The ethics of complexity and the complexity of ethics

Minka Woermann
Department of Philosophy
Stellenbosch University
Private Bag X1
Matieland 7602
Stellenbosch; South Africa
minka@sun.ac.za

&

Paul Cilliers
Department of Philosophy
Stellenbosch University
Post-mortem publication

Abstract
In this paper, we investigate the implications that a general view of complex-
ity - i.e. the view that complex phenomena are irreducible - hold for our un-
derstanding of ethics. In this view, ethics should be conceived of as constitu-
tive of knowledge and identity, rather than as a normative system that dic-
tates right action. Using this understanding, we elaborate on the ethics of
complexity and the complexity of ethics. Whilst the former concerns the na-
ture and the status of our modelling choices, the latter denotes a contingent
and recursive understanding of ethics. Although the complexity of ethics can-
not be captured in a substantive normative model, we argue that this view of
ethics nevertheless commits one to, what we term, ‘the provisional impera-
tive’. Like Kant’s categorical imperative, the provisional imperative is sub-
stantively-empty; however, unlike Kant’s imperative, our imperative cannot
be used to generate universal ethical principles. As such, the provisional im-
perative simultaneously demands that we must be guided by it, whilst draw-
ing attention to the exclusionary nature of all imperatives. We further argue
that the provisional imperative urges us to adopt a certain attitude with regard
to ethical decision-making, and that this attitude is supported and nurtured by
provisionality, transgressivity, irony, and imagination.

Keywords
Ethics, complexity, provisional imperative, provisionality, transgressivity,
irony, imagination, trust

Introduction
The term ‘complexity’ is often loosely appropriated to describe things that lack simple
explanations. More specifically, the paradigm of complexity offers a challenge to tra-
448 S. Afr. J. Philos. 2012, 31(2)

ditional reductive explanations, which are premised on the assumption that complex
systems can be completely understood in terms of their component parts. If we cannot
know phenomena in their full complexity, then an engagement with complexity think-
ing implies a critical engagement with the status and limits of our knowledge claims.
However, the challenge posed by complexity thinking moves beyond this general
epistemological level, to influence the whole system of thought that defines our spe-
cific thinking on matters related to our practices, politics, and ethics (Morin, 2008).
It is particularly this latter issue – i.e. ethics – that is of interest in the context of this
paper. When we utilise a complexity perspective in our thinking about the world, we
are busy with a task that is both descriptive and normative in nature. As soon as we
engage with complexity, we have to make certain modelling choices when describing
phenomena. In other words, since we cannot have complete knowledge of complex
things, we cannot “calculate” their behaviour in any deterministic fashion. We have to
interpret and evaluate. Our decisions always involve an element of choice that cannot
be justified objectively, but are, in part, based on normative judgements. Otherwise
stated, our modelling choices are based on subjective judgements about what matters –
both in terms of our work and in terms of our personal lives. This introduces an un-
avoidable ethical component into our thinking about complex phenomena (Preiser &
Cilliers, 2010; Cilliers, de Villiers & Roodt, 2002; Derrida, 1988). In this regard, eth-
ics should be understood as something that constitutes both our knowledge and us,
rather than as a normative system that dictates right action. Hence, the ethics of com-
plexity is not an add-on, but inherent to any real engagement with complex phenom-
ena. Otherwise stated, the ethics of complexity is a structural element of complexity
thinking. In practice, this means that we should assume a critical attitude when model-
ling phenomena, where the critical attitude amounts to both the recognition of, and
engagement with, the limits of knowledge (Preiser & Cilliers, 2010).
In this paper, we investigate, and offer ways in which to deal with the challenges
that arise from an engagement with the ethics of complexity. The most important impli-
cation in this regard concerns the possibility of a substantive ethics. In simple terms,
this amounts to the fact that, although complexity thinking necessarily involves ethics,
it cannot provide any information regarding the content of such an ethics since our
sense of right and wrong, good and bad, and what deserves respect and what does not,
cannot be justified on a priori grounds. Moreover, such a position implies that any
substantive notion of ethics must itself be subjected to a deconstruction of sorts, since
our ethical models are limited and, hence, exclusionary (Cilliers, 2005; Derrida, 2005;
2002a; 2002b; 1999). As such the logic which informs the ethics of complexity com-
mits us to accepting the complexity of ethics. Although our position prevents us from
giving a substantive account of ethics, we argue that the critical position that we de-
velop nevertheless constitutes a type of ethical strategy, similar to Immanuel Kant’s
(1993) categorical imperative, which urges us to adopt a certain attitude when under-
taking ethical decisions. However, unlike Kant, we argue for the provisionality of the
ethical imperative, and further show that such an imperative is served by the mecha-
nisms of provisionality, transgressivity, irony, and the imagination (Preiser & Cilliers,
2010). Although these mechanisms can help us to remain sensitive to the complexities
that define the contexts in which we operate, there can be no guarantee that ethical ac-
tions will ensue. On the final count, the complexity of ethics (which is so intimately
interlinked with the rich diversity of what it means to be human) can only be fostered
through nurturing trusting relations and through an active recognition of, and
S. Afr. J. Philos. 2012, 31(2) 449

engagement with, difference. This paper therefore concludes with a discussion on the
importance of trust as a virtue to be cultivated within a complex world.

