a new language’, but provided a new, more pragmatic assessment of the art of politics.

In The Prince, Machiavelli proposed the twin conceptions of virtú and Fortuna. Whereas Fortuna is chance or contingency, virtú is open to interpretation, and may be associated with prudence, skill, and the ability to adapt to contingencies. This further emphasises the fact that he introduced a new kind of political understanding which was independent of any established norms, and tied to the idea of flexibility. The Prince provides Cesare Borgia as an example of a ruler who acquired his principality by chance, and had great virtú in taking advantage of his power. Although virtú alone is likely to be useless for the achievement of the highest goals and glory, Machiavelli believed that, through flexibility and bravery, it could win over Fortuna, since ‘Fortuna is a lady’. In doing so, he made room for chance and flexibility in politics, knowing that focusing on rigid scientific rules would be detrimental.

Understanding Machiavelli’s perception of politics is complicated by the presence of both scientific and creative elements in it. At first sight, The Prince gives historical examples and practical advice. However, despite pragmatic scientific elements, it is more art, as it understands that there is more than one interpretation for doing politics. Mutatis mutandis (the necessary changes having been made), there is a likelihood of failure if the prince does not continue to adapt to changing circumstances, because ‘he will continue to behave in the same way’. Moreover, Machiavelli emphasises that the notions of luck and flexibility are influenced by one’s own interpretation, thus further highlighting that there is no set way by which success is achieved. The text shows, too, the importance of self-presentation and the ‘creative use of deception’ as a part of virtú, describing politics as a ‘space of appearance’.

In many ways, Machiavelli’s perception of politics can be compared to a political dance – for which one should learn the right moves, but also listen to the melody and be flexible enough to adjust to its flow. Clearly a dance, like politics, can be different to other dances, and would require different costumes, too, to accentuate the movements – which recalls Machiavelli's statement that the prince’s qualities should change, depending on the situation. In fact, The Prince, as much as it is political science, exemplifies the artistic side of Machiavelli’s understanding of politics, which applied the art of politics to everyday practice.

Brexit? What's really been going on in Brussels

Posted by Martin Cohen

What’s really been going on in Brussels? On the face of it, the UK Prime Minister, Mr Cameron, has taken Britain to the brink of rupture with the European Union over the issue of child support payments to EU citizens working in the UK, but whose children live at home. The arguments over this raged for two nights and two days, as Mr Cameron pounded the table and wagged his finger and threatened to pull the whole EU house down. Official European plans for a post-discussion English dinner, and then - even more sacrosanct! - English Breakfast were left in tatters.

And that means something serious is going on. Eventually the ‘migrants’ as apparently fellow EU workers are now to be called, lost the right to the full child support benefit, but retained the right to a miserly version phased on the cost of living in their home country.

You’d have to be either pretty stupid, or very ignorant, like the vast majority of English people itching to unshackle themselves from the world's largest free trade area, to think this issue really was what the best minds of the Tory party were concerned about.



No, the real issue going on in the ‘renegotiation’ concerned the City of London. The amounts riding on the child benefit wrangle amounted - at most - to a few tens of millions of euros. EU leaders were baffled at why the UK had dragged them to an Emergency summit. However, the amounts involved in the City’s ability to continue to act as the EU’s financial centre (despite the UK government not being part of the actual Europe currency) are rather more serious. Even the strident ‘vote Leave’ campaign estimate them at 10 billion euros a year.

What Cameron and the Conservative government demanded was that the City be protected by changes to the EU’s core Treaties enshrining the right of the UK government to decide which financial regulations and standards to follow - and which to ignore or water down. In effect, to allow the City to undercut the rest of the European banks by being allowed to offer dodgier financial deals. The City of London represents an obscene 20% of the UK GDP these days. Augmenting this would have been a prize worth having.

And it almost worked! The ‘migrants’ talk and the bluster about not wanting to be part of a ‘political union’ distracted most of the other European leaders. Only, as far anyone can tell, the French really dug in, insisting on the principle of the ‘level playing field’ between financial institutions in Europe. Victory would have been well worth the loss of breakfast.

It seems an initial draft even conceded the right to the UK government to let the City of London run rampant, but this, as Reuters put it very discreetly ‘raised concern’ in France that different banking regulations in London and the euro zone might unfairly benefit the former.

