Preiser and Cilliers (2010: 278) write that complexity theory ‘is ultimately not a strategy that aims at finding perfect solutions for unsolvable questions’. Rather, as stated by Richardson and Cilliers (2001: 22), it presents us with a conceptual strategy that ‘helps us in coming to terms with the ethical problems associated with complex (social) systems.' In this last section, the ethics of critical complexity is explicated50 in order to introduce the reader to this conceptual strategy.
6.1. The importance of choice in modelling complex systems
The first ethical point to emerge from the above discussion relates to the fact that the theory of critical complexity requires an epistemological shift (Morin, 2007:10). In other words, we must rethink the nature and limits of knowledge. As stated earlier, our models of complex systems are always incomplete, and may introduce further uncertainties. Therefore, instead of trying to represent reality in formal terms, the critical complexity theorist has as her goal the establishment of models that accord with her experiences of the world. In this regard, a model is more like a novel than a formula in that:
like a novel, [a model] may resonate with nature, but it is not the “real” thing. Like a novel, a model may be convincing – it may “ring true” if it is consistent with our experiences of the natural [and the social] world. But just as we may wonder how much the characters in a novel are drawn from real life, and how much is artifice, we might ask the same of a model: how much is based on observation and measurement of accessible phenomena, how much is based on informed judgement, and how much is based on convenience? (Oreskes, Shrader- Frechette & Belitz, 1994: 644).
Oreskes and her colleagues, although not directly referring to the problem of complexity, are sensitive to the fact that we do not have full access to the phenomena of interest. This lack of full access is due to the complexity with which we have to grapple, and introduces questions of
50 This objective (namely, to determine the specific challenge that critical complexity holds for our
understanding of ethics) raises an important question, namely, can one use a general model of a complex system to describe both living systems (such as cells) and social systems. A danger of generalising complexity is that the theory itself is at risk of becoming unfalsifiable. In this sense, the term ‘complexity’ operates as a sophisticated metaphor: it can be considered as a generic marker, but complexity is,
simultaneously, case-specific. Complexity, therefore, deals with both similarities and dissimilarities between systems. The challenge for the social scientist is to simultaneously think these paradoxical aspects of complexity. In this regard, also see Lissack and Letiche’s (2002: 71-81) discussion on homologies (which they define as metaphors that can withstand critical examination).
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convenience and judgement, neither of which are questions of description, but of normativity. How we frame systems (in other words, the boundaries that we draw around systems) are not just a function of the activity of the system itself, but are also a product of the description that we give to the system (Cilliers, 2001:141). Luhmann (2000: 46) defines boundaries or frames as ‘the self- produced and reproduced difference between a system and its environment’. Our boundaries are, therefore, to a large extent, contingent upon the resources at our disposal: we do not frame objective reality, but our own observations (46). Conceptually-speaking, there is no logical way out of this problem, or otherwise stated, there is no grand Theory of Frames.
Rosen (2005: 42) also remarks on this problem in his description of the notion of systemhood in science, in which the environment is typically reduced to the system. In this regard, he writes: ‘[t]he partition of ambience into system and environment, and even more, the imputation of that partition to the ambience itself as an inherent property thereof, is a basic though fateful step for science’. Although partitioning the world into systems and environments is a fateful step, it is also a necessary step, since as Quine (1969: 55) reminds us in his work on ontological relativity, ‘[w]e cannot know what something is without knowing how it is marked off from other things.’ In other words, boundaries are also enabling: we need to construct boundaries between systems and their environments, even though these boundaries introduce further complexities and uncertainties (since our descriptions are imperfect) (see Cilliers, 2001).
However, the problem comes in when this weak form of reductionism transforms into a strong form of reductionism. This happens when the scientist negates the problem of organised complexity in an attempt to determine:
special classes of systems into which the ambience may be partitioned, such that (1) the systems in that special class are more directly apprehensible than others, and (2) everything in the ambience… is generated by, or reducible to, what happens in that fundamental class (Rosen, 2005: 42).
