Electoral reform after AV - What next?

I don’t know who will win the referendum next week - I hope it’s the Yes campaign - but whoever it is, we will still be a long way from a credibly democratic electoral system. To take only a few of the more grotesque blots on the face of our ‘democracy’, we cannot recall our representatives once they are elected. As the current government is constantly proving, there is no recourse against a regime that introduces major policies for which they have no mandate.

And of course we still have that running sore on the face of democracy, the House of Lords. No, it makes no sense to claim that they have some sort of proven wisdom or experience we cannot do without: any government that really wanted Melvyn Bragg’s opinion of culture or the arts can always just ask him, without conceding him the right to make law in perpetuity.

A slightly more obscure issue, but one that really bothers me, is the fact that our elections permit us to elect constituency representatives, even though it has been perfectly clear for a couple of centuries that most of the really important decisions are made by central government. Hence the persistent conflict between voting for a good MP and voting for the national government we actually want. They are not at all the same thing, and persisting with a constituency-based electoral system means that we half our local MPs are parachuted in by national parties even though they know nothing about the constituency and their primary allegiance is to the national party. Conversely, to the extent that we do vote on local issues, this precludes voting for the national government, which is by far the predominant force in most aspect of all our lives.

It is an absurd state of affairs that could be remedied with a very simple solution: divide general elections into two votes (held simultaneously), with the first remaining a vote for local constituency MP, and the second a vote for a national party. The second vote would then populate a senate (to replace the ridiculous and offensive House of Lords) by allowing national parties to assign senators based on their percentage of the national vote.

The new Commons and Senate could also be allocated different spheres, with foreign policy and defence going to the Senate and all local issues being the preserve of the Commons. Others areas could be shared.

Finally, I would suggest a different approach to how often elections are held. For both houses I would suggest a fixed period of six years, with the provision that a third of each house, chosen at random not more than a month before the election, would be subject to re-election every two years. This is important, as it permits a randomly chosen sample of the electorate to provide a running commentary on their representatives, but also, by being random, prevents the parties from buttering up local constituencies as the election approaches.

For want of a nail...

... the shoe was lost; for want of a shoe the horse was lost; and for want of a horse the rider was lost’. Or in the words of Benjamin Franklin’s own synopsis (in his Maxims Prefaced to Poor Richard’s Almanac, 1758), ‘A little neglect breeds mischief’. It is a simple truth, concisely and graphically put; however, one risks plunging wildly overboard as soon as one extends the chain of reasoning to more than a handful of terms. How far can one take it?- to a message, a battle, a kingdom, planet Earth, Milky Way South East, universal heat death?

Isaac Asimov once suggested (I forget where) an interesting analogy for how history really works, as a kind of 'bow wave' in time. At first there is immense tumult as the immediate effects of a cause (an event, a great personality, and so on) spread and proliferate; but then a phase of sublimation supervenes, assimilating those effects to the broader, deeper currents of Universal history. The same applies for Great Men. What if Hitler had won World War II? It would certainly still have mattered in 2000 and even 2100, but what difference would it have made by 20,000 AD? Or 200,000 AD or 2,000,000? Indeed, looking at the history of Europe since the end of the Cold War, it is striking that, at least in terms of international politics, things look remarkably as they might have in 1925, had the First World War not intervened.

The whole logic of 'For want of a nail' rests on two false assumptions: that the world is basically atomistic, and that what changes is more vital than whatever remains the same. They are equally curious opinions, although entirely compatible with a world of fragmentation and distraction we inhabit now. But the universe is not just a concatenation of atoms but is on the contrary deeply and universally structured, local quantitative variations may be rapidly countered and any potential qualitative effects generally suppressed. And although we may not be interested in the same old same old, the universe and its human expression, history, takes it all into account.