This is no small matter. Had the UK ‘won’, a repeat of the 2008 banking crisis would have been not merely more likely but flat inevitable. As it is, Europe’s banks remain in a fragile state, with their assets largely imaginary and their potential debts dwarfing the entirely ‘real’ economies of their host countries. Iceland learned what happens when the banking bubble bursts, as to a lesser extent the world did in 2008.

This is the key passage:

“The single rulebook is to be applied by all credit institutions and other financial institutions in order to ensure the level-playing field within the internal market. Substantive Union law to be applied by the European Central Bank in the exercise of its functions of single supervisor, or by the Single Resolution Board or Union bodies exercising similar functions, including the single rulebook as regards prudential requirements for credit institutions or other legislative measures to be adopted for the purpose of safeguarding financial stability, may need to be conceived in a more uniform manner than corresponding rules to be applied by national authorities of Member States that do not take part in the banking union.”

(for full test see here )

So, at the end of the day, (apart from that newly defined right to deprive Europeans working in the UK of child benefit) all that the UK has won is a chance to complain about financial regulation. This is The Financial Times’ solemn take on the matter:

“The City of London will also be poring over the small print to see whether the “emergency brake” intended to protect Britain from intrusive, Eurozone-inspired financial regulation will actually work in practice. For all the talk of non-discrimination and “mutual respect” between the Eurozone and non-euro countries such as Britain, will Mr Cameron’s right of appeal to his fellow EU heads of government necessarily produce a different result?”

It won’t, and slightly to my own surprise, it seems that the EU has once again - Houdini like - escaped diabolical perils. Until the next time!

Brexit? What's really been going on in Brussels

Posted by Martin Cohen

What’s really been going on in Brussels? On the face of it, the UK Prime Minister, Mr Cameron, has taken Britain to the brink of rupture with the European Union over the issue of child support payments to EU citizens working in the UK, but whose children live at home. The arguments over this raged for two nights and two days, as Mr Cameron pounded the table and wagged his finger and threatened to pull the whole EU house down. Official European plans for a post-discussion English dinner, and then - even more sacrosanct! - English Breakfast were left in tatters.

And that means something serious is going on. Eventually the ‘migrants’ as apparently fellow EU workers are now to be called, lost the right to the full child support benefit, but retained the right to a miserly version phased on the cost of living in their home country.

You’d have to be either pretty stupid, or very ignorant, like the vast majority of English people itching to unshackle themselves from the world's largest free trade area, to think this issue really was what the best minds of the Tory party were concerned about.

No, the real issue going on in the ‘renegotiation’ concerned the City of London. The amounts riding on the child benefit wrangle amounted - at most - to a few tens of millions of euros. EU leaders were baffled at why the UK had dragged them to an Emergency summit. However, the amounts involved in the City’s ability to continue to act as the EU’s financial centre (despite the UK government not being part of the actual Europe currency) are rather more serious. Even the strident ‘vote Leave’ campaign estimate them at 10 billion euros a year.

What Cameron and the Conservative government demanded was that the City be protected by changes to the EU’s core Treaties enshrining the right of the UK government to decide which financial regulations and standards to follow - and which to ignore or water down. In effect, to allow the City to undercut the rest of the European banks by being allowed to offer dodgier financial deals. The City of London represents an obscene 20% of the UK GDP these days. Augmenting this would have been a prize worth having.

And it almost worked! The ‘migrants’ talk and the bluster about not wanting to be part of a ‘political union’ distracted most of the other European leaders. Only, as far anyone can tell, the French really dug in, insisting on the principle of the ‘level playing field’ between financial institutions in Europe. Victory would have been well worth the loss of breakfast.

It seems an initial draft even conceded the right to the UK government to let the City of London run rampant, but this, as Reuters put it very discreetly ‘raised concern’ in France that different banking regulations in London and the euro zone might unfairly benefit the former.

This is no small matter. Had the UK ‘won’, a repeat of the 2008 banking crisis would have been not merely more likely but flat inevitable. As it is, Europe’s banks remain in a fragile state, with their assets largely imaginary and their potential debts dwarfing the entirely ‘real’ economies of their host countries. Iceland learned what happens when the banking bubble bursts, as to a lesser extent the world did in 2008.

