Tag: managerialism

Why managerialism: it’s tolerant and meritocratic

In my last post, I argued that we should take managerialism seriously as a political philosophy. A key idea in managerialism (as I’m trying to define it) is that it acknowledges that sociotechnical organizations are relevant units of political power, and is concerned with the relationship between these organizations. These organizations can be functionally specific. They can have hierarchical, non-democratic control in limited, not totalitarian ways. They check and balance each other, probably. Managerialism tends to think that organizations can be managed well, and that good management matters, politically.

This is as opposed to liberalism, which is grounded in rights of the individual, which then becomes a foundation for democracy. It’s also opposed to communitarianism, which holds the political unit of interest to be a family unit or other small community. I’m positioning managerialism as a more cybernetic political idea, as well as one more adapted to present economic conditions.

It may sound odd to hear somebody argue in favor of managerialism. I’ll admit that I am doing so tentatively, to see what works and what doesn’t. Given that a significant percentage of American political thought now is considering such baroque alternatives to liberalism as feudalism and ethnic tribalism, perhaps because liberalism everywhere has been hijacked by plutocracy, it may not be crazy to discuss alternatives.

One reason why somebody might be attracted to managerialism is that it is (I’d argue) essentially tolerant and meritocratic. Sociotechnical organizations that are organized efficiently to perform their main function need not make a lot of demands of their members besides whatever protocols are necessary for the functioning of the whole. In many cases, this should lead to a basic indifference to race, gender, and class background, from the internal perspective of the organization. As there’s good research indicating that diversity leads to greater collective intelligence in organizations, there’s a good case for tolerant policies in managerial institutions. Merit, defined relative to the needs of the particular organization, would be the privileged personal characteristic here.

I’d like to distinguish managerialism from technocracy in the following sense, which may be a matter of my own terminological invention. Technocracy is the belief that experts should run the state. It offers an expansion of centralized power. Managerialism is, I want to argue, not compatible with centralized state control. Rather, it recognizes many different spheres of life that nevertheless need to be organized to be effective. These spheres or sectors will be individually managed, perhaps by competing organizations, but regulate each other more than they require central regulation.

The way these organizations can regulate each other is Exit, in Hirschman’s sense. While the ideas of Exit, Loyalty, and Voice are most commonly used to discuss how individuals can affect the organizations they are a part of, similar ideas can function at higher scales of analysis, as organizations interact with each other. Think about international trade agreements, and sanctions.

The main reason to support managerialism is not that it is particularly just or elegant. It’s that it is more or less the case that the political structures in place now are some assemblage of sociotechnical organizations interacting with each other. Those people who have power are those with power within one or more of these organizations. And to whatever extent there is a shared ideological commitment among people, it is likely because a sociotechnical organization has been turned to the effect of spreading that ideology. This is a somewhat abstract way of saying what lots of people say in a straightforward way all the time: that certain media institutions are used to propagate certain ideologies. This managerialist framing is just intended to abstract away from the particulars in order to develop a political theory.

Managerialism as political philosophy

Technologically mediated spaces and organizations are frequently described by their proponents as alternatives to the state. From David Clark’s maxim of Internet architecture, “We reject: kings, presidents and voting. We believe in: rough consensus and running code”, to cyberanarchist efforts to bypass the state via blockchain technology, to the claims that Google and Facebook, as they mediate between billions of users, are relevant non-state actor in international affairs, to Lessig’s (1999) ever prescient claim that “Code is Law”, there is undoubtedly something going on with technology’s relationship to the state which is worth paying attention to.

There is an intellectual temptation (one that I myself am prone to) to take seriously the possibility of a fully autonomous technological alternative to the state. Something like a constitution written in source code has an appeal: it would be clear, precise, and presumably based on something like a consensus of those who participate in its creation. It is also an idea that can be frightening (Give up all control to the machines?) or ridiculous. The example of The DAO, the Ethereum ‘distributed autonomous organization’ that raised millions of dollars only to have them stolen in a technical hack, demonstrates the value of traditional legal institutions which protect the parties that enter contracts with processes that ensure fairness in their interpretation and enforcement.

It is more sociologically accurate, in any case, to consider software, hardware, and data collection not as autonomous actors but as parts of a sociotechnical system that maintains and modifies it. This is obvious to practitioners, who spend their lives negotiating the social systems that create technology. For those for whom it is not obvious, there’s reams of literature on the social embededness of “algorithms” (Gillespie, 2014; Kitchin, 2017). These themes are recited again in recent critical work on Artificial Intelligence; there are those that wisely point out that a functioning artificially intelligent system depends on a lot of labor (those who created and cleaned data, those who built the systems they are implemented on, those that monitor the system as it operates) (Kelkar, 2017). So rather than discussing the role of particular technologies as alternatives to the state, we should shift our focus to the great variety of sociotechnical organizations.

