Most discussions of democracy are unduly circumscribed by awareness of its history. The innovators Pericles, Locke and Madison took previous innovations as given, and people nowadays tend to do the same. As a result, nobody questions the superiority of democracy and everyone lays claim to it. Even the most oppressive tyrannies call themselves democratic.
Among interpretations of the idea, the system known as western democracy has so far been the most durable. But although it is a survivor of an evolutionary process, its survival is not evidence of superiority over possible alternatives. A visiting alien might see it as very imperfectly related to the concept of democracy. Its reaction might be similar to Ghandi’s who, when asked what he thought of western civilisation, said he thought it would be a good idea.
The history of democracy is the story of a sequence of attempts to achieve the ideal of government in the interests of the governed. The solution adopted by the ancient Athenians was to give every citizen a vote, so that Pericles could say ‘we Athenians decide public questions for ourselves’. Under the influence of later Greek thinkers and of the Church, the concept of democracy gave way to that of the great chain of being, and its corollary of the divine right of kings. Those concepts dominated political thinking until the enlightenment, with only minor incursions from the Magna Carta and the Bill of Rights. It was challenged in the seventeenth century by John Locke’s contention that the true relation between government and governed is an implicit contract under which the governed gave up freedoms only in return for an obligation to defend their rights. That was taken to imply their right to replace any government that failed to meet its obligation, and was the intellectual justification for England’s Glorious Revolution. The institution of parliament being already in place, it was then adopted as the instrument by which governments could be restrained from violating the rights of the governed. Subsequently America’s Founding Fathers, influenced by Pericles and Locke, advocated representation ingrafted upon democracy. In that respect, and despite its many innovations, the essential features of the United States constitution were similar to that being adopted in England. With the embellishments that followed, western democracy came to be seen as the most successful of all political systems.
It is tempting to regard the result as the ultimate step in an evolutionary progress toward the achievement of the democratic ideal. Unaware of its history, the hypothetical alien might consider it to fall short of that ideal. It might reasonably expect a democratic government to act in the interests of the governed as seen by the governed themselves – on the grounds that they would not willingly have given up their individual freedoms on any other terms. That expectation might lead it to inquire how decision makers in western governments go about discovering those interests. It might assume the electorate to have delegated the task of predicting the material consequences of their decisions to the decision-makers themselves, much as a patient delegates to a surgeon the task of predicting the material consequences of an operation. But it would expect the views of those consequences to have been sought from those affected in the same way that a surgeon is expected to seek the wishes of his patient. Its enquiries on that point would not be reassuring. It would find that there is nothing to prevent decision-makers from taking decisions without considering the preferences of those affected. It would not be able to find how often they act arbitrarily or paternalistically because their decision-making processes are carefully hidden from view. If it looked for established means of calling them to account, it would find that auditing of government activities is confined to the activities of those whose job it is to carry out their instructions. In view of their limited access to the necessary information, it would almost certainly have reservations about the effectiveness of parliamentary scrutiny. It would also be doubtful about the legitimacy of head-count consultations as a way of informing governmental decisions, fearing that their inability to register depth of feeling could lead to misleading results when, for example, the views of serious sufferers were outweighed by those of more numerous marginal beneficiaries. It would note the misleading results which consultations would give when those consulted were misinformed about material consequences – as they were about the MMR vaccine. It would be surprised to find very little published research about procedures for better-informed consultation, such as citizens’ juries and focus groups, and would be disappointed to find that they are used mainly in connection with voters’ intentions in marginal constituencies. It would regard possibility that members of parliament could help as remote, having discovered that their views are seldom representative of their constituents’.