Popular (mis)interpretations of chaos theory make a similar error. Contrary to the way in which it is sometimes alluded to, chaos theory does not say that chaos is fundamental. On the contrary, it says that apparent chaos is often actually the expression of profound (if also somewhat obscure) order and simplicity. That is why the old saw about a butterfly in Rio de Janeiro causing a thunderstorm in Peking is so misleading: not because the effects of its wing beats could not trigger a storm on another continent, but because they are only one of a massive number of other more or less profound effective causes. Especially on the global scale, weather consists, by and large, of immense and highly stable systems controlled by forces and laws operating on an incomparably vaster scale than all the life forms on the planet put together. Of course, a single butterfly may tip a system that is either exceptionally sensitive or already in extremis into a new mode or phase, but that is hardly the same thing. Having the trigger does not mean you don’t need the rest of the howitzer.

So what is this really about? My own view is almost equally simple: it is about a popular ideology designed to accept the unintelligibility and uncontrollability of the world, be it through popular wisdom or pseudo-scientific explanation or (in a previous age) the Will of God, or indeed by any other means. The reasons why the world is fragmented and full of distraction are beyond both the understanding and the control of individuals, and there are vast forces ranged against anyone trying to create either a popular understanding of exactly what those forces are or a political organisation capable of combatting them.

Economic myth no.1: Who are the wealth creators?

One of the necessary consequences of governments failing to measure up to the current economic crisis – and as yet there is no evidence whatsoever that they plan to do anything the change or manage the system that put us where we are today – is that the old self-congratulatory myths start to resurface. Perhaps the most important of these myths is the fantasy that it is bankers and investors who are the true wealth creators.

Why does this myth matter? Because it is this myth ensures that the rich are also the powerful, through their unchallenged control the commanding heights of the economy. Because it is the myth that they are doing something unique and almost magical that we must not importune them for taxes or justifications of their prestidigitations, lest these magicians, these golden geese, fly away, casting us into helpless penury. It is also this myth that allows them to escape the sort of scrutiny to which every other strategic area of society is rightly subject, such as the social services, manufacturing, the education and health systems, the military and so on. It is this myth that allowed them to reward themselves with a disproportionate share of society’s wealth. It is even more important than the myth of the market because, above all else, the myth of the wealth creators allows those it mythologises to disempower everyone else.

But in reality is quite preposterous to identify wealth creation with a single sector of society. It is a simple tautology that wealth is created every time anyone takes a resource and turns it into something it solves a human problem (from hunger to vanity), that makes the real world materially more efficient or effective, or otherwise makes the world a better place.

A small part of this wealth is economic. But even if one focuses exclusively on goods and services that can be bought and sold, even there it would be preposterous to claim that wealth is created at the top. Every bolt screwed onto a machine, every machine operated to make a useful product, every product used to perform a valuable service, every service performed – they all add value. Nor is simply a question of the direct production of wealth. Every manager with a discretionary budget has the opportunity to create more wealth or less, depending on how they chose to use it.

One feature of modern economies that especially militates against the idea that wealth is created at the top is the progressive professionalization of roles in the economy. An employee is someone you pay so that you can tell them what to do; but a professional is someone you pay so that they will tell you what to do. This is clear enough with doctors, lawyers and so on, but it is equally true of professional staff. And their role in the organisation is specifically to know how to create wealth in their area better than their superiors. So the more the modern economic organisation is staffed by professionals, the less claim those a the top have to be exclusively the wealth creators. On the contrary, they are increasingly only coordinators of those who create the wealth.

Hence the difficulty of maintaining a hierarchical structure in strongly professional organisations – because it is increasingly difficult to maintain the myth that those a the top know best. This leaves senior executives in the contradictory position of wielding the power to hire and fire, to invest and disinvest and generally control the organisation, yet lacking any realistic claim to unique insight, awareness or pre-eminent skill. Rather like the absolute monarchs who created to modern state in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, the business hierarchs of modern world have created a massively powerful system – the modern capitalist business – that has less and less time or place for those who were its progenitors.

So what is it that distinguishes the bankers and the financial sector in general? In these terms, not very much. To the extent that they are merely managing budgets, nothing at all. The leverage and reach they exercise may seem vast, but to claim that this means that they create more wealth than others makes no more sense than saying that only the top person in a human pyramid gives it height. It’s rather like a previous era when it was salespeople who were idolised rather than the analysts, the superstar executives, the ‘quants’ and other financial monsters: they too were disproportionately rewarded for selling things other people actually made. Of course, an exceptional individual can make an exceptional difference, but that is true of wealth creation at every level. And it is not as though the evidence actually support the claim that bankers, let alone the financial sector as a whole, actually do create disproportionate wealth.