This is the key passage:

“The single rulebook is to be applied by all credit institutions and other financial institutions in order to ensure the level-playing field within the internal market. Substantive Union law to be applied by the European Central Bank in the exercise of its functions of single supervisor, or by the Single Resolution Board or Union bodies exercising similar functions, including the single rulebook as regards prudential requirements for credit institutions or other legislative measures to be adopted for the purpose of safeguarding financial stability, may need to be conceived in a more uniform manner than corresponding rules to be applied by national authorities of Member States that do not take part in the banking union.”

(for full test see here )

So, at the end of the day, (apart from that newly defined right to deprive Europeans working in the UK of child benefit) all that the UK has won is a chance to complain about financial regulation. This is The Financial Times’ solemn take on the matter:

“The City of London will also be poring over the small print to see whether the “emergency brake” intended to protect Britain from intrusive, Eurozone-inspired financial regulation will actually work in practice. For all the talk of non-discrimination and “mutual respect” between the Eurozone and non-euro countries such as Britain, will Mr Cameron’s right of appeal to his fellow EU heads of government necessarily produce a different result?”

It won’t, and slightly to my own surprise, it seems that the EU has once again - Houdini like - escaped diabolical perils. Until the next time!

Poetry: On Nuclear Logic

Editorial note: Poetry touching on the great stories of our time, from Iran to North Korea, to Turkey to Israel, to...?

---

A poem by Chengde Chen 

Dr Strangelove provided a fictional insight into something all too real

On ‘Nuclear Logic’



Hearing that nuclear control on Earth is troublesome,
God sends His envoy to investigate.
Riding down the wind and passing over countries,
the envoy is puzzled by what he sees:
in country A, nuclear missiles striding proudly ahead;
in country B, nuclear programme being openly upgraded.
but in small countries like C and D,
there are inspectors under UN flags sniffing around,
searching for traces of nuclear evidence, or intention.

The envoy can’t figure out the logic,
so he asks the Secretary General of the UN,
‘If such weapons endanger human existence,
shouldn’t those who have them destroy theirs first?
If the UN principle is that all nations are equal,
why are they treated differently over the same thing?’

The Secretary General replies, ‘Your Excellency,
nuclear logic is different from ordinary logic.
It is not something that if I can have, so can you,
but that because I have it and you don’t,
I can forbid you while you can’t stop me.
“Equality” means that we have one right each.
Since I have had the right to have,
you have to have the right to have not –
which is just as important to the world peace and order.
It is most irrational and irresponsible to think that
that I can set a fire means you can light a candle!’

The envoy is stupefied,
‘What interesting logic; no wonder you’re unique!
I’d better hurry back to report it –
let the Old Man learn something new too.’ 

---

Chengde Chen is the author of Five Themes of Today: philosophical poems. Readers can find out more about Chengde and his poems here

Poetry: On Nuclear Logic

Editorial note: Poetry touching on the great stories of our time, from Iran to North Korea, to Turkey to Israel, to...?

---

A poem by Chengde Chen 

Dr Strangelove provided a fictional insight into something all too real

On ‘Nuclear Logic’

Hearing that nuclear control on Earth is troublesome,
God sends His envoy to investigate.
Riding down the wind and passing over countries,
the envoy is puzzled by what he sees:
in country A, nuclear missiles striding proudly ahead;
in country B, nuclear programme being openly upgraded.
but in small countries like C and D,
there are inspectors under UN flags sniffing around,
searching for traces of nuclear evidence, or intention.

The envoy can’t figure out the logic,
so he asks the Secretary General of the UN,
‘If such weapons endanger human existence,
shouldn’t those who have them destroy theirs first?
If the UN principle is that all nations are equal,
why are they treated differently over the same thing?’

The Secretary General replies, ‘Your Excellency,
nuclear logic is different from ordinary logic.
It is not something that if I can have, so can you,
but that because I have it and you don’t,
I can forbid you while you can’t stop me.
“Equality” means that we have one right each.
Since I have had the right to have,
you have to have the right to have not –
which is just as important to the world peace and order.
It is most irrational and irresponsible to think that
that I can set a fire means you can light a candle!’

