The Absurdity of the Presidency

We are the gawking bystanders of an absurd system. It’s not enough that we are expected to herd ourselves to the polls every four years. To do so, we must tell ourselves that the perennial choice between vomit and diarrhea is a duty—and that a popularity contest decided by the *median voter* in four swing states is a system worthy of our reverence.

Cue patriotic music.

Our leaders are chosen by *the people,* after all, not by the powerful acting with relative impunity to install puppets. (Record scratch.) Presidential absurdities would matter less if the Executive were limited to its constitutional mandate. But it is not. And the absurdity is compounded. Most think they can do nothing about this absurdity, if they think at all.

Every four years, we experience a spectacular tug-of-war between Team Red and Team Blue and tell ourselves it’s the best we can do. We ignore it or embrace it, bleating all the while.

Imagine you’re fourteen, and your widower dad meets a poorly-spoken woman of average intelligence. In front of others, she wants to seem affable. So she signals affability with an uncomfortable cackle. But when you’re alone with her, she’s a bully. It’s not that your dad was ever that wild about her. No one is. It’s just that he was lonely. She stumbled into his life much as she’d stumbled her way through a truly unimpressive career. Eventually, she and your dad get married. Now, you have no choice but to live under her regime. She snoops in your stuff. When you try to speak up, she shuts you down. Her word salads, lack of clear principles, and that uncomfortable cackle are nails on a chalkboard. Otherwise, she’s a hollow simulacrum of her dubious friends—a chameleon. You want to hide in your rather dim and spare room until you’re 18.

Once more, imagine you’re fourteen, and you’ve been sent to live with your rich uncle. He can be hilarious but also irreverent. In fact, he lacks a social filter, especially in front of your friends and in important settings. When you’re alone with him, he can be kind and caring. But in front of others, he’s a braggart with a penchant for hyperbole and ad hominem. As a serial entrepreneur, he’s had strings of successes and failures. Still his successes have been enough to adorn his monster mansion with gaudy fixtures. Despite the tackiness, at least you’re living in comfort. You see a man who’s led his life making deals and shooting from the hip, despite a reputation as a philanderer. His braggadocio means he makes big proclamations but frequently comes up short. Still, you’ll have to live by his rules until you’re 18.

Since we’re flogging this imagine-you’re-fourteen trope, imagine you are offered a choice between the Cackling Stepmom or the Bombastic Boor. Only there is a problem. It’s not really your decision. There is a Dangerous Cartel that has a big stake in the outcome. (They dispatched with a Doddering Senile once he outlived his usefulness.) The Dangerous Cartel has no respect for the Cackling Stepmom, but she’s proven she’s pliable, ready to code-switch between Gandhi and ghetto, and willing to sell her soul—all so she can sit in the Big Chair. She’s perfect for puppeteers. The Dangerous Cartel hates the Bombastic Boor so much that its members have been willing to lie, cheat, steal, and throw frivolous lawsuits at him. Many think the Cartel is trying to do him in. But enough people hate the Bombastic Boor that they’re willing to look the other way. Never mind that the Dangerous Cartel is vast, slippery, and uses its innumerable tentacles to get what it wants. The Bombastic Boor—despite luck, charm, and a dwindling war chest—cannot prevail against such forces arrayed against him.

For most people, the idea of living in a land without presidents is even more absurd than the idea of choosing between the Cackling Stepmom and the Bombastic Boor, never mind that a Dangerous Cartel runs the show. To most, the notion of a Land Without Presidents is as odd as a country without a king had been to George III.

But once we discover it—perhaps after America’s fall—we will see that so many problems accrue when there is too much power vested in one person and a coterie of functionaries. Even if our democratic republic managerial state didn’t attract (and select for) sociopaths, we’d still face a deep problem. Even the wisest statesmen have limits when it comes to making decisions on behalf of 330 million people. And in the face of such complexity, that coterie of functionaries will swell into an empire of supplicants—a Dangerous Cartel.

Complexity scientist Yaneer Bar-Yam put the matter thus:

Some argue that no organization can be sustained without a unitary executive function—a leader who can make a quick decision on behalf of its members. New self-management forms show that distributed decision-making is not only possible but also more scaleable in the face of increasing complexity.

Still, even if an executive were necessary for decisions in certain contexts, Bar-Yam’s worry that an increase in social complexity will run into an individual’s complexity limit still holds. And neither a Cackling Stepmom nor a Bombastic Boor can escape that limit.

If Bar-Yam is right, a thousand executives presiding over a thousand jurisdictions would be good. A thousand teams responsible for a thousand jurisdictions would be better. Perhaps we could start with fifty and go from there.