So what have they been doing for the last couple of decades that explains their fabulous rewards? Haven’t our economies grown exceptionally quickly? Isn’t that to the credit of the financial sector? In the illusory terms of global figures and monetary values, yes to both. But did anyone but themselves enjoy the wealth? No. When in 2008 the banks finally realised how unsure their financial footing was and started to pull the rug from under one another, it turned out that most of the monetary increase in wealth was an illusion. The bubbles had inflated the money but not increased the material wealth society enjoyed. In fact most people are no better off now than before the financial sector was let off the leash. The geese, it turned out, produced eggs of gilded lead, not true gold.

But even that is not the bottom of the barrel. Even if they had been creating exceptional wealth, those at the top of the tree are also the ones who decided on whose behalf wealth is created. This is not after all a completely neutral activity. You can decide how to divide up the surplus. The choice is quite simple: they can allocate the wealth to the shareholders, to the workers, to society (through taxation and true corporate social responsibility) – or to themselves. As ever, those at the top favoured their shareholders. But not as much, it turned out, as they favoured themselves. Despite the longer hours, the heightened insecurity and lower happiness, the average American is no better off than in the 1970s, and much the same is probably true in Britain too. There were no more goods and services, especially not for ordinary people – which is to say, for the vast majority of the real economic wealth creators. So even if they had created great wealth, don’t hold your breath waiting for your share. What you get is a insecurity and relentless pressure.

Finally, the bankers turned out to have produced something that is now busily reducing the total wealth in society. By dislocating the structure of ownership and credit in the economy as a whole, a great deal of its material wealth, its homes and security and comforts, has been debased from wealth to debt, as people of honest working people who thought they had the money to pay for it suddenly don’t. Through no fault of their own, millions are losing their livelihood. Among the very poorest in developing countries, tens of millions have been shoved into absolute poverty. Many will simply die.

But the mythology of wealth creation has already started to revive itself. And why not? For nothing has really changed, except that we now despise the bankers we once admired, and politicians (who have been offered a truly golden opportunity to become popular heroes without a hint of crass populism) are confirming the electorate’s worst suspicions about them.

Economic myth no.2: Trickle-down economics

One of the mainstays of market economics is the idea of trickle-down – that it does not matter that the rich corner the money, because eventually they will spend it only lesser mortals, who will then benefit from it.

This is not a very convincing idea, yet it stays on the lips of conservative politicians and economists everywhere. And it’s not true, of course – not even about the money, let alone the real economic consequences. Starting with the real economy, what happens when a rich person acquires money and spends it as a private individual? They spend it on, say, a house. Eventually everyone who works on the house is paid of course – hence the trickle-down. But what happens to the real human effort and the resources that go into that house? They are the real value in the economy, and what happens to them? They remain in the hands of the owner. They enter the economy through the paid work, but promptly leave society in the form of a private dwelling that absorbs a disproportionate amount of social activity and resources. That time, effort and resource can never be used by society again.

Contrast this to what would have happened if the same amount of money had been spent on, say, new classrooms and facilities for the local school. The same effort and resources would have been expended, but this time all those who built it would still benefit from the product of their work – the school itself. This remains in circulation in society, as it were, in complete contrast to the private home. So trickle-down economics is aptly named – only a trickle of the great flood of real social value benefits society as a whole, while much the greater part remains in the hands of the wealthy in the form of the real goods and services they enjoy.

What about the money, then? Surely that has to circulate? Some of it, such as the payment for work and materials, yes, but not all. A good deal will be set aside for investment. And what is investment for, if not to buy further property that both generates further income to be used for socially exploitative purposes and places more of the real economy into private hands? Of course, the money is eventually released, but only under conditions that not only repeat the same cycle but also reinforce the control of the propertied over the rest.