The envoy is stupefied,
‘What interesting logic; no wonder you’re unique!
I’d better hurry back to report it –
let the Old Man learn something new too.’ 

---

Chengde Chen is the author of Five Themes of Today: philosophical poems. Readers can find out more about Chengde and his poems here

An Information Society

A Proposal For a New 'Checks and Balances'

Posted by Thomas Scarborough

“Power checks power,” wrote Charles de Montesquieu.  Yet power, to check power, rests on the disclosure of information.

The political philosopher Montesquieu, in the early 18th century, developed the political theory of the separation of powers, and with it, of checks and balances.  Through such a separation of powers, a government would be divided into three separate branches, each of which would serve as a check and a balance to the other two. Subsequently, Montesquieu's ideas have had a major influence on political philosophy – so that, today, democratic governments will typically (though not always) separate their legislative, executive, and judicial branches to guarantee continued stability and good governance.  It may seem a primitive notion today – namely, that power checks power – yet it really is the only way that we have.

However, given such a separation of powers, how should a nation know that this arrangement is working? How should one assess it? How should one confirm it? Separate powers can unite. Individual powers can gain the ascendancy. The answer is plainly: each branch of government needs to know what the others are doing – not only in terms of the various decisions which they take, but in terms of keeping open account of the way in which these decisions are carried out. And this needs to be public, or one loses not only public accountability and confidence, but the rich resources which are public thinking.



To put it another way, it is as simple as the disclosure of information. In fact, without the disclosure of information, there really can be no separation of powers. Therefore, the requirement for information is prior to the separation of powers. For this very reason, the various branches of government publish their information through government printing works – and more recently, through web portals.

But now, notice something about this information, which is of crucial importance to a nation. One doesn't need to go banging down any doors to obtain it. One doesn't have to apply for it. One doesn't need to pay for it. The basic information of government is ours. Not only do we have the right to such information – we have the information.

If only all of society would work in this way, from top to bottom: public officials, civil servants, professions councils, board members, business people – in fact, throughout. We know, from recent empirical advances, that transparency greatly moderates the exploitative power of individuals – and in so doing, greatly reduces the distress of a nation. Yet today, by way of specific example which is by no means unique, access to a single page of information in my home town Cape Town, through the provisions of a liberal Access to Information Act, may cost R30 000 in counsel fees alone – if anybody should be feeling clingy. This is well above the average monthly income, and an impractical prospect for most.

Yet information is critical to society. In the words of the philosopher Frederick Adams, it enables us to get “a fix on the way the world is objectively configured”. We need information before we can manage and grow a nation in an informed, considered, and impartial way.

In fact it may be the difference between the success and failure of a state. Wherever information is concealed, politicians accumulate personal fortunes, crimes are swept under the carpet, buildings rise without permissions, the poor are exploited, foodstuffs are unsafe – and a thousand things besides. In my own country South Africa, a bubbly young reporter pushed her way into a country estate, where she discovered blueprints on a wall. It was Nkandla – the beginning of a major information scandal, and unprecedented turmoil in the national parliament.

It is therefore critically important that there should be a way to shed light – through the disclosure of information – on rules, plans, processes, and actions, throughout society. Which is, one needs to know the why, how, what, and how-much in every sphere.

How far should this go? It needs to go far. Yet the application of the principle would be for each society to negotiate in its own unique situation. The bottom line is the need for information – not merely the right to it. And for the first time in human history, in our information society, this has become a real possibility.

Parallel to a three-fold separation of powers, therefore, it would seem crucial to propose another kind of separation: the separation of information. Duplication of information is not enough. Alter one copy, or destroy it, and the value of the other may be lost. In triplicate, information is secure. Three separate information databases would seem essential to secure the disclosure of vital information.

This should not be confused with a surveillance state, where the few have special access to information, and the power to exploit it. By and large, the concealment of information holds greater dangers than genuinely opening it up.

In early societies, houses and huts were often arranged in circles. So, too, were wigwams pitched in an oval, and wagons drawn up in a laager. Everyone was able to see into the heart of everyone else's world.  Yet through the course of history, this changed – and in many ways it has been to our detriment. While it is impossible, now, to return to such a society, it is possible to recreate one of its central features: namely, transparency. Nations, in order to thrive and survive, must have a high order of transparency.