Understanding Complexity and The Importance of the Critical

Enterprise
In order to better understand the claim that the ethics of complexity is a structural ele-
ment of complexity thinking, it is useful to follow Edgar Morin (2007) in distinguish-
ing between two perspectives on complexity, namely restricted complexity and gen-
eral complexity. The central difference between these two paradigms concerns how we
view the status of our practices.
According to Morin (2007), the goal of a restricted approach to complexity is to
study the multiple, interrelated processes that constitute complex systems, in order to
retroactively uncover the rules or laws of complexity. This approach is popular
amongst the researchers at the Sana Fe Institute (which was founded in 1984, and
which is dedicated to the study of complex systems), and much of the work conducted
at the Institute is dedicated to discovering, comprehending and communicating the
common fundamental principles in a variety of systems, which underlie many of the
pressing problems currently facing science and society.
Whilst research conducted at the Institute has no doubt led to important advances in
formalisation and modelling, Jack Cowan (in Horgan, 1995: 104), one of the Insti-
tute’s founders, notes that the major discovery to have emerged from the Institute is
the insight that ‘it’s very hard to do science on complex systems’, if by science one
understands the process of discovering and modelling the rules and laws that govern
the behaviour of all phenomena. Such a view is informed by, what John Horgan
(1995) calls, a seductive syllogism, which is based on the premises that since a com-
puter that follows a simple set of mathematical rules can give rise to extremely compli-
cated patterns, and since extremely complicated patterns exhibit in the world, simple
rule must also give rise to complicated worldly phenomena. In their implicit accep-
tance of this syllogism, many researchers at the Institute, thus adhere to a restricted ap-
proach to complexity, in that it is believed that, with enough time and effort, we will
be able to construct a unified theory of complexity – also referred to as the ‘Theory of
Complexity’ (TOC) or the ‘Theory of Everything’ (TOE) (Chu, Strand & Fjelland,
2003). In other words, the hope is that complex phenomena can be encapsulated in a
precise definition or mathematical equation.
We support a notion of general complexity and argue that it is impossible to construe
a strict science of complex systems, if by science one understands the practice of un-
covering the rules and laws that govern all phenomena. Although we cannot conclu-
sively state that complexity is an ontological category of the world as opposed to
merely a consequence of our epistemological limitations, this does not imply that we
can relegate complexity to the status of a mere practical problem (which can ulti-
mately be solved with enough computing power). One cannot simply ‘cut-up’ complex
systems in order to understand them, since what is of interest is the dynamic, local in-
terrelations that exist between the parts of a complex system, and which give rise to
emergent phenomena (which are often not reducible to base laws). In this process,
contingency – expressed in terms of both intra-systemic and extra-systemic conditions
(Wimsatt, 2008) – also plays a crucial role, which further frustrates any efforts to
merely calculate the resultant effect of a certain configuration of parts. Therefore, in
450 S. Afr. J. Philos. 2012, 31(2)

terms of general complexity, any attempt at formulating a TOC will necessarily fail
because complexity itself is not accounted for (Morin, 2007).
Complex phenomena are irreducible, or, to elaborate in the words of the theoretical
biologist, Robert Rosen (1985: 424), a system is complex precisely ‘to the extent that
it admits non-equivalent encodings; encodings which cannot be reduced to one an-
other.’ Moreover, we argue that this view commits one to a self-critical rationality,
which is defined as a rationality that makes no claim for objectivity, or for any special
status for the grounds from which the claim is made. A self-critical rationality is there-
fore the outcome of acknowledging the irreducible nature of complexity.
The fact that an engagement with complexity is not a purely objective exercise, does
not however imply an ‘anything goes’ approach. Indeed, as Peter Allen (2000: 93)
states, ‘[a] representation or model with no assumptions whatsoever is clearly simply
subjective reality’ and therefore ‘does not concern systemic knowledge’. Acknowledg-
ing the irreducible nature of complexity means that we should ‘apply our “complexity
reduction” assumptions honestly’ (94), rather than accept the defeatist attitude that
limited knowledge commits us to relativism. In this context, intellectual honesty im-
plies modesty, which denotes sensitivity to the levels and limits of our understanding.
In other words, we must still be competent at performing the necessary calculations
and considering the relevant information, but we should also recognise that doing the
groundwork won’t resolve the complexity and that we still remain responsible for our
modelling choices, since each choice gives rise to ‘a different spectrum of possible
consequences, different successes and failures, and different strengths and weak-
nesses’ (102). Knowledge acquisition is not the objective pursuit of truth, but rather a
process of working towards finding suitable strategies for dealing with complex phe-
nomena. However, since there is no final model, and since knowledge is a tumultuous
building site, Morin (2007:21) argues that we must introduce a double conscience into
our practices: ‘a conscience of itself and an ethical conscience.’
The ethics of complexity is an expression of this double conscience, since it implies
an acknowledgement of the implications that a general view of complexity holds for
both the status of our models and for our attitude towards these models, and compels
us to remain perpetually vigilant in the face of uncertainty. Vigilance demands a con-
tinual and critical evaluation and transformation of our claims and practices, and, in
this context, David Wood’s (1999: 117) description of a Derridean notion of responsi-
bility applies to our understanding of the ethics of complexity, which ‘is not
quantifiably (or even inquantifiably) large and, therefore, not a basis of guilt through
failure to live up to it. It is rather a recursive modality, an always renewable openness’.
This renewable openness is safeguarded by a self-critical rationality, and the ethics of
complexity therefore commits us to not just a general understanding, but also a critical
understanding of complexity.