One thing that is apparent, when taking this view, is that states, as traditionally conceived, are themselves sociotechnical organizations. This is, again, an obvious point well illustrated in economic histories such as (Beniger, 1986). Communications infrastructure is necessary for the control and integration of society, let alone effective military logistics. The relationship between those industrial actors developing this infrastructure, whether it be building roads, running a postal service, laying rail or telegram wires, telephone wires, satellites, Internet protocols, and now social media–and the state has always been interesting and a story of great fortunes and shifts in power.

What is apparent after a serious look at this history is that political theory, especially liberal political theory as it developed in the 1700’s an onward as a theory of the relationship between individuals bound by social contract emerging from nature to develop a just state, leaves out essential scientific facts of the matter of how society has ever been governed. Control of communications and control infrastructure has never been equally dispersed and has always been a source of power. Late modern rearticulations of liberal theory and reactions against it (Rawls and Nozick, both) leave out technical constraints on the possibility of governance and even the constitution of the subject on which a theory of justice would have its ground.

Were political theory to begin from a more realistic foundation, it would need to acknowledge the existence of sociotechnical organizations as a political unit. There is a term for this view, “managerialism“, which, as far as I can tell is used somewhat pejoratively, like “neoliberalism”. As an “-ism”, it’s implied that managerialism is an ideology. When we talk about ideologies, what we are doing is looking from an external position onto an interdependent set of beliefs in their social context and identifying, through genealogical method or logical analysis, how those beliefs are symptoms of underlying causes that are not precisely as represented within those beliefs themselves. For example, one critiques neoliberal ideology, which purports that markets are the best way to allocate resources and advocates for the expansion of market logic into more domains of social and political life, but pointing out that markets are great for reallocating resources to capitalists, who bankroll neoliberal ideologues, but that many people who are subject to neoliberal policies do not benefit from them. While this is a bit of a parody of both neoliberalism and the critiques of it, you’ll catch my meaning.

We might avoid the pitfalls of an ideological managerialism (I’m not sure what those would be, exactly, having not read the critiques) by taking from it, to begin with, only the urgency of describing social reality in terms of organization and management without assuming any particular normative stake. It will be argued that this is not a neutral stance because to posit that there is organization, and that there is management, is to offend certain kinds of (mainly academic) thinkers. I get the sense that this offendedness is similar to the offense taken by certain critical scholars to the idea that there is such a thing as scientific knowledge, especially social scientific knowledge. Namely, it is an offense taken to the idea that a patently obvious fact entails ones own ignorance of otherwise very important expertise. This is encouraged by the institutional incentives of social science research. Social scientists are required to maintain an aura of expertise even when their particular sub-discipline excludes from its analysis the very systems of bureaucratic and technical management that its university depends on. University bureaucracies are, strangely, in the business of hiding their managerialist reality from their own faculty, as alternative avenues of research inquiry are of course compelling in their own right. When managerialism cannot be contested on epistemic grounds (because the bluff has been called), it can be rejected on aesthetic grounds: managerialism is not “interesting” to a discipline, perhaps because it does not engage with the personal and political motivations that constitute it.

What sets managerialism aside from other ideologies, however, is that when we examine its roots in social context, we do not discover a contradiction. Managerialism is not, as far as I can tell, successful as a popular ideology. Managerialism is attractive only to that rare segment of the population that work closely with bureaucratic management. It is here that the technical constraints of information flow and its potential uses, the limits of autonomy especially as it confronts the autonomies of others, the persistence of hierarchy despite the purported flattening of social relations, and so on become unavoidable features of life. And though one discovers in these situations plenty of managerial incompetence, one also comes to terms with why that incompetence is a necessary feature of the organizations that maintain it.