An Information Society

A Proposal For a New 'Checks and Balances'

Posted by Thomas Scarborough

“Power checks power,” wrote Charles de Montesquieu.  Yet power, to check power, rests on the disclosure of information.

The political philosopher Montesquieu, in the early 18th century, developed the political theory of the separation of powers, and with it, of checks and balances.  Through such a separation of powers, a government would be divided into three separate branches, each of which would serve as a check and a balance to the other two. Subsequently, Montesquieu's ideas have had a major influence on political philosophy – so that, today, democratic governments will typically (though not always) separate their legislative, executive, and judicial branches to guarantee continued stability and good governance.  It may seem a primitive notion today – namely, that power checks power – yet it really is the only way that we have.

However, given such a separation of powers, how should a nation know that this arrangement is working? How should one assess it? How should one confirm it? Separate powers can unite. Individual powers can gain the ascendancy. The answer is plainly: each branch of government needs to know what the others are doing – not only in terms of the various decisions which they take, but in terms of keeping open account of the way in which these decisions are carried out. And this needs to be public, or one loses not only public accountability and confidence, but the rich resources which are public thinking.

To put it another way, it is as simple as the disclosure of information. In fact, without the disclosure of information, there really can be no separation of powers. Therefore, the requirement for information is prior to the separation of powers. For this very reason, the various branches of government publish their information through government printing works – and more recently, through web portals.

But now, notice something about this information, which is of crucial importance to a nation. One doesn't need to go banging down any doors to obtain it. One doesn't have to apply for it. One doesn't need to pay for it. The basic information of government is ours. Not only do we have the right to such information – we have the information.

If only all of society would work in this way, from top to bottom: public officials, civil servants, professions councils, board members, business people – in fact, throughout. We know, from recent empirical advances, that transparency greatly moderates the exploitative power of individuals – and in so doing, greatly reduces the distress of a nation. Yet today, by way of specific example which is by no means unique, access to a single page of information in my home town Cape Town, through the provisions of a liberal Access to Information Act, may cost R30 000 in counsel fees alone – if anybody should be feeling clingy. This is well above the average monthly income, and an impractical prospect for most.

Yet information is critical to society. In the words of the philosopher Frederick Adams, it enables us to get “a fix on the way the world is objectively configured”. We need information before we can manage and grow a nation in an informed, considered, and impartial way.

In fact it may be the difference between the success and failure of a state. Wherever information is concealed, politicians accumulate personal fortunes, crimes are swept under the carpet, buildings rise without permissions, the poor are exploited, foodstuffs are unsafe – and a thousand things besides. In my own country South Africa, a bubbly young reporter pushed her way into a country estate, where she discovered blueprints on a wall. It was Nkandla – the beginning of a major information scandal, and unprecedented turmoil in the national parliament.

It is therefore critically important that there should be a way to shed light – through the disclosure of information – on rules, plans, processes, and actions, throughout society. Which is, one needs to know the why, how, what, and how-much in every sphere.

How far should this go? It needs to go far. Yet the application of the principle would be for each society to negotiate in its own unique situation. The bottom line is the need for information – not merely the right to it. And for the first time in human history, in our information society, this has become a real possibility.

Parallel to a three-fold separation of powers, therefore, it would seem crucial to propose another kind of separation: the separation of information. Duplication of information is not enough. Alter one copy, or destroy it, and the value of the other may be lost. In triplicate, information is secure. Three separate information databases would seem essential to secure the disclosure of vital information.

This should not be confused with a surveillance state, where the few have special access to information, and the power to exploit it. By and large, the concealment of information holds greater dangers than genuinely opening it up.

In early societies, houses and huts were often arranged in circles. So, too, were wigwams pitched in an oval, and wagons drawn up in a laager. Everyone was able to see into the heart of everyone else's world.  Yet through the course of history, this changed – and in many ways it has been to our detriment. While it is impossible, now, to return to such a society, it is possible to recreate one of its central features: namely, transparency. Nations, in order to thrive and survive, must have a high order of transparency.