The (Im)Possibility of Ethics

The previous section can be summarised as follows: a critical notion of complexity im-
plies a radical or recursive understanding of ethics, which amounts to the insight that
we cannot do away with ethical considerations because we can neither compute
knowledge nor appeal to a priori principles to justify our knowledge claims. Every
claim implies a choice. Furthermore, since our models must necessarily exclude some
of the complexity, we are responsible for our choices, and we exercise this responsibil-
S. Afr. J. Philos. 2012, 31(2) 451

ity through critique, and moreover, self-critique. However, the ethics of complexity
cannot do more than generate awareness of the fact that we are always in trouble. In
other words, it cannot provide substantive guidelines for an ethical system. The ques-
tion that now arises is whether we can move beyond this position, in order to say
something more about the complexity of ethics. We argue that, despite not being able
to provide a substantive ethics, it is possible to develop a type of meta-ethical position,
which serves to highlight important considerations that underscore the ethical
strategies that we employ when engaging in the particularities of situations.
As a starting point, we turn to perhaps the most famous example of a meta-ethical
position in the history of moral philosophy, namely Kant’s (1993) categorical impera-
tive. The categorical imperative is a substantively-empty rule, in that it cannot gener-
ate contingent ethical principles, but can merely act as a yardstick for evaluating the
morality of principles which already exist. This is because Kant wants his moral rule
to be categorically applicable and, hence, universally valid. However, the only rule
which conforms to this criterion is a purely abstract and formal rule, which says ‘al-
ways follow only universal rules’ or, otherwise stated, ‘always follow only rules
which you will want all other people to follow’. Thus, by combining a purely formal
rule with the notion of universability, Kant can generate a formulation that actually
does say something about ethics, namely that if certain contingent principles are
universalisable, then the principles are deemed morally correct. Therefore, although
the categorical imperative cannot indicate which principles are good, right, and de-
serving of respect, it does provide a strategy for evaluating our contingent principles.
As such, one can argue that Kant’s categorical imperative urges us to adopt a certain
strategy when undertaking moral considerations (Preiser & Cilliers, 2010).
Next, we can try to apply the same logic Kant uses to the ethics of complexity, in or-
der to say something about the complexity of ethics (in other words, in order to de-
velop a meta-ethical position). From the analysis thus far we can construct the follow-
ing argument: all knowledge (including self-knowledge) is limited because, in order to
generate meaning, we need to reduce the complexity through modelling. Our models
are radically contingent in time and space because they are the product of the re-
sources at our disposal, the choices that we make, and the influences that act upon us
(including the influences of others). Since all knowledge is contingent, it is also sub-
ject to revision, and therefore irreducibly provisional. Following Kantian logic, we can
now capture the gist of the above argument in the following imperative: ‘When acting,
always remain cognisant of other ways of acting’. Our meta-ethical position thus
constitutes a provisional imperative (Preiser & Cilliers, 2010).
Note that on one reading, the idea of a provisional imperative is a contradiction in
terms, since the logic of an imperative is absolute: either you follow the imperative or
you don’t. The idea of a provisional imperative seems to suggest that the imperative it-
self is subject to change, and in this regard we seem to be advocating an impossible
position. This is, to a large extent, exactly the point: we cannot do away with moral
imperatives, but, if we take complexity seriously, we should also realise that our im-
peratives are the outcome of certain framing strategies or ways of thinking about the
world, and are thus necessarily exclusionary. Thus the provisional imperative stipu-
lates that we must be guided by the imperative, whilst simultaneously acknowledging
the exclusionary nature of all imperatives.
In terms of the actual content of the imperative, it must be noted that – unlike the
Kantian imperative – which tells us something about the rules for action, the provi-
452 S. Afr. J. Philos. 2012, 31(2)

sional imperative says something about our state of mind or attitude when choosing
rules for action. Again: it is impossible to say that ‘When acting, always choose rules
that admit to the possibility of other rules’, since the logic of rules (as with the logic of
imperatives) is absolute. In this regard, Jacque Derrida (1988: 116) notes that:
Every concept that lays claim to any rigor whatsoever implies the alternative of
“all or nothing”… Even the concept of “difference to degree,” the concept of
relativity is, qua concept, determined according to the logic of all or nothing, of
yes or no: differences of degree or no differences of degree. It is impossible or
illegitimate to form a philosophical concept outside the logic of all or nothing.
In the above citation, Derrida is pointing to structural conditions of all concepts. We
cannot do other than model and exclude. Yet, what the provisional imperative tells us
is that when we act, we must be cognisant of this logic.
In this regard, we argue that it makes a difference – and moreover, an ethical differ-
ence – whether one exercises this awareness. This is because if we remain open to
other ways of modelling and other ways of being, we are more likely to practice a
self-critical rationality, to respect diversity, to be willing to revise our models, and to
guard against the naturalisation of these models. The provisional imperative, therefore,
provides us with a strategy for remaining open to complexity at the same time that we
reduce complexity through our decisions and actions.