Zeno’s paradoxes

Zeno’s paradoxes are amongst the most venerable and to many impenetrable of all philosophical puzzles. There have been many attempts to explain Achilles and the tortoise, the arrow paradox and the so-called dichotomy paradox, often illustrated by 'proving' the impossibility of a frog ever managing to hop its way out of a pond. Apparently there were about 40 in all, and were originally created by Zeno of Elea to illustrate Parmenides’ conception of the world as logically changeless by showing that much of what we believed we witnessed in the world simply could not be happening.

This view has undergone a lot of humorous parody and satire, from Zeno’s contemporaries to Terry Pratchett’s occasional sketches of ‘Ephebian’ (i.e., Greek) philosophers deducing all sorts of wonderful things. All in all it tends to remind one of the wonderful line in Monty Python and the Holy Grail, ‘and that, my lord, is how we know that the earth is banana-shaped’.

There have been plenty of attempts to refute Zeno too, involving ideas like infinitesimals (roughly speaking Aristotle’s answer), which works quite well. For we have known since Archimedes that the sum of an infinite number of progressively smaller amounts will add up to a finite total. Or rather, it will tend towards a finite result, which is a problem, since it is not obvious that this is not actually simply a mathematical way of simply restating the original paradox, because this reasoning does not, in itself, conclude that the frog ever actually reaches the side of the pond.

Another use of the infinitesimals inherent in Zeno’s original paradoxes is to reject them. If it simply isn’t true that there is always a point lying between two other points, no matter how close together, to which the frog/ arrow/ Achilles/ whatever can move next, then it must make definite progress and eventually Achilles will be the winner. You can also reject the idea that things are anywhere definite or finite at any given point in time, but I think it’s a bit much to have to rely on relativity or the uncertainty principle to beat up classical philosophers!

I have never quite understood why these paradoxes seem to attract solutions like this. Perhaps I am missing something, but hasn’t Zeno actually defined the problem in such as way that it cannot be solved? He describes all these events in terms of them never being concluded. For example, if Achilles’ movements are defined in terms of reaching where the tortoise was last – a place from which it must have moved on – then plainly he can never overtake it in this framework. But that is only to day you can define a problem in terms of failure, which is what Zeno has done. If at each step Achilles' motion is defined as reaching only to where the tortoise last was, he cannot have reached where it is now. So the problem is actually stated in terms that permit only failure. In other words, failure is not a paradoxical result of this overall situation but a simple deduction from its definition.

There is no need to appeal to any fancy mathematics. All you have to do is to realise that this is not a paradox at all, but rather the description of an activity in negative terms that cannot be shaken off without seeming to disregard the original problem. Zeno’s paradoxes strike me as valid but uninteresting – except for what they tell us about how philosophers and mathematicians reason.

Unfortunately Richard Dawkins barely exists either

A belated reaction to the splendid ‘Don’t worry, God probably doesn’t exist, so stop worrying and get on with life’ bus adverts going around London a while back. Excellent – I’m only sorry that there aren’t more.

How about ‘God was just Jesus’ imaginary friend’, or perhaps ‘God’s only excuse is that he doesn’t exist’ over a picture of a small child in Auschwitz? I’ve always wondered what excuse God will come up with over that one. If I had stood by and done nothing when I could have ended all that suffering in an instant, can you imagine what the world would have thought of me? So why think otherwise of God?

But despite the rightness of the sentiment, Richard Dawkins (who I believe a hand in these advertisements) is far from having a credible answer to the problem religion is trying to solve. His response to religion seems to be, in brief, that it is scientifically incorrect, and so should be disregarded. The first part is right enough, although I doubt that the Pope or the Archbishop of Canterbury would consider it much of a criticism. But I am sure that they would respond – equally correctly, I’m afraid - that religion isn’t about empirical truth anyway. And when they start getting onto what religion is about, their solutions may be completely fanciful but they are also solutions to perfectly real problems before which science (at least in the guise Dawkins favours) is as helpless as a baby.