Our imaginary alien’s analysis is a reminder that the institutions of western democracy cannot guarantee compliance with the concept of government in the interests of the governed without doing something to ensure that government decisions were in fact being taken in their interests. It is often suggested that compliance could be achieved if more people took part in politics. Pericles saw participation as essential to the success of Athenian democracy and is reported to have said that We regard the man who takes no part in public affairs, not as one who minds his own business, but as good for nothing. Without going that far, it is nowadays widely held that voting is a public duty. Since voting without understanding would be fruitless, that implies an obligation to be politically well-informed. Locke’s concept of a social contract implies no such obligation. His implied contract does not require the citizen to understand the business of government any more than does the implied contract between patient and doctor require the patient to understand medicine. That is the way most people now see politics: they want to be assured that the government is doing its job, but they do not want to spend time and effort trying to understand how that job is being done.
It is no more practicable to guarantee that a government will always act in the interests of the government than it would be to guarantee that every doctor will always act in the interests of his patients. The main protection against abuse in both cases is the existence of professional standards and of the public service ethos, and the preservation – as far as we can tell - of a reasonable semblance of democracy in western democracies has probably been attributable more to those factors than to institutional arrangements such as elections. But if we are not simply to take good behaviour on trust we need some check on government decision-making. Knowledge of its results would not be sufficient because unforeseeable developments can make a good decision appear bad; and good luck can make a bad decision appear good. Second-guessing would not be practicable and in ant case it would not be needed. All that would be needed would be assurance that due attention was being given to available information, including information about people’s preferences. An occasional check on selected cases would provide a reassurance (or otherwise) to the electorate. More importantly the prospect of its publication would impose a salutary incentive upon decision-makers, discouraging such aberrations as paternalism and the seeking of short-term electoral advantage.
The idea of such an audit would probably encounter bitter opposition from politicians. Should it be taken seriously, however, the first question would be who shall guard the guardians? The answer would presumably involve either the selection of commissioners with the required combination of objectivity and investigative expertise, or the establishment of a two-tier body with investigators reporting to commissioners. The second question would concern their access to information. There might be a case for allowing them routine confidential access to papers but imposing limits upon the timing and frequency of follow-up inquiries and upon the publication of their findings. The third question would concern the consequences of an adverse finding. Should the conventions of collective responsibility and ministerial responsibility be allowed to continue to prevent the calling to account of those really responsible? The final question might be to whom should such an audit commission be responsible - to parliament, or directly to an electorate?
Would this be a good idea, or should we muddle along and hope for the best?
Among interpretations of the idea, the system known as western democracy has so far been the most durable. But although it is a survivor of an evolutionary process, its survival is not evidence of superiority over possible alternatives. A visiting alien might see it as very imperfectly related to the concept of democracy. Its reaction might be similar to Ghandi’s who, when asked what he thought of western civilisation, said he thought it would be a good idea.
The history of democracy is the story of a sequence of attempts to achieve the ideal of government in the interests of the governed. The solution adopted by the ancient Athenians was to give every citizen a vote, so that Pericles could say ‘we Athenians decide public questions for ourselves’. Under the influence of later Greek thinkers and of the Church, the concept of democracy gave way to that of the great chain of being, and its corollary of the divine right of kings. Those concepts dominated political thinking until the enlightenment, with only minor incursions from the Magna Carta and the Bill of Rights. It was challenged in the seventeenth century by John Locke’s contention that the true relation between government and governed is an implicit contract under which the governed gave up freedoms only in return for an obligation to defend their rights. That was taken to imply their right to replace any government that failed to meet its obligation, and was the intellectual justification for England’s Glorious Revolution. The institution of parliament being already in place, it was then adopted as the instrument by which governments could be restrained from violating the rights of the governed. Subsequently America’s Founding Fathers, influenced by Pericles and Locke, advocated representation ingrafted upon democracy. In that respect, and despite its many innovations, the essential features of the United States constitution were similar to that being adopted in England. With the embellishments that followed, western democracy came to be seen as the most successful of all political systems.