Four Operations in Service of the Critical Position

Practically, it is very demanding to commit to a recursive or deconstructive view of
ethics. Acknowledging that we are always in trouble can be daunting; and, in this re-
gard, it is helpful to take note of four mechanisms that serve to reinforce and promote
the critical attitude, namely provisionality, transgressivity, irony, and imagination.

Provisionality
Although the recursive or deconstructive view of ethics developed above necessarily
implies provisionality, it is helpful to unpack the meaning of provisionality in more
detail, in order to shed further light on the nature of our imperative. As stated above,
provisionality is the outcome of the contingent nature of our knowledge claims. The
source of this contingency is two-fold: firstly, the meaning of our claims is dependent
on the context in which they are made. Language is iterable, which means that al-
though concepts are repeatable and understandable across contexts, the meaning of the
concept shifts every time the concepts are used; or, in the words of Mikhail Bakhtin
(1984: 202):
The life of the word is contained in its transfer… from one context to another
context… In this process the word does not forget its own path and cannot
completely free itself from the power of these concrete contexts into which it
has entered.
This, as Derrida (1979: 81) notes, implies that ‘no meaning can be determined out of
context’. A good illustration of this concerns how we understand the term ‘freedom’,
used as the title of Jonathan Franzen’s (2010) recent book, compared to its use in the
title of Mandela’s (1994) autobiography, ‘A Long Walk to Freedom’. In both counts,
the term ‘freedom’ is familiar, but in the former use it denotes a critical appraisal of
S. Afr. J. Philos. 2012, 31(2) 453

contemporary American society; whereas in the latter use, the term is associated with
the liberation struggle, and the story of Mandela’s own imprisonment.
Secondly – and more radically – meaning is contingent because even within a given
context we cannot fix meaning, since, as Derrida (1979:81) argues, ‘no context per-
mits saturation’. Due to the complexities involved, every context is open to further de-
scription, and meanings change as the interpretation of the context changes. With re-
gard to our example, one can argue that our understanding of ‘freedom’ in Mandela’s
autobiography is dependent on our own personal background. Not only does the un-
derstanding of the concept vary from one person to the next, but the very same book
can never be reread in exactly the same way: what Mandela’s bibliography, and the
importance of freedom meant to me ten years ago, will differ from what it will mean if
I were to reread the book today. Provisionality therefore draws attention to both the
spatial and the temporal dimensions of meaning (and by extension, of ethics).
What the above implies is that ‘[t]here are no final meanings that arrest the move-
ment of signification’ (Culler, 1983: 188). There is no universal origin that we can
somehow access through applying ourselves. Unlike Plato (1987), who argues that the
ideal form of the Good is the ultimate object of knowledge, a complex understanding
of ethics posits the good as something which is necessarily subject to revision and de-
construction; and, hence as something which is provisional. Although pockets of con-
sensus and relative stability are needed for the designation of right and wrong, it is im-
portant not to naturalise our ethical positions or arrest the movement of signification in
the name of Truth. This is especially significant given the nature of today’s geopolitics
in which Western ideals all-too-often pass as universal ideals. In this regard, it is use-
ful to recall Derrida’s (2002c: 10) view of philosophy as something which is ‘no more
assigned to its origin or by its origin, than it is simply, spontaneously, or abstractly
cosmopolitical or universal.’ He continues in arguing that:
There are other ways for philosophy than those of appropriation or expropria-
tion… Not only are there other ways for philosophy, but philosophy, if there is
any such thing, is the other way.
In our context, we can substitute the term ‘philosophy’ with ‘ethics’, since what lies at
the heart of the provisional imperative is the belief that ethics is indeed the other way;
or, more poignantly, the way which is still to come.

Transgressivity
Preiser and Cilliers (2010) write that the critical position informed by complexity will
have to be transgressive. It can never simply re-enforce that which is current, but – as
the definition states – involves a violation of accepted or imposed boundaries. In this
regard, transgressivity demands bold action. It can be argued that, on a literal level,
transgressivity is at odds with modesty, which – as discussed earlier – also under-
scores the critical position. However, in order to practice transgressivity responsibly,
one must be modest enough to recognise the limitations of one’s conceptual schema,
and show a willingness to overcome these limitations. Modesty and transgressivity
thus go hand-in-hand, since modesty acts as the impetus for transgressivity, in focus-
ing attention on the possibility of other rules of action (as commanded by the
provisional imperative).
454 S. Afr. J. Philos. 2012, 31(2)

