Do You Think You're Clever? by John Farndon Read Free Book Online Page A
Authors: John Farndon
Tags: Humour
came to underpin the notion that people are, if not fundamentally dishonest, at least driven ultimately by self-interest to the point where honesty is irrelevant. The classic ‘prisoners’dilemma’ in game theory * predicts that people must learn to become dishonest, and assume that other people are dishonest, if they are to survive and thrive. Such thinking has bubbled up in many places, from Dawkins’ notion of the ‘selfish gene’, to Mrs Thatcher’s infamous comment that ‘there is no such thing as society’, to Reaganomics, Tony Blair’s ‘targets’ for public sector employees – and most notoriously in the deregulation of the finance system.
But there is a problem for the law with this assumption that people are dishonest. Not only does it create distrust at best, and at worst paranoia, it means that the law begins to lack direction (except when it serves to persecute rather than prosecute). If lawmakers and enforcers start from the assumption that people are dishonest, then there is no guide through the thicket of what makes a good law and what a bad. It becomes hard to judge what is simply
* In the famous prisoners’ dilemma of game theory, two suspects are arrested and imprisoned separately. With insufficient evidence, the police offer a deal. If either testifies against the other, he will be set free and the betrayed party will get a ten-year sentence. If they both remain silent, they each receive a six-month sentence. And if they each testify against each other, they each get five years. So what should you do if you were one of the prisoners? It would seem that the best ‘strategy’ is to assume that the other prisoner will betray you. If he does betray you, the worst you get is five years, and if he doesn’t, you go free. Many social theorists have gone on to assume that society must run on the same assumptions – that in reality people will make decisions in their own interest with no real reference to honesty. And so, this argument goes, the law must be based on the premise that people are fundamentally dishonest. The interesting thing, though, is that people conform to expectations.
protecting against likely dishonesty of the people and what is actually persecution or, in effect, martial law.
I wonder – though of course, this is sheer kite-flying – if this is one reason why the recent New Labour government in the UK, led by a party which has always been seen as the party of social justice, has sometimes seemed lacking in focus in legislation. I wonder, too, if an assumption that people are dishonest, and a legal system framed as if they are, actually helps to turn them that way …
What books are bad for you?
(English, Cambridge)
Well, speaking personally, quite a lot of books are bad for me. I suffer from an allergic reaction to the mould spores that billow off any book that’s been sitting for a while gathering dust – which is a really positive incentive not to leave them unread for too long!
In the USA, recently, they started to introduce a law, the Consumer Product Safety Improvement Act, saying all books pre-1985 are bad for children, because the inks used to print them contain lead. Some of the pigments used in medieval manuscript books were poisonous, too, such as lead white and vermilion, so no doubt they were bad for you if, like many scribes, you had the habit of licking your brush to bring it to a point. In Umberto Eco’s
The Name of the Rose
, some of the monks are poisoned by arsenic onthe pages of manuscripts when they wet their fingers to turn the pages. And in Webster’s play
The Duchess of Malfi
(1612–13), the Cardinal’s mistress Julia dies after kissing a book that has been deliberately poisoned. I’m sure, too, that over time, not a few people have acquired a headache after a clout with a heavy tome, or a bruised toe, and in Forster’s
Howard’s End
, the character Leonard Bast is killed by a falling bookcase. Indeed, death by falling bookcase seems to
But there is a problem for the law with this assumption that people are dishonest. Not only does it create distrust at best, and at worst paranoia, it means that the law begins to lack direction (except when it serves to persecute rather than prosecute). If lawmakers and enforcers start from the assumption that people are dishonest, then there is no guide through the thicket of what makes a good law and what a bad. It becomes hard to judge what is simply
* In the famous prisoners’ dilemma of game theory, two suspects are arrested and imprisoned separately. With insufficient evidence, the police offer a deal. If either testifies against the other, he will be set free and the betrayed party will get a ten-year sentence. If they both remain silent, they each receive a six-month sentence. And if they each testify against each other, they each get five years. So what should you do if you were one of the prisoners? It would seem that the best ‘strategy’ is to assume that the other prisoner will betray you. If he does betray you, the worst you get is five years, and if he doesn’t, you go free. Many social theorists have gone on to assume that society must run on the same assumptions – that in reality people will make decisions in their own interest with no real reference to honesty. And so, this argument goes, the law must be based on the premise that people are fundamentally dishonest. The interesting thing, though, is that people conform to expectations.
protecting against likely dishonesty of the people and what is actually persecution or, in effect, martial law.
I wonder – though of course, this is sheer kite-flying – if this is one reason why the recent New Labour government in the UK, led by a party which has always been seen as the party of social justice, has sometimes seemed lacking in focus in legislation. I wonder, too, if an assumption that people are dishonest, and a legal system framed as if they are, actually helps to turn them that way …
What books are bad for you?
(English, Cambridge)
Well, speaking personally, quite a lot of books are bad for me. I suffer from an allergic reaction to the mould spores that billow off any book that’s been sitting for a while gathering dust – which is a really positive incentive not to leave them unread for too long!
In the USA, recently, they started to introduce a law, the Consumer Product Safety Improvement Act, saying all books pre-1985 are bad for children, because the inks used to print them contain lead. Some of the pigments used in medieval manuscript books were poisonous, too, such as lead white and vermilion, so no doubt they were bad for you if, like many scribes, you had the habit of licking your brush to bring it to a point. In Umberto Eco’s
The Name of the Rose
, some of the monks are poisoned by arsenic onthe pages of manuscripts when they wet their fingers to turn the pages. And in Webster’s play
The Duchess of Malfi
(1612–13), the Cardinal’s mistress Julia dies after kissing a book that has been deliberately poisoned. I’m sure, too, that over time, not a few people have acquired a headache after a clout with a heavy tome, or a bruised toe, and in Forster’s
Howard’s End
, the character Leonard Bast is killed by a falling bookcase. Indeed, death by falling bookcase seems to