Religion is about meaning – about what life means, about where we come from and where we are going to, about our relationship with one another, with ourselves, and with the world. The religious response to all these questions is God, which is where I, like Dawkins, get off. But they are all perfectly valid questions: without a sense that life has any meaning, not much is left but boredom, horror and ashes. Yet this is precisely what Dawkins is committed to. Not only is his general (very conventional) account of science absolutely incapable of posing, let alone answering, questions of meaning, but the specific theories to which he is committed – above all natural selection – is completely opposed to the idea that life has any meaning at all. In this he finds himself in good, if uncongenial company, for Stephen Jay Gould, who seems to have disagreed mightily with Dawkins about the very Darwinism to which they were jointly committed, once wrote a sad little book about the place of the individual in evolution, and could only conclude that individuals were empty, futile, accidental things.

In both Gould and Dawkins’ versions of Darwinism, there is no way out: not only does life have no intrinsic significance (true) but it is quite unthinkable that we should have the capacity to construct a meaningful reality (profoundly false). In their conventional forms, random variation and natural selection allow no space for meaning over and above being programmed to seek out and respond to things that enhance our reproductive fitness. Above that level there may be all manner of meaning-like things, but that is where they all lead. But if meaning is really just code for reproductive fitness (or making a lot of money, or any other contemporary cultural shibboleth) then it is resting on its own antithesis. Like existentialism and a dozen other philosophies, the only advice it can offer is to look the other way, and then die. Meaning is essential if the scientific view of life is not to be turned into a tragedy, but if the best we can hope for is Dawkins/Gould/Dennett’s narrow reading of Darwinism and scientistic undermining of meaning, the only possible outcome is the mutually assured destruction of science and happiness.

It is clear from their writings that not that either Dawkins or Gould is comfortable in this position. Who would be? This is their lives we are talking about too – according to their own theories, meaningless accidents. Yet when they try to get out of this bind – as when Dawkins appeals to our big brains to fight back against the worst excesses of our genes or Daniel Dennett (another member of this charmless circle) asserts that real freedom just ‘evolved’ because it was selectively advantageous that it should - they just sound stupid. Were they – and we – not so blinded by the authority of this rather trite interpretation of natural selection, we would all be shouting that the emperor has no clothes. Or rather, that he may be fully dressed, but he is not emperor.

And it is all so unnecessary. Natural selection is completely compatible with the idea that intelligent beings are capable of constructing a meaningful reality, and we don’t have to be constantly undermining ourselves by sneaking back and claiming that it’s all really about reproductive fitness after all. The crucial thing to understand is that, just as there are things that precede evolution and cannot be sensibly explained in such terms – the whole of physics and chemistry, for example – so there may be things that are every bit a material as bodies and genes and nervous systems, but which are also post-biological. That is, they rely entirely on the existence of a functional biological ‘platform’, but once that platform is assured, their interests are as far removed from those of life in general as life in general is from a chemical reaction. The differences are qualitative, fundamental, and include a huge range of novelties – consciousness, history, culture, technology, and so on.

This layer is intelligence. And I cannot emphasise too strongly that this is not simply as intelligence considered as just another faculty of the brain. Rather, the relationship between intelligence and life in general is much the same as that between life in general and chemistry or chemistry and physics – a radical reorganisation leading to both the resolution of key problems biology by itself finds insuperable and the introduction of new problems that our biology finds unintelligible.

The former includes the objectivity (as expressed in science, technology, industry, and the possibilities of radical environmental management) that allows intelligence to ‘see’ random variation and natural selection in a completely different (i.e., objective) light from any non-intelligent creature, and so to grasp its logic and the solutions it requires in ways that completely circumvent evolution itself. The second is this very problem of meaning, which spins form the very same source – the objectivity that tells us not only our place in evolution but also questions our place in the universe and in our own existences. Sometimes intelligence comes up with blindingly incorrect answers of which religion is only the longest running. But that does not mean that it cannot come up with something better. Darwinism, for example.

So if Richard Dawkins - and the late Stephen Jay Gould and all the other biologists – cannot even imagine this possibility, it is not because Darwinism precludes it (see my Birth of Reason) but because they are unable to grasp that Darwinism describes only one step, and by no means the last, in existence. And intelligence is the next.