Moreover, being transgressive is not only an ethical move, but also a political move.
It involves recognition of the importance of remaining vigilant and open to diversity
and to the future, whilst simultaneously exercising choice and taking in a position.
Derrida (2002d: 29) calls this the aporia of politics and ethics, which exhibits in the
deconstructive nature of negotiation, defined as ‘a work of mediation... a to-and-fro
between impatience and patience’. Transgressivity demands absolute engagement
with both ethics and politics, since both are concerned with the here and the now, and
require a thoughtful and urgent answer to the question ‘What should I do?’ (Derrida,
2002b: 296; 302). Transgressivity, like deconstruction, is therefore situated in the fold
of the aporia between affirmation (ethics) and position (politics) (Derrida, 2002d: 25).
Furthermore, transgressivity is what gives ethics potence, since, as Derrida argues
(25), ‘[a]ffirmation requires a position. It requires that one move to action and do
something, even if it is imperfect’. We need to act, even though we know we cannot
get it right (Preiser & Cilliers, 2010: 270). The double-logic of ethics and politics thus
marks the heart of the critical position.
Alain Badiou (2009) also hints at the importance of transgressivity in his moving
tribute to Derrida. In this tribute, he describes Derrida as the opposite of a hunter, be-
cause unlike the hunter – who hopes that the animal will arrest its movements so that it
can be shot – Derrida’s animal cannot cease fleeing. This is because locating the ani-
mal does not mean grasping; rather, it means suppressing it. This metaphor is intended
to explain Derrida’s passion for doing justice to what Badiou terms the ‘non-existent’.
Framing or modelling phenomena necessarily implies a reduction of complexity. In
making choices, we leave out certain considerations from our models and, in the social
realm, these considerations may include the interests of stakeholders, who – in terms
of our model – become the non-existent or those who are not accounted for in our con-
ceptual paradigms. However, the moment we try to do justice to the non-existent by
accounting for their interests, we assimilate the alterity of the Other into our system of
thought. In other words, the outside becomes inside. In terms of Badiou’s metaphor,
the animal is the Other – to whom we must do justice, even though we cannot know
the Other in her alterity. The endless flight, or ethics as a recursive modality, is
therefore served by transgressivity.
Furthermore, non-existence sits within the aporia of ethics and politics. On the one
hand, to say that the ‘the non-existent is’ fails to convey that it does not exist – at least
not in terms of any explicit conceptual paradigm; and, on the other hand, to say that
‘the non-existent does not exist’ fails to convey that it is (141) (i.e. that despite not be-
ing heard, the interests of unseen stakeholders, for example, continue to exist).
Non-existence therefore simultaneously necessitates vigilance of the fact that not all
the complexities of a situation are accounted for, and proactively attempts to give
voice to the disenfranchised (which, for Badiou (141), is typified in the war cry of the
Revolution, which reads ‘We are nothing, let us be all!’). Transgressivity, as an at-
tempt to do homage to non-existence, is therefore fed by the complexity of ethics, but
leads to the binaries of politics.
Lastly, being transgressive implies that we acknowledge the fact that there is no way
in which we can fully engage with the excess of meaning that results from complexity;
that our context (i.e. our position) is defined by certain freedom and constraints, which
acts as the necessary conditions for action and transformation; and, that we have to ac-
knowledge and exercise choice. These three acknowledgements are interdependent:
complexity is not the result of indeterminacy. Rather, as Derrida (1999: 79) states, the
S. Afr. J. Philos. 2012, 31(2) 455

problem is that ‘there is too much determinacy.’ There is no mystical basis for com-
plexity. Complexity is only the result of the complex interrelations between the com-
ponents of the system, and of our attempts to model this complexity (which, as
Luhmann (2000) notes, creates further complexities due to the fact that our models are
imperfect renditions of complex systems). As a result, Derrida (1999: 79) writes that
‘there are many meanings struggling with one another, there are tensions, there are
overdeterminations, there are equivocations’. Paradoxically, it is these
overdeterminations that generate freedom, since exercising choice and assuming a po-
sition is possible because of the constraints within which we operate. In this regard,
Morin (2008: 113) writes that ‘the complex notion of self-organization permits us to
conceive of beings that are relatively autonomous as beings while remaining subject to
the necessities and hazards of existence’. Complexity is generated by both dependence
and freedom, and in order to understand the nature of choice, these concepts must be
thought simultaneously.
Transgressivity does not imply an abandonment of everything that came before.
Rather, in order to responsibly transgress current systems of meaning, we need to con-
cede to the inextricable ways in which our lives are constituted by the systems of
meaning in which we partake, whilst nevertheless remaining vigilant of the fact that
we have both the duty to continually break open and transform these systems in order
to account for the non-existent, as well as the duty to take responsibility for our posi-
tions – even when they have undesirable and unforeseen consequences. As Derrida
(1981: 12) explains:
There is not a transgression, if one understands by that a pure and simple land-
ing into a beyond of metaphysics… Now, even in aggressions or transgres-
sions, we are consorting with a code to which metaphysics is tied irreducibly,
such that every transgressive gesture reencloses us – precisely by giving us a
hold on the closure of metaphysics – within this closure. But, by means of the
work done on one side and the other of the limit the field inside is modified and
a transgression is produced that consequently is nowhere present as a fait ac-
compli. One is never installed within transgression, one never lives elsewhere.
Transgression implies that the limit is always at work.

Irony
Transgressivity is supported by an ironic outlook on life. Consider dictionary descrip-
tions of irony as a means of expressing something other than the literal intention of
words, as a demonstration of incongruence between what is expected and what is, and
as an expression of that which is contrary to plan or expectation. In these descriptions,
irony is defined as a means by which to subvert the idea of an objective reality. This is
achieved by introducing an element of contingency and play into literal, objective lan-
guage. In formulating the provisional imperative, we stated that the logic of a rule is
absolute: either you follow the rule or not. Yet, the value of irony is that it draws atten-
tion to the supplementary complications that govern all rules and that point to the im-
possibility of concluding any general theory that rules give rise to (Derrida, 1988). As
such, irony affirms the necessity of improvising when faced with the limits of a binary
logic.
It is in this regard that irony can be interpreted as a generative creative task, akin to
a form of improvisation, and one can further argue that there is ‘an important and po-
456 S. Afr. J. Philos. 2012, 31(2)