Little of what I am saying here is new, of course. It is only new in relation to more popular or appealing forms of criticism of the relationship between technology, organizations, power, and ethics. So often the political theory implicit in these critiques is a form of naive egalitarianism that sees a differential in power as an ethical red flag. Since technology can give organizations a lot of power, this generates a lot of heat around technology ethics. Starting from the perspective of an ethicist, one sees an uphill battle against an increasingly inscrutable and unaccountable sociotechnical apparatus. What I am proposing is that we look at things a different way. If we start from general principles about technology its role in organizations–the kinds of principles one would get from an analysis of microeconomic theory, artificial intelligence as a mathematical discipline, and so on–one can try to formulate managerial constraints that truly confront society. These constraints are part of how subjects are constituted and should inform what we see as “ethical”. If we can broker between these hard constraints and the societal values at stake, we might come up with a principle of justice that, if unpopular, may at least be realistic. This would be a contribution, at the end of the day, to political theory, not as an ideology, but as a philosophical advance.


Beniger, James R. “The Control Revolution: Technological and Economic Origins of the.” Information Society (1986).

Bird, Sarah, et al. “Exploring or Exploiting? Social and Ethical Implications of Autonomous Experimentation in AI.” (2016).

Gillespie, Tarleton. “The relevance of algorithms.” Media technologies: Essays on communication, materiality, and society 167 (2014).

Kelkar, Shreeharsh. “How (Not) to Talk about AI.” Platypus, 12 Apr. 2017, blog.castac.org/2017/04/how-not-to-talk-about-ai/.

Kitchin, Rob. “Thinking critically about and researching algorithms.” Information, Communication & Society 20.1 (2017): 14-29.

Lessig, Lawrence. “Code is law.” The Industry Standard 18 (1999).

Discourse theory of law from Habermas

There has been at least one major gap in my understanding of Habermas’s social theory which I’m just filling now. The position Habermas reaches towards the end of Theory of Communicative Action vol 2 and develops further in later work in Between Facts and Norms (1992) is the discourse theory of law.

What I think went on is that Habermas eventually gave up on deliberative democracy in its purest form. After a career of scholarship about the public sphere, the ideal speech situation, and communicative action–fully developing the lifeworld as the ground for legitimate norms–but eventually had to make a concession to “the steering media” of money and power as necessary for the organization of society at scale. But at the intersection between lifeworld and system is law. Law serves as a transmission belt between legitimate norms established by civil society and “system”; at it’s best it is both efficacious and legitimate.

Law is ambiguous; it can serve both legitimate citizen interests united in communicative solidarity. It can also serve strong powerful interests. But it’s where the action is, because it’s where Habermas sees the ability for lifeworld to counter-steer the whole political apparatus towards legitimacy, including shifting the balance of power between lifeworld and system.

This is interesting because:

  • Habermas is like the last living heir of the Frankfurt School mission and this is a mature and actionable view nevertheless founded in the Critical Theory tradition.
  • If you pair it with Lessig’s Code is Law thesis, you get a framework for thinking about how technical mediation of civil society can be legitimate but also efficacious. I.e., code can be legitimized discoursively through communicative action. Arguably, this is how a lot of open source communities work, as well as standards bodies.
  • Thinking about managerialism as a system of centralized power that provides a framework of freedoms within it, Habermas seems to be presenting an alternative model where law or code evolves with the direct input of civil stakeholders. I’m fascinated by where Nick Doty’s work on multistakeholderism in the W3C is going and think there’s an alternative model in there somewhere. There’s a deep consistency in this, noted a while ago (2003) by Froomkin but largely unacknowledged as far as I can tell in the Data and Society or Berkman worlds.

I don’t see in Habermas anything about funding the state. That would mean acknowledging military force and the power to tax. But this is progress for me.


Zurn, Christopher. “Discourse theory of law”, in Jurgen Habermas: Key Concepts, edited by Barbara Fultner

Notes on The Democratic Surround; managerialism

I’ve been greatly enjoying Fred Turner’s The Democratic Surround partly because it cuts through a lot of ideological baggage with smart historical detail. It marks a turn, perhaps, in what intellectuals talk about. The critical left has been hung up on neoliberalism for decades while the actual institutions that are worth criticizing have moved on. It’s nice to see a new name for what’s happening. That new name is managerialism.

Managerialism is a way to talk about what Facebook and the Democratic Party and everybody else providing a highly computationally tuned menu of options is doing without making the mistake of using old metaphors of control to talk about a new thing.

Turner is ambivalent about managerialism perhaps because he’s at Stanford and so occupies an interesting position in the grand intellectual matrix. He’s read his Foucault, he explains when he speaks in public, though he is sometimes criticized for not being critical enough. I think ‘critical’ intellectuals may find him confusing because he’s not deploying the same ‘critical’ tropes that have been used since Adorno even though he’s writing sometimes about Adorno. He is optimistic, or at least writes optimistically about the past, or at least writes about the past in a way that isn’t overtly scathing which is just more upbeat than a lot of writing nowadays.