Intellectual capital

My son tells me about a recent TED Talk, which includes, among much else, the idea that it would be wise to go beyond ‘procedure’ in our social dealings, Quite right, and who would disagree that justice and propriety don’t always follow from following the rules? That is after all why we have a concept of equity.

There is a much unappreciated aspect of this problem, I feel, that is almost the reverse of needing to go beyond ‘the system’. This is the ways in which the way we create and manage the system in fact disempower us from even understanding it, lest alone going ‘beyond’ it. This is even a subject of much enthusiasm, and in certain respects should be too. But at the same time it is rapidly creating a situation in which people who have neither legal nor moral right nevertheless find themselves with more and more of the hi-hand over the rest of us.

The issue I am referring to here goes under the name of ‘intellectual capital’. The significance of intellectual capital is not merely that it creates legal titles on knowledge, experience, and so on – that is intellectual property. ‘Intellectual capital’ goes beyond mere ownership (although there is nothing ‘mere’ about ownership, even in its barest forms), to actually place that knowledge within the system itself. This may take the form of documented procedures, databases of information, the structure of a patented process, the workflow engine that controls a great factory, the books of ‘due process’ through which society’s highest courts and most powerful administrations proceed.

So what is the problem with these systems? In principle, absolutely nothing. Indeed, they become the basis for future developments that take these building blocks and synthesise them into yet higher structures, through which human beings come to still more profound insights and exercise yet greater powers. But it was not only systems I started from – it was ‘intellectual capital’. And capital, of course, is owned, and ownership means not only that somebody owns it but also that everyone else is excluded. Now, under recent patent laws, it can even mean that if discover something for myself, that knowledge can still belong to someone else. I am not even legally entitled to use some of the knowledge I acquire while working for company A when I go to work for company B.

But even beyond that, there is a still more profound issue. For by embedding the knowledge (skill, etc.) in a system, the users of that system no longer need to understand that system or have any insight into its purpose, goals or even mechanisms to operate it. I just have to follow the instructions. Indeed, once this is possible, people who are smart enough to understand the system as well as simply use will probably be too expensive ‘resources’ to be employed using it. So for more and more aspects of human life, ‘the system’ will come to dominate over mere human beings.

And who will now control human life? Who but those whose capital intellectual capital is – the owners. And I should not be afraid of this?

Free will and determinism

A rather long theoretical speculation.

Free will and determinism are generally treated as polar opposites. Here is a hypothesis that starts from that position and concludes with them being identical.

Human free will is difficult to establish. The concept itself is extremely evasive and analysing consciousness and decision-making (which I take to be among the more intractable issues for free will) is fraught with contradictions and infinite regressions. In addition, many of the material determinants of human action and experience are clearly external to the human individual, either as social or as natural entities. As such most social and natural conditions would necessarily limit our material freedom, even if free will were in principle possible. Unlike writers for whom the conceptual analysis of free will and practical constraints on freedom are to be studied separately, I would argue that the reason why the concept of free will is too hard to pin down is the same as the reason we are not, in practice, free.

Essentially, we lack freedom either because of the relative immaturity of the subjective intelligence through which we exist in the world or because of the limitations (gaps, mistakes, conflicts and contradictions) of the objective systems and relationships by which our worlds are actually composed. That is, we are prevented from achieving what we set out to achieve because the structures on which our actions and experience are based stop us from succeeding. It is not simply a matter of weakness: defeat of one kind or another (including subversion, diversion, distraction, disablement and frustration as well as outright defeat) is often built into the very systems and processes through which we act.

For example, even within our world of formal social freedoms (citizenship, equality before the law, and so on), the contradictions that beset our relationships with bureaucracy, representative democracy, economic activity and the law are too well known to need elaborating here. And once again, these are contradictions, not just misfortunes: the problems are built in. Others, created by inhabiting a world made up increasingly of money, commodities and roles, are less obvious, though they are often yet more fatal.