tentially fruitful connection’ between these skills and ‘the lived experience of com-
plexity’ (Montuori, 2003: 238). Alfonso Montuori (238) elaborates in saying that ‘im-
provisation and creativity are capacities we would do well to develop in an increas-
ingly unpredictable, complex, and at times chaotic experience’. It is specifically in re-
lation to developing fruitful and responsible strategies for living that the ironic
dimension of the critical task is indispensible.
The theme of irony is not new to philosophy. Indeed, one of the earliest uses of
irony is demonstrated in Plato’s dialogues, where the Socrates’ rhetorical technique
‘was [used] to pretend ignorance and, more sneakily, to feign credence in your oppo-
nent’s power of thought, in order to tie him in knots’ (Williams, 2003). Furthermore,
the German Philosopher, Friedrich Schlegel, popularised the notion of romantic or
philosophical irony, which he employed as a ‘more complex philosophical tool’, used
to shed light on the divided self and a multiplicity of perspectives that could poten-
tially unlock the truth of the whole (Williams, 2003). The concept of irony is also
prevalent in the work of Hegel, Kierkegaard, Nietzsche, and – more recently – Richard
Rorty, the latter arguing that ‘irony is the only possible ethic of modern liberalism’
(Colebrook, 2004: 151). Despite all these well-known accounts of irony in the extant
literature, we turn to a figure that is not generally recognised as an ironist in the philo-
sophical literature, namely Claude Levi-Strauss’s bricoleur, in order to further our
analysis.
A bricoleur is defined as a fiddler or tinker, and, by extension, as someone who
makes creative and resourceful use of whatever materials are at hand. Levi-Straus
(1966) distinguishes the bricoleur from the engineer, arguing that the former approxi-
mates the savage mind that operates in a closed universe and is therefore forced to do
with the means at hand, whereas the latter approximates the scientific mind that oper-
ates in an open universe because he can develop new tools, and thereby construct the
totality of the universe. In ‘Structure, sign, and play’, Derrida (1978) deconstructs the
distinction between the engineer and the bricoleur, by arguing that because there is no
absolute origin (i.e. no objective reality that we can access through our practices), the
engineer remains a theological idea; or, more radically, ‘the odds are that the engineer
is a myth produced by the bricoleur’ (285). Derrida’s point is that the world is a com-
plex place, and pretending that it is otherwise is also merely a bricolage or strategy for
dealing with the world. As such, Derrida (285) writes that:
as soon as we admit that every finite discourse is bound by a certain bricolage
and that the engineer and the scientist are also species of bricoleurs, then the
very idea of bricolage is menaced and the difference in which it took on its
meaning breaks down.
There can be no a priori basis from which to argue for the merits of one life strategy
over another. However, it is important to assume responsibility for, and bear the con-
sequences of, our choices and decisions. This is only possible if we are aware of the
nature and status of our strategies, which Morin (2008: 96) refers to as ‘the art of
working with uncertainty’. Irony is therefore a way of moving beyond a binary logic
and of expressing the double movement involved in affirming a certain position or life
strategy, whilst simultaneously undermining the absolutist status of that which we af-
firm through our lives. We are all improvisers who not only tell a story, but become a
story. We create interwoven narratives, which together, constitute a tapestry of stories
(Montuori, 2003; also see Kearney, 1988). The ethical moment lies in whether we
S. Afr. J. Philos. 2012, 31(2) 457

concede to this or not, i.e. whether we accept – with irony and humour – our limited
knowledge and fragile personal experiences, and focus these in the very moment that
we are living in (Montuori, 2003). To be able to improvise and to live with irony:
requires a different discipline, a different way of organizing our thoughts and
actions. It requires, and at best elicits, a social virtuosity which reflects our state
of mind, our perceptions of who we are, and a willingness to take risks, to let
go of the safety of the ready-made, the already written, and to think, create, and
‘write’ on the spot (244).
Assuming an ironic disposition simultaneously draws attention to the status of our
strategies, and lightens the burden of self-awareness. This is because those who live
with irony find it easier to confess to the fact that their lives are not following a deter-
minate course, but represent the outcome of choices and decisions. Irony – like
transgressivity – needs modesty, which in this context means adopting a self-deprecat-
ing humour, and not taking oneself or one’s ideas too seriously, as this may prevent
one from exercising the openness and tolerance1 needed to act responsibly in the face
of complexity. Irony is a critical task, without which we potentially open the door to
human evil. This is because, as Susan Sontag (2007: 227) suggests, it is exactly ‘this
refusal of an extended awareness’ (which she defines as taking in ‘more than is hap-
pening right now, right here’) that lies at the heart of ‘our ever-confused awareness of
evil’ and ‘of the immense capacity of human beings to commit evil’. In a sense then, it
is irony that allows us to face up to the seriousness of our responsibilities, which is an
insight which accords beautifully with the description of irony as a demonstration of
incongruence between what is expected and what is.