Once this distinction is made, all attention is focused on the system (at the expense of the environment), and all properties of the given system are described in terms of the system as a whole. In other words, when the problem of operational closure is viewed as a systemic feature and not as an observational-difficulty, one is led ‘to a vision of the world that is classificatory, analytical, [and] reductionist, with linear causality’ (interpretation of Maruyama in Morin, 2008: 12).
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Allen (2000: 80-81) also discusses the problem of strong reductionism in the social sciences, specifically the management sciences. In this context, he identifies the following five reductionist assumption: 1) we can clearly define the boundaries between the system and the environment; 2) we already possess rules needed to classify objects into relevant typologies, which will enable us to understand what is going on; 3) individuals are considered as average types that are not affected by experiences; 4) individual behaviours can be described by their average interaction parameters; and, 5) stability or equilibrium defines reality. Many of these same reductions are made in the standard normative tale, where it is assumed that the rational individual is capable of engaging in abstract ethical thought, and, thereby, capable of coming to appropriate ethical conclusions, which can then be applied to a situation. Allen (81) notes that the problem with these reductions are that they do not allow us to represent evolution and learning within systems, or to describe systemic transformations.
The fact that our models cannot provide a full description of reality does not, however, imply that we should forego modelling. In the previous chapter (sec. 6.2.1.), Clegg et al. (2007) was cited as saying that choice does not involve complete free play, but an oscillation between possibilities. Allen (2000: 93) makes a similar point with regard to the modelling of complex systems: ‘[a] representation or model with no assumptions whatsoever is clearly simply subjective reality…. In this way, we could say that it does not therefore fall within the science of complexity, since it does not concern systemic knowledge.’ Allen continues in arguing that what is of importance ‘is not whether something is absolutely true or false, but whether the apparent systemic knowledge being provided is useful.’ Instead of viewing models as absolute representations of reality, we must be aware of, and ‘apply our “complexity reduction” assumptions honestly’ (94) and take note of when these models need to be transformed and replaced by other more appropriate models. Allen’s point reinforces both Cilliers’ (2005) statement that the modest position is a responsible position, and Verstraeten’s point (2000) that such a position requires work: one must actively develop the skill to ‘see with new eyes’, as Proust states (see chap. 1, secs 6.1. & 6.2.). In acknowledging complexity we, therefore, acknowledge the limited status of our models. Here, the emphasis shifts from discovering truth to a process of making choices and developing strategies for living, and for dealing with the often unexpected outcomes of these strategies. Morin (2007: 21; my italics) elaborates on this point in stating that:
There is no science of science, and even the science of science would be insufficient if it did not include epistemological problems. Science is a tumultuous building site, science is a process that could not be programmed in advance, because one can never program what one
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will find, since the characteristic of a discovery is in its unexpectedness. This uncontrolled process has led today to the development of potentialities of destruction and manipulation, which must bring the introduction into science of a double conscience: a conscience of itself and an ethical conscience.
In developing an ethical conscience, the scientist must, therefore, learn to take responsibility for her choices. Our models are the outcome of framing strategies, which, as Allen (2000: 102) notes, represent possible choices amongst others, where each choice gives rise to ‘a different spectrum of possible consequences, different successes and failures, and different strengths and weaknesses’ – most of which can probably not be known beforehand. Therefore, although we must exercise vigilance when choosing our strategies, we should also recognise that no matter how carefully we consider and reflect upon these actions, they may turn out to be a mistake (Preiser & Cilliers, 2010: 274). Preiser and Cilliers (274) summarise the implication of this point as follows:
acknowledging that values and choice are involved [therefore] does not provide any guarantee that good will come of what we do. Complexity tells us that ethics will be involved, but does not tell us what that ethics actually entails. The ethics of complexity is thus radically or perpetually ethical… We do not escape the realm of choice.