It is tempting to regard the result as the ultimate step in an evolutionary progress toward the achievement of the democratic ideal. Unaware of its history, the hypothetical alien might consider it to fall short of that ideal. It might reasonably expect a democratic government to act in the interests of the governed as seen by the governed themselves – on the grounds that they would not willingly have given up their individual freedoms on any other terms. That expectation might lead it to inquire how decision makers in western governments go about discovering those interests. It might assume the electorate to have delegated the task of predicting the material consequences of their decisions to the decision-makers themselves, much as a patient delegates to a surgeon the task of predicting the material consequences of an operation. But it would expect the views of those consequences to have been sought from those affected in the same way that a surgeon is expected to seek the wishes of his patient. Its enquiries on that point would not be reassuring. It would find that there is nothing to prevent decision-makers from taking decisions without considering the preferences of those affected. It would not be able to find how often they act arbitrarily or paternalistically because their decision-making processes are carefully hidden from view. If it looked for established means of calling them to account, it would find that auditing of government activities is confined to the activities of those whose job it is to carry out their instructions. In view of their limited access to the necessary information, it would almost certainly have reservations about the effectiveness of parliamentary scrutiny. It would also be doubtful about the legitimacy of head-count consultations as a way of informing governmental decisions, fearing that their inability to register depth of feeling could lead to misleading results when, for example, the views of serious sufferers were outweighed by those of more numerous marginal beneficiaries. It would note the misleading results which consultations would give when those consulted were misinformed about material consequences – as they were about the MMR vaccine. It would be surprised to find very little published research about procedures for better-informed consultation, such as citizens’ juries and focus groups, and would be disappointed to find that they are used mainly in connection with voters’ intentions in marginal constituencies. It would regard possibility that members of parliament could help as remote, having discovered that their views are seldom representative of their constituents’.
Our imaginary alien’s analysis is a reminder that the institutions of western democracy cannot guarantee compliance with the concept of government in the interests of the governed without doing something to ensure that government decisions were in fact being taken in their interests. It is often suggested that compliance could be achieved if more people took part in politics. Pericles saw participation as essential to the success of Athenian democracy and is reported to have said that We regard the man who takes no part in public affairs, not as one who minds his own business, but as good for nothing. Without going that far, it is nowadays widely held that voting is a public duty. Since voting without understanding would be fruitless, that implies an obligation to be politically well-informed. Locke’s concept of a social contract implies no such obligation. His implied contract does not require the citizen to understand the business of government any more than does the implied contract between patient and doctor require the patient to understand medicine. That is the way most people now see politics: they want to be assured that the government is doing its job, but they do not want to spend time and effort trying to understand how that job is being done.
It is no more practicable to guarantee that a government will always act in the interests of the government than it would be to guarantee that every doctor will always act in the interests of his patients. The main protection against abuse in both cases is the existence of professional standards and of the public service ethos, and the preservation – as far as we can tell - of a reasonable semblance of democracy in western democracies has probably been attributable more to those factors than to institutional arrangements such as elections. But if we are not simply to take good behaviour on trust we need some check on government decision-making. Knowledge of its results would not be sufficient because unforeseeable developments can make a good decision appear bad; and good luck can make a bad decision appear good. Second-guessing would not be practicable and in ant case it would not be needed. All that would be needed would be assurance that due attention was being given to available information, including information about people’s preferences. An occasional check on selected cases would provide a reassurance (or otherwise) to the electorate. More importantly the prospect of its publication would impose a salutary incentive upon decision-makers, discouraging such aberrations as paternalism and the seeking of short-term electoral advantage.
The idea of such an audit would probably encounter bitter opposition from politicians. Should it be taken seriously, however, the first question would be who shall guard the guardians? The answer would presumably involve either the selection of commissioners with the required combination of objectivity and investigative expertise, or the establishment of a two-tier body with investigators reporting to commissioners. The second question would concern their access to information. There might be a case for allowing them routine confidential access to papers but imposing limits upon the timing and frequency of follow-up inquiries and upon the publication of their findings. The third question would concern the consequences of an adverse finding. Should the conventions of collective responsibility and ministerial responsibility be allowed to continue to prevent the calling to account of those really responsible? The final question might be to whom should such an audit commission be responsible - to parliament, or directly to an electorate?
Would this be a good idea, or should we muddle along and hope for the best?
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