Imagination
Whereas irony assists us in forging strategies for successfully engaging within the
constraints that characterise the present, imagination allows us to undertake the cre-
ative leap necessary to engage with a future that we cannot calculate. No one can con-
test the urgent need to move towards a more sustainable future, and in this regard, the
role of the imaginative dimension of the critical task is crucial. This is because, as
Allen (2000: 103) notes, ‘creativity’ – and we argue, specifically imagination – ‘is the
motor of change, and the hidden dynamic that underlies the rise and fall of civiliza-
tions, peoples, and regions, and evolution both encourages and feeds on invention’.
In this respect, imagination constitutes the ability to generate variety and options,
and to break out of one’s ‘closed or limited hermeneutic circles’ (Verstraeten, 2000:
ix). Indeed, without imagination it is impossible to practice the provisional impera-
tive, which commands us to take cognisance of other rules and other ways of being. In
this regard, it is useful to distinguish between ‘requisite diversity’, which denotes the
minimal level of variety needed for a system to cope with its environment, and ‘excess
diversity’, which allows systems to experiment internally and thereby generate a num-
1 The notion of tolerance is increasingly viewed in a negative light in the extant literature, and is often un-
derstood as the passive acceptance of difference, and, hence, denotes an unwillingness to engage in
other perspectives. Indeed, Rainer Forst (2007) goes as far as to suggest that tolerance could be trans-
lated as a kind of insult to difference, and that ‘recognition’ is a better term for designating the positive
qualities traditionally associated with the notion of tolerance. In the context of this paper, the notion of
tolerance should be read in a positive light, as both respect for, and an engagement with, human diver-
sity.
458 S. Afr. J. Philos. 2012, 31(2)

ber of strategies for operating in a given environment. Allen (2001) argues that excess
diversity is needed for long-term systems survival, since the ‘fat’ of excess knowledge
and diversity is needed both for breaking out of our conceptual schema and for
imagining, and thereby experimenting and innovating for the future.
Todd May (1995: 145) notes that ‘[t]he terms in which one thinks of oneself and
one’s possibilities, the practical parameters of those possibilities, and the ease or diffi-
culty in realizing them, are all social as well as individual matters’. Therefore, imagi-
nation – defined as the generation of excess variety – is both a psychological and a so-
cial process. On the psychological level, we can develop our imagination by engaging
in the arts, which – far from being a pleasurable diversion – is an important way in
which to break out of our hermeneutic circles, or – otherwise stated – to ‘transform the
framework we apply when apprehending the world’ (Cilliers, 2005: 264). This is be-
cause, as Morin (1999) notes, the creative arts foster awareness of human complexity,
and draw attention to the full range of human subjectivity. As an example, Morin ar-
gues that fictional criminals – such as the gangster kings of Shakespeare, the royal
gangsters of films noirs, Jean Valjean and Raskolnikov – are portrayed in all their full-
ness in literature and film, rather than the least or worst part of themselves (as is often
the case with real life criminals). Morin also uses the example of the movie tramp,
Charlie Chaplin, in order to illustrate how films use psychological techniques of pro-
jection and identification, which brings us to understand and sympathise with people
that we would normally find foreign or disgusting. As such, books and films help us
‘to learn the greatest lesson of life: compassion and true understanding for the humili-
ated in their suffering’ (53). To this we add that the value of the arts lie not only in un-
derstanding human complexity, but also the complexities that define our situatedness
in the world. As an example, consider Edward Burtynsky’s (2006) photos of manufac-
tured landscapes, which document humanity’s impact on the world, and which per-
suaded millions to join a global conversation on sustainability. In this regard, imagina-
tion can help us to foster not only social sustainability, but also to think about what
environmental sustainability might mean. Imagination – like irony – is therefore not
just about seeing other ways of being, but also about creating new ways of being.
On the social level, we follow Timothy Hargrave (2009: 87) in defining moral imag-
ination as a process, which ‘emerges through dialectical processes that are influenced
by actors’ relative power and political skill’. Again, moral imagination is a skill that
needs to be fostered and exercised within ‘pluralistic processes in which multiple ac-
tors with opposing moral viewpoints interact, and [where] no single actor is in control’
(90). An element of conflict is also always present in imaginative activities because of
the ‘lived tensions between contradictory perspectives’ (91). Although Hargrave views
moral imagination in terms of a collective action model, his analysis of moral imagina-
tion also has implications for individuals. In this regard, Hargrave (91) argues that
‘morally imaginative actors recognise and integrate contradictory moral viewpoints,
and also integrate moral sensitivity… [of] contextual considerations’. Since these
characteristics are also hallmarks of critical thought, one can argue that moral imagina-
tion is itself a critical activity (Woermann, 2010). Another characteristic of moral
imagination is that it involves an element of uncertainty or risk. Far from being a form
of creative abandonment, moral imagination necessitates that we critically project and
plan for the future (Woermann, 2010). However, since this future cannot be known,
and since uncertainty involves a real property of situations, we have to respond with
judgement (Luntley, 2003).
S. Afr. J. Philos. 2012, 31(2) 459