Managerialism is, roughly, the idea of technocratically bounded space of complex interactive freedom as a principle of governance or social organization. In The Democratic Surround, he is providing a historical analysis of a Bauhaus-initiated multimedia curation format, the ‘surround’, to represent managerialist democracy in the same way Foucault provided a historical analysis of the Panopticon to represent surveillance. He is attempting to implant a new symbol into the vocabulary of political and social thinkers that we can use to understand the world around us while giving it a rich and subtle history that expands our sense of its possibilities.

I’m about halfway through the book. I love it. If I have a criticism of it it’s that everything in it is a managerialist surround and sometimes his arguments seems a bit stretched. For example, here’s his description of how John Cage’s famous 4’33” is a managerialist surround:

With 4’33”, as with Theater Piece #1, Cage freed sounds, performers, and audiences alike from the tyrannical wills of musical dictators. All tensions–between composer, performer, and audience; between sound and music; between the West and the East–had dissolved. Even as he turned away from what he saw as more authoritarian modes of composition and performance, though, Cage did not relinquish all control of the situation. Rather, he acted as an aesthetic expert, issuing instructions that set the parameters for action. Even as he declined the dictator’s baton, Cage took up a version of the manager’s spreadsheet and memo. Thanks to his benevolent instructions, listeners and music makers alike became free to hear the world as it was and to know themselves in that moment. Sounds and people became unified in their diversity, free to act as they liked, within a distinctly American musical universe–a universe finally freed of dictators, but not without order.

I have two weaknesses as a reader. One is a soft spot for wicked vitriol. Another is an intolerance of rhetorical flourish. The above paragraph is rhetorical flourish that doesn’t make sense. Saying that 4’33” is a manager’s spreadsheet is just about the most nonsensical metaphor I could imagine. In a universe with only fascists and managerialists, then I guess 4’33” is more like a memo. But there are so many more apt musical metaphors for unification in diversity in music. For example, a blues or jazz band playing a standard. Literally any improvisational musical form. No less quintessentially American.

If you bear with me and agree that this particular point is poorly argued and that John Cage wasn’t actually a managerialist and was in fact the Zen spiritualist that he claimed to be in his essays, then either Turner is equating managerialism with Zen spiritualism or Turner is trying to make Cage a symbol of managerialism for his own ideological ends.

Either of these is plausible. Steve Jobs was an I Ching enthusiast like Cage. Stewart Brand, the subject of Turner’s last book, From Counterculture to Cyberculture, was a back-to-land commune enthusiast before he become a capitalist digerati hero. Running through Turner’s work is the demonstration of the cool origins of today’s world that’s run by managerialist power. We are where we are today because democracy won against fascism. We are where we are today because hippies won against whoever. Sort of. Turner is also frank about capitalist recuperation of everything cool. But this is not so bad. Startups are basically like co-ops–worker owned until the VC’s get too involved.

I’m a tech guy, sort of. It’s easy for me to read my own ambivalence about the world we’re in today into Turner’s book. I’m cool, right? I like interesting music and read books on intellectual history and am tolerant of people despite my connections to power, right? Managers aren’t so bad. I’ve been a manager. They are necessary. Sometimes they are benevolent and loved. That’s not bad, right? Maybe everything is just fine because we have a mode of social organization that just makes more sense now than what we had before. It’s a nice happy medium between fascism, communism, anarchism, and all the other extreme -ism’s that plagued the 20th century with war. People used to starve to death or kill each other en masse. Now they complain about bad management or, more likely, bad customer service. They complain as if the bad managers are likely to commit a war crime at any minute but that’s because their complaints would sound so petty and trivial if they were voiced without the use of tropes that let us associate poor customer service with deliberate mind-control propaganda or industrial wage slavery. We’ve forgotten how to complain in a way that isn’t hyperbolic.

Maybe it’s the hyperbole that’s the real issue. Maybe a managerialist world lacks catastrophe and so is so frickin’ boring that we just don’t have the kinds of social crises that a generation of intellectuals trained in social criticism have been prepared for. Maybe we talk about how things are “totally awesome!” and totally bad because nothing really is that good or that bad and so our field of attention has contracted to the minute, amplifying even the faintest signal into something significant. Case in point, Alex from Target. Under well-tuned managerialism, the only thing worth getting worked up about is that people are worked up about something. Even if it’s nothing. That’s the news!

So if there’s a critique of managerialism, it’s that it renders the managed stupid. This is a problem.