In summary, critical complexity cannot be construed as a value-free programme, aimed at establishing a priori laws and rules through reductive reasoning. This is because such a conception is not only a negation of complexity, but also ‘destroys the autonomy of one who seeks’ (Morin, 2007: 28). Engaging with the problematic of complexity, therefore, necessitates what Morin (28) calls ‘an autonomous strategy’ which obliges us ‘in the field of action… to reconsider our decisions like bets and incites us to develop an adequate strategy to more or less control the action.’
6.2. The embeddedness of ethical practices51
What should be clear from the above analysis is that our models of the world have a profound impact on the way in which we view the world, and the status that we accord to our knowledge claims. Furthermore, the models we subscribe to not only have theoretical, but also practical and ethical implications. As an illustration of this point, Preiser and Cilliers (2010: 278) refer to the disastrous effects that reductive thinking has had on the social, political, environmental, and
51 The insights that complexity theory holds for our ethical practices is illustrated in chapter seven (sec. 2) at the hand of the example of corporate social responsibility/corporate citizenship.
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economic spheres. What this point implies is that if one subscribes to a critical complexity model of the world, one also has to accept the consequences that this model holds, in terms of ontology (including how we are to view our own identities), as well as in terms of the ethics of our practices. In much of the ethical literature, moral responsibility is ascribed to rational and autonomous individual agents who make decisions based on reasonable principles and calculations. It is also commonly assumed that these moral agents act intentionally. In other words, it is assumed that there is ‘a direct cause and effect relationship between the willing and acting agent and the consequences of his or her decisions and behavior’ (Painter-Morland 2006: 90). Such a view identifies individuals as ontologically prior to the systems in which they function, due to the fact that the identity conditions of individuals (namely, intentionality, autonomy, and rationality) are assumed to be a priori givens (Woermann, 2010: 178). What should be clear at this juncture, however, is that individual identity is not an a priori construct but a relational and emergent property. In other words, identities must be contextualised in terms of a spatial network of relationships in which they are co-constituted, as well as in terms of a temporal process of becoming (Woermann, 2010; Cilliers, 2010b).
What this means is that the focus of any ethical analysis should not be on individual agents, but on relations between individuals and the systemic properties that emerge from these relations. Through participating in competitive and cooperative activities, the intentional and unintentional actions of individuals give rise to certain patterns of behaviour, which is turn lead to the emergence of systemic structures. Systemic structures, on their part, serve to constrain the behaviour of individual components through feedback loops, but also create opportunities in the structure and thereby facilitate purposive action (see sec. 5.2.2.). Over time, these feedback loops reinforce or undermine certain patterns of behaviour, which then become institutionalised in formal or informal rules, norms, policies, laws etc. Radical systemic transformations are, however, possible due to the non- linearity (Woermann, 2010; Grebe & Woermann, 2010). This means that, although there cannot be a direct cause-and-effect relationship between the actions of an intentional agent and the consequences of her actions upon a system; we can, nevertheless, help shape and transform our systems through engaging in ‘morally imaginative arrangements’ that ‘emerge through dialectical processes that are influenced by actors’ relative power and political skill’ (Hargrave, 2009: 87). This process of identity formation reaffirms the point made in the previous chapter (sec. 6.3.) that the questions ‘what ought I to do?’ and ‘what type of person should I be?’ are inseparable, given the embeddedness of our practices and identities. In other words, individuals and the systems within
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which they participate are co-terminus i.e. they arise and die together (see Seabright & Kurke, 1997).The moral agent should, therefore, not be construed ‘as an independent or socially isolated decision-maker, but rather as a social actor embedded in a complex network of intra- and inter- group relationships’ (Kramer, 1991: 195). This means that if we wish to talk about intentionality and moral agency, we can only do so by considering the specific ‘context of relevant group memberships, the systems within which groups are embedded, the power relations that exist between groups and the permeability of boundaries that define group membership’ (Paulsen, 2003:17). Preiser and Cilliers (2010: 268) sum up this insight for business ethics as follows:
“Ethics” is not something that gets integrated into organisational or corporate culture but lies at the heart of establishing and envisioning a culture to begin with; it is part of all the different levels of activities in an organisation. The ethical stance is not something imposed on an organisation, or something that is expected of it. It is an inevitable result of the inability of a theory of complexity to provide a complete description of all aspects of the system.