Since the future is uncertain we should be tolerant of each other’s opinions, and also
tolerant of failure. Edmund Husserl (in Mensch, 2003: 143) explains that tolerance
means that I affirm ‘his ideals as his, as ideals which I must affirm in him, just as he
must affirm my ideals – not, indeed, as his ideals of life but as the ideals of my being
and life.’ James Mensch (2003) explains that, in Latin, tolerance has the sense of sup-
porting or sustaining, rather than enduring or suffering. He further states that ‘it can be
understood as the attitude that actively sustains the maximum number of compatible
possibilities of being human’ (142). As such, tolerance should be understood as the
ideal of human fullness. The reason why Mensch views human fullness as an ideal is
because it demands more than can be achieved by a single individual (for example, I
cannot simultaneously realise the possibility of being a professional weightlifter and a
sprinter). Therefore, for Mensch, tolerance ‘appears when we acknowledge our fini-
tude in attempting to embody this ideal’ (142-143), as well as when we recognise the
uniqueness and singularity of human beings.
Tolerance is thus essential in allowing the personal and social imagination to flour-
ish, since without it, it is impossible to generate the excess variety needed to produc-
tively engage in one’s environment. From this argument, we can also deduce that tol-
erance is the acceptance of human complexity, even though this complexity can never
be fully understood, but only imagined. In this regard, tolerance is nurtured by the cre-
ative arts and flourishes in diverse human societies, in which freedom and other as-
pects of disorder are accepted, and in which innovation and creativity blossom in defi-
ance of perspectives that try to frame societies as fixed, homogenous systems (Morin,
2008). Imagination and tolerance is therefore that which safeguards us from ‘the
well-managed dystopia of the brave new world’ (Cilliers, 2005: 264).

Practicing the Provisional Imperative

The above analysis demonstrates how provisionality, transgressivity, irony, and imagi-
nation can help us to remain cognisant of other ways of acting (and hence, help us to
remain faithful to the demands of the provisional imperative). In this last section, the
importance of the provisional imperative for our relations with others is investigated.
We begin by referring to an anecdote cited by the cybernetican, Heinz von Foerster
(1990):
I have a friend who grew up in Marrakech. The house of his family stood on
the street that divide [sic] the Jewish and Arabic quarter. As a boy he played
with all the others, listened to what they thought and said, and learned of their
fundamentally different views. When I asked him once, “Who was right” he
said, “They are both right.”
“But this cannot be,” I argued from an Aristotelian platform, “Only one of them
can have the truth!”
“The problem is not truth,” he answered, “The problem is trust.”
This anecdote points both to the limitations of a binary logic, and the need to over-
come these limitations, in order to foster trust. The emphasis on trust, as opposed to
truth is an interesting choice, and if we look at the basic characteristics of trust, we see
why it is an important virtue for governing relations in a complex world. In her cele-
brated paper, entitled ‘Trust and Antitrust’, Annette Baier (1986) argues that trust cre-
ates vulnerability, but that this vulnerability is inevitable, because, following two sim-
460 S. Afr. J. Philos. 2012, 31(2)

ple Socratic truths, we need the help of others in creating, and caring for the things
that we value, and, therefore, have no choice but to place ourselves in a position where
others can harm us. Furthermore, because of the richness of human diversity, it fol-
lows that not everyone places value on the same things. In complexity terms, one can
say that there are many different ways in which to model our world, and these models
are interrelated.
This also holds important implications for understanding identity. Our identities are
neither a priori nor static. Rather, identity is constituted in a complex network, and
must be contextualised as both a temporal process of becoming, and as a point in a
nexus of relationships (Cilliers, 2010). We act on one another in ways that give rise to
our personal identities as well as the identities of our social practices, and that leads to
the transformation of these identities (Woermann, 2010). We are therefore not only
vulnerable with regard to the things that we value, but also with regard to our very
identities. My state depends on the state of others (Preiser & Cilliers, 2010). Here, one
must draw a distinction between objects of entrustments and trust relations. Whereas
the former implies a measure of discretionary responsibility (B knowing what is en-
trusted (C) by A), and, in some cases, a form of relative power (where A is dependent
in some sense upon B’s goodwill) (Baier, 1986); the latter is characterised by tolerance
(that B will act in such a way so as to allow A to flourish). Whereas, entrustment im-
plies responsibility for something, trust relations imply a responsibility towards some-
one (Painter-Morland, 2006). We can only exercise our responsibility toward others if
we show a fundamental respect for difference, even when our actions reduce differ-
ence. The only way in which to exercise this responsibility is to heed to the
provisional imperative, and to always remain cognisant of other ways of acting.
Of course not all differences are good, and in this regard, the provisional imperative
– like the Kantian imperative – can be used as a yardstick to evaluate our and other
people’s choices and actions. Since the provisional imperative is substantively empty,
it should be supplemented by concrete ethical positions that can inform our notions of
concrete morality. However, when these ethical positions lead to the homogenization
of ‘the different perspectives until everybody thinks, believes, and acts the same way’
(von Foerster & Poerksen, 2002: 36), they will necessarily fail the demands imposed
on us by the provisional imperative and should therefore be morally condemned. In-
deed, Derrida (1988: 119) warns against those who wish to simplify at all costs, call-
ing them ‘dangerous dogmatists and tedious obscurantists’, and Morin (2008: 57) re-
fers to the ravages caused by simplifying visions, arguing that ‘[m]uch of the suffering
of millions of beings resulted from the effects of fragmented and one-dimensional
thought.’ In practice, the provisional imperative thus leads to action that ‘enlarges the
field of vision, opening up new possibilities and revealing the abundance’ (von
Foerster & Poerksen, 2002: 36), and in this way, allows us – at minimal – to remain
open to the truths of others, and trust that others will remain open to our truths.
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