How to Write a Paper about the Crisis of Democracy?

Cheerful reception of the “How to Write a Law and Technology Paper?” convinced me that the format has comedy potential. The same disclaimer as previously applies here: this post is for laughs. Of course, I am worried about the state of democracy. But I am also skeptical of the value of repeating the same diagnosis and analysis over and over again. On a theoretical level, a question is crystalizing in my mind: “what is the value of repeating stuff that everyone in a community already knows?” There must be some, otherwise, why do we keep doing it? One day I will attempt an answer. After a few more “ten steps” is suppose. Today, however, enjoy the Friday piece of sit-down-comedy:

Are you concerned about the course that local and global politics have taken lately? Would you like to be remembered as someone who was not indifferent, and tried to have an impact? Does the prospect of actually going to the streets to talk to people and maybe help someone scare you as too much movement and effort? If the answer to all these questions is “yes”, you probably should write a paper about the crisis of democracy. A perfect way to feel like you’re doing something good for society, without actually having to do much.

“But I am no political theorist / constitutional lawyer! what do I know?” – is the thought that might pop up in your head, but be sure to disregard it. Unlike with natural (real) sciences, everyone is an expert on politics, constitution, and democracy.  After a couple of beers especially. Plus, you can use our instruction: How to write a paper about the crisis of democracy (in ten steps):

  1. Start by saying that it seemed in 1989 that it’s the end of history. Cite Fukuyama (and call him a “Neo-Con”. Mention he seems to have changed his mind. Make a little joke about that).
  2. Say that now, however, there are problems all around the world. Be sure to mention Russia, Trump, Turkey, Poland, Brexit, Philipinnes, Brazil and Hungary in the same sentence.
  3. Cite some numbers about how inequality is rising, growth stagnating, whatever, you need numbers (quote Piketty). Say that people nowadays will not be richer than their parents. Call them “losers of globalization”.
  4. Mention China and that maybe actually there is no necessary connection between democracy and market economy. Remind people that Hayek was friends with Pinochet.
  5. Be sure to include that democracy in the West might not be that democratic at all – refer to Citizens United and money in politics in general.
  6. Indicate that causes are actually even more complicated: economy, culture, ideology all play some role.
  7. Say that we are probably doomed. Add an analogy between today and the 1930s. Then say that we do not really know how it’s gonna go. Say that you predict that democracy will go down, or not, or maybe it will change.
  8. Add a splash here and there of buzzwords like “democratic backsliding”, “populism”, “illiberal”, “losers of globalization”. DO NOT ever explain what you mean by democracy or crisis. You must use the term “rule of law” very abundantly and make sure you conflate it with democracy.
  9. Propose to solve the problem by something that sounds simple but is actually very unclear: education, inclusion, regulation of social media. If you want to call your work “interdisciplinary”, mention blockchain.
  10. Say that of course more research is needed, but you wanted to just “start a debate” which is very important.

Congratulations! You just landed on a good side of history! If everything indeed goes down, you will be able to demonstrate that you cared. And if not, one of your predictions materialized, and you were a part of the movement! win-win.

Thanks to Nik and Fil for their comments about the “first draft”, haha.

Anthropology before philosophy (?)

The question I want to consider today is: Must one do anthropology before one does philosophy?

One of the fields of legal scholarship that would benefit from an answer is the now-hip field of the Transnational Legal Theory. The question could be specified as: If one wants to propose a theory explaining the phenomenon of the transnational law, must one first empirically examine the phenomenon in question?

And a tempting answer is: (hopefully) not. Hopefully, for philosophers don’t like to get their hands dirty with empirical research. And a compelling argument could be offered in defence of that answer: none of Kelsen, Hart, Dworkin, or Raz ever did any anthropology, and that their theories seem to do just fine without it. And even if the theories themselves aren’t fine, the objection is not “it seems like you guys didn’t do enough anthropology.”

Let me moot two claims.

  • The answer to the first question is it depends: sometimes one needs to do anthropology before one does philosophy, sometimes not. In particular, it depends on a) existence of ‘folk’ intuitions about the phenomenon to be theorized; b) these intuitions actually being true (corresponding to facts).
  • The answer to the second question is yes: to provide a theory of transnational law, one first needs to engage in some anthropology (or at least base the theory on the work of others who have). That is because theoreticians and/or their audience still lack sufficiently developed intuitions about the phenomenon of transnational law. Worse, the intuitions they do have often happen not to be true. The context therefore departs significantly from the intellectual milieu in which Kelsen and Hart did their theorizing about ‘traditional’ national and international law.

Let me take a moment to clear up some terminology. ‘Anthropology’ here means, very roughly, empirical research on reality (talking to people, observing phenomena, reading texts) i.e. the any collection of the data that can’t be generated just by sitting in armchair and thinking. ‘Transnational law’ means norms generated and executed by entities that are neither national nor international, ranging from the EU and the WTO, to FIFA and UEFA.

Example 1: Information vs. BitCoin
Start by considering an example of two research questions, with superficially similar structures: what is information? And: what is a cryptocurrency, like BitCoin? 

One can easily imagine providing an answer to the first question via armchair philosophy. A researcher would sketch some working ontology, differentiating a piece of information as either: 1) a feature of an object (e.g. a fact of me being a Polish citizen); or 2) an expression of that fact (Filipe saying: ‘Przemek is a Polish citizen’); 3) a fixation of that expression in some context (EUI officer writing in the database ‘Przemek is a Polish citizen’) etc. He or she might then theorize the differences between these types, suggest an ontological explanation, and potentially arrive at some definitions. All this is possible because the researcher ‘knows enough facts.’

What is BitCoin, however, will be harder. For before one can offer a philosophical explanation of its existence and functioning, one needs to know what BitCoin actually is. One needs to obtain the facts. If, for example, one starts by assuming that BitCoin is a private currency, ‘an alternative mode of payment provided by a private company’, and theorizes that, one is simply wrong. For there is no company, and one would completely miss the ‘decentralized’ structure of a crypto-currency. Researcher needs the facts first.

Example two: Philosophy of the Mind
Take another question: what is the relation between a brain (body) and a mind? One could attempt to answer this controversial question solely through ‘armchair philosophy’; in the end, we have quite good intuitions about what brain and mind are. But in doing so, one could simply be wrong about the facts. The booming career of neuroscience shows that our intuitions about how brain functions had often been mistaken. Now, to be clear, I am not saying that neuroscience will ever replace philosophy of mind. I am saying that neuroscience informs it. It provides facts about which we can theorize. It’s the anthropology necessary before philosophy.

Legal theory vs. Theory of transnational law

Now let us apply these findings to legal theory and theory of transnational law.

Hart and Dworkin never did any anthropology’. Well, didn’t they? They both studied law and worked as lawyers before they undertook their philosophical projects. They were intimately familiar with phenomenon of ‘law’ that they were addressing, from both a theoretical and a practical perspective. And their audience was people who shared that intimate knowledge as well. They had the facts right.

Imagine someone who had never studied law trying to provide a new, descriptive theory explaining how law functions. There is a chance it would be brilliant and original, granted. But there is a much higher chance that would be wrong, because ‘that is not what actually’s going on here, pal’.

With transnational law, most scholars are in just such a position. We hardly study the phenomena at school. Many of those engaged in legal practices never deal with transnational law directly. We know about some of the relevant institutions, like UE or FIFA, but there are many others we may have never heard about. And we might be just mistaken in our intuitions about them.

A successful theory of transnational law needs to be based on observed facts. Otherwise, theorization will provide an insight not into its desired object, but into the mistaken idea that the researchers have of that object. And so the anthropology needs to come first.