Furthermore, because these structures are contradictory, they prevent us from experiencing the world (or even our own experience) in a coherent manner. This in turn stops us coming up with any way of fully or accurately describing or analysing that experience without working through a huge range of social and historical systems, and so of formulating our goals and intentions adequately in the first place. Furthermore, the vast scale and complex yet ambiguous structure of our social systems makes it unlikely that many people will have the necessary knowledge, or any idea of how to acquire it, or any idea that it is needed.

For example, a capitalist society creates a basic individualism that prevents us from seeing straight away that our problems are social and historical rather than psychological. For most people, the response to bureaucracy, injustice and the general malaise of everyday life is personal frustration, resignation and depression, not social analysis, organisation and action. We divide our efforts between work and consumption, and even these supremely social activities are experienced in terms of a narrow individualism or, at best, instrumental social groupings (office, shopping mall, public transport) to which we commit little of ourselves. This perverse structuring of action and experience both creates innumerable illusions about how the world really works and effectively undermines every attempt to do something about it.

For example, in work we are typically isolated as individuals and functional groupings, and the knowledge we have of the larger systems and relationships we need to do our jobs is generally very narrow. There are timetables, duties, targets, techniques, but little meaning outside the group or the even the task. And in consumerism, we exist solely as isolated individuals, in families and other small, specialised and isolated groups.

So by and large, the only knowledge we need to operate within society is at the level of simple, formally prescribed facts (a great deal of which is anything but correct at any profound level). The massive social and economic processes whereby we ended up there at the supermarket are treated as a combination of the trivially obvious, too dull and difficult for non-specialists to bother with, and none of our business.

At the same time, we are constantly bombarded by complacent and unimaginative politicians, newspaper editors and pundits, and endless other spokespeople for the status quo telling us that we are all already free – or, with one of those small, resigned twists in which modern ideology excels – we are as free as we should try to be.

Even for professionals who specialise in such questions, social life is not exactly training for solving problems of free will and determinism! In fact, the disciplines of history, philosophy and the social sciences seem to be almost as confounded by these assumptions about how our lives work (if that is the word) as everyone else. I doubt that one sociologist in a hundred could explain the idea of alienation.

The basics of the real processes through which all this takes place should be all too familiar to need explaining, though they certainly are not, even for those with a background in the social sciences. Or perhaps they should be anything but familiar. After all, why would any social system regard a theory that that system does not make sense as a tool for making sense of itself? It would be a confession of failure and futility and an invitation to do something about it.

On the other hand, if the ways we understand our relationships to the world and to one another and the systems and structures through which we actually live are so closely interconnected, creating a world of freedom and conceiving of free will properly ought to be mutually fruitful enterprises. If we could do something about these endemic contradictions that constantly frustrate freedom we would be able to grasp the concept of free will, and the more thoroughly we work through the conceptual contradictions (including their social and historical aspects), we more clearly we will know how to go about creating a world in which genuine liberty is the norm.

So what is the general model of freedom I am arguing for? In brief, freedom is lacking whenever the structures that determine either our intentions or the means to realise them are outside our control. If everything that controlled both how we grasped the world and what we wanted, expected, needed (and so on) was (in some sense) a part of ourselves, then we could say that the ways we conceived of our existence in the world and the structures that through which that existence was enacted were one and the same, both with one another and with ourselves. In other words, the structures that determined and realised our will would all be part of ourselves. It would thus be free will, yet wholly determined, yet subject to no material constraints or limitations from beyond itself. Conversely, if we could internalise within ourselves over all the structures needed to materialise those intentions and desires in the external world of practical reality, there would be no constraints on the exercise of our free will either. In other words, our free will would be exercised in freedom.

But what are the structures that need to be created to freedom to be achieved? And, given that the structures that impinge on the exercise of our will might be found anywhere in the entire universe, in what sense could they possibly be internalised? I have tried to describe in detail the historical and phenomenal processes through which truth and freedom (for truth and freedom come down to the same thing) can be reconciled with determinism in my The History of Human Reason. But in the most general terms, this argument entails that a) such a reconciliation is possible, and b) it is susceptible to scientific investigation in all its aspects, with no sneaky corners of irreducible indeterminacy.

Isn’t philosophy fun?