Bureaucracies are almost always—maybe always, I really can’t think of an exception—inefficient. They arrive at inefficiency through several channels: Proliferation of bureaucrats, delegation of power, and access to someone else’s treasure and resources. That’s particularly true of government, but it works in the private sector, also. Can’t buy just one paperclip, you know.
There are, of course, drawbacks to pure individualism. Not everyone can grow food or reap cotton and shear sheep to make clothes, find potable water, or construct a shelter that really shelters. Apparently, just about everyone participates a little in the grand scheme of society, even those who believe they have separated themselves from it.
Why do we create bureaucracies? We’re not the first. Ancient civilizations had them. Are they indication that pure individualism is a myth? Do they evolve as a natural consequence of society? Do they derive from the family? Are two people a miniature bureaucracy? Evidently, we see utility in their existence: The greatest benefit to the greatest number—with, of course, some collateral pain.
Delegation. That’s the problem. As soon as someone delegates responsibility to another, a bureaucracy springs forth, full grown like Athena from the head of Zeus or Dionysius from his thigh. And maybe springing forth like a god from a god is the proper analogy. Bureaucracies require the presence of Zeuses. Out of their heads they produce Athenas, heady offspring who dream up tasks, causes, allocations and Dionysiuses wasteful in debauchery. Out of their heads and thighs: one after another after another after…
When even honest and talented government agents seek to accomplish a task, they seek efficiency, but they usually delegate. Delegation leads to further delegation. Family members might do the same, delegating, for example, someone to do the shopping, someone to mow the lawn, and someone to…. It all seems, as Jeremy Bentham might have proposed, perfect utilitarianism: The goal of giving the greatest pleasure and the least pain to the greatest number (whole family, community, country). That’s the supposed goal. But it differs from realty: Athena’s dreams yield in practice to the whims of Dionysius and his troop of satyrs.
Delegating is also our out, our way of avoiding the trials of individuality. It’s our way of saying, “Hey, I’d do this, but if you already know how and are good at it…” Delegating is our way of removing ourselves from the realm of responsibility. If something doesn’t work, we can say, “But I gave the task to…” Delegating is inefficiency in pursuit of efficiency. Delegating adds a layer.
Go reap some cotton, sheer some sheep, make some clothes, grow food, construct a shelter, and find both water and your individuality. True, you might be poorly clothed, a bit hungry, largely unprotected, and thirsty, but you will be an individual.
Eager to prove your individuality, you could volunteer for one of those TV reality programs that tosses people out in the woods for a short period to prove they are capable of surviving alone. Of course, those people get to return to “civilization” after “surviving.” The challenge to their individualism is short-lived. You could grow your own food, but if wheat is your chosen crop, prepare for attacks by the fungus called Stripe or the Sipha maydis aphid. Or, skip the survival stuff. Blend in. Acquire enough authority to delegate someone else to do the surviving for you, like growing food and making it convenient for you to eat.
Go ahead; delegate; form a bureaucracy. As with Zeus, an Athena or Dionysius will pop out of your head or thigh to do your work in a seemingly utilitarian and efficient way. Just don’t be upset if the bureaucracy can’t make everyone—possibly including you—happy.
There are, of course, drawbacks to pure individualism. Not everyone can grow food or reap cotton and shear sheep to make clothes, find potable water, or construct a shelter that really shelters. Apparently, just about everyone participates a little in the grand scheme of society, even those who believe they have separated themselves from it.
Why do we create bureaucracies? We’re not the first. Ancient civilizations had them. Are they indication that pure individualism is a myth? Do they evolve as a natural consequence of society? Do they derive from the family? Are two people a miniature bureaucracy? Evidently, we see utility in their existence: The greatest benefit to the greatest number—with, of course, some collateral pain.
Delegation. That’s the problem. As soon as someone delegates responsibility to another, a bureaucracy springs forth, full grown like Athena from the head of Zeus or Dionysius from his thigh. And maybe springing forth like a god from a god is the proper analogy. Bureaucracies require the presence of Zeuses. Out of their heads they produce Athenas, heady offspring who dream up tasks, causes, allocations and Dionysiuses wasteful in debauchery. Out of their heads and thighs: one after another after another after…
When even honest and talented government agents seek to accomplish a task, they seek efficiency, but they usually delegate. Delegation leads to further delegation. Family members might do the same, delegating, for example, someone to do the shopping, someone to mow the lawn, and someone to…. It all seems, as Jeremy Bentham might have proposed, perfect utilitarianism: The goal of giving the greatest pleasure and the least pain to the greatest number (whole family, community, country). That’s the supposed goal. But it differs from realty: Athena’s dreams yield in practice to the whims of Dionysius and his troop of satyrs.
Delegating is also our out, our way of avoiding the trials of individuality. It’s our way of saying, “Hey, I’d do this, but if you already know how and are good at it…” Delegating is our way of removing ourselves from the realm of responsibility. If something doesn’t work, we can say, “But I gave the task to…” Delegating is inefficiency in pursuit of efficiency. Delegating adds a layer.
Go reap some cotton, sheer some sheep, make some clothes, grow food, construct a shelter, and find both water and your individuality. True, you might be poorly clothed, a bit hungry, largely unprotected, and thirsty, but you will be an individual.
Eager to prove your individuality, you could volunteer for one of those TV reality programs that tosses people out in the woods for a short period to prove they are capable of surviving alone. Of course, those people get to return to “civilization” after “surviving.” The challenge to their individualism is short-lived. You could grow your own food, but if wheat is your chosen crop, prepare for attacks by the fungus called Stripe or the Sipha maydis aphid. Or, skip the survival stuff. Blend in. Acquire enough authority to delegate someone else to do the surviving for you, like growing food and making it convenient for you to eat.
Go ahead; delegate; form a bureaucracy. As with Zeus, an Athena or Dionysius will pop out of your head or thigh to do your work in a seemingly utilitarian and efficient way. Just don’t be upset if the bureaucracy can’t make everyone—possibly including you—happy.
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