6.3. The provisional nature of ethical knowledge
Thus far, two important ethical insights have emerged from the discussion on the ethics of critical complexity. Firstly, from this perspective, cognisance must be taken of the normativity of our models, which results from our incomplete understanding of complex phenomena; and, secondly, ethics is something that can only be understood in terms of dynamic, nonlinear, emergent, and relational practices and group dynamics. When we put these two insights together we come to the third important insight, namely that since no objective reality exists, all knowledge claims must be accepted as provisional claims because, in the words of Preiser and Cilliers (2010: 270): ‘We know that we cannot get it right.’
Nevertheless, the fact that objective knowledge does not exist does not mean that we are incapable of purposive action. More specifically, it was argued in the previous chapter (sec. 6.1.) that limited knowledge does not equal any knowledge, and that the lack of an objective, meta-perspective cannot serve as an excuse for ethical sloppiness. Furthermore, employing models and rules is what allows us to undertake meaningful actions. However, we should be aware of the fact that these tools are not timeless or fixed. As such, our knowledge claims (which are based on our models and rules) should be the result of, and subject to, careful reflection (271), and – as stated in the previous chapter (sec. 6.1.1.) – one of the most important goals of studies in ethics (especially business
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ethics) should be to teach students to reflect. Here again, we see the important role played by critique, especially self-critique. Only by being critical of our own positions is it possible to make our value judgements explicit, articulate alternative to these positions, and avoid claiming a false objectivity (274).
Preiser and Cilliers (283) offer the following three characteristics of the critical position52:
‘A critical position informed by complexity will have to be transgressive. It can never simply re-enforce that which is current. Transformation takes place continually, despite all efforts to contain it.’
‘A critical position will, in the most positive sense of the word, be an ironical position. There is no final truth which operationalises our actions in an objective way. Irony also implies, in a very systemic way, a self-critical position.’
‘In the third place, a central role for the imagination is indispensable when we deal with complex things. Since we cannot calculate what will or should happen, we have to make a creative leap in order to imagine what things could be like.’
Since the aim of this section was merely to introduce the ethics of complexity, these ideas will not be explored in any greater detail at this stage. However, the above conception of ethics as a transgressive, ironical, and imaginative activity is important because it allows us to rethink the value of normative ethical theories in terms of the critical enterprise. Although not all normative ethical theories are compatible with the critical enterprise, theories such as deconstruction are. The value of such a theory lies in its ability to become a ‘mechanism’ for critically and carefully negotiating ethical complexity. As such, the above three characteristics will be returned to in chapter six (sec 3). In this chapter, the critical enterprise will be elaborated in more detail with specific reference to both complexity theory and deconstructive insights.
7. Conclusion
In this chapter, the history of complexity theory was investigated in order to introduce and contextualise the paradigm of critical complexity, and to put into question the traditional scientific paradigm of reduction, disjunction, and simplification. In this regard, theories such as cybernetics
52 It may be asked how the transgressive and ironical attitude that typifies the critical position can be
reconciled with the modesty that underlies responsible action in complex systems. In this regard, it is argued that modesty is the impetus of the critical position. To be modest means to try and overcome or transgress the limitations of one’s conceptual schema. Furthermore, modesty means to adopt a self-deprecating humour, and to not take oneself or one’s ideas too seriously, as this may prevent one from exercising the openness and tolerance needed to act responsibly in the face of complexity.
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and information theory, autopoiesis, and artificial life; restricted complexity and chaos theory; and, systems theory were analysed, in order to reveal both similarities and differences to critical complexity. What emerged from the discussion was a view of complexity that presents a radical challenge to the manner in which we view not only natural systems, but also the nature of ‘reality’ itself – because, as Morin (2008: 34) writes:
What affects a paradigm, that is, the vault key of a whole system of thought, affects the