In his book Fewer Rules, Better People: The Case for Discretion, Lam presents a compelling critique of rigid adherence to rules, illustrating how such inflexibility can lead individuals to make choices that contradict both justice and common sense. One illustrative example involves a woman organizing a roundtable at a conference who found herself thwarted by her institution’s strict catering policy. Despite the roundtable starting at 9:30 AM and the designated vendor not accepting orders until 10:00 AM, the woman discovered that the vendor had a partnership with a nearby Starbucks. She sought permission to order directly from Starbucks, but the administrator’s response was resolute:
“Surely,” the host argued, “this demonstrates that the coffee purchase aligns with the spirit of the rules.” The administrator disagreed, insisting the purchase could not be approved as it contradicted the established regulations.
While it may be tempting to view such bureaucratic rigidity as a mere inconvenience, Lam argues that it represents a more profound issue. Unyielding administrators, obsessed with strict compliance to policy manuals, can be just as detrimental to civil society and moral growth as outright tyranny:
Tyranny has long hindered human flourishing. However, Western liberals often overlook a less overt but equally threatening figure: the by-the-book bureaucrat. These individuals are inherently inclined toward legalism and excessively fearful of exercising discretionary judgement. Faced with uncertainty, they seek solace in governance language, comforted when they can declare an issue beyond their purview. Innovations or novel ideas are often met with resistance unless there are explicit rules endorsing them.
For a thriving society, it is crucial not only to recognize and follow rules but to comprehend the underlying rationale behind them. Rules should serve a larger purpose and not exist in a vacuum. A life governed solely by rigid compliance undermines our moral development and virtue. This phenomenon extends beyond bureaucrats; it also affects citizens who conform to legalistic frameworks:
Even more concerning is the impact of such societies on the obedient. The aim of a surveillance-state legalism is to transform all citizens into compliance robots and every bureaucrat into a rule-following automaton. This paradigm reduces the rich complexity of human motivation to mere fear of noncompliance, fostering an unhealthy reverence for rules.
Lam draws a personal parallel, reflecting on his duty as a parent to instill not just obedience in his daughter, but an understanding of the why behind her responsibilities:
Our goal in teaching her responsibilities isn’t merely to ensure she follows rules for the sake of rewards or punishments. We want her to care for her bunnies because they are vulnerable beings who depend on their caregivers. She should empty the dishwasher promptly not just to keep the kitchen tidy, but to honor her obligations to those sharing the home. It is crucial to cultivate her understanding of the spirit behind good rules.
We also aim for her to discern when rules may be flawed or when alternative methods could be more effective. Although the temptation exists to enforce rules strictly, such an approach would be a failure on his part:
While imposing harsh, consistent penalties could yield better compliance, if my child becomes the administrator who denies a coffee order, I will have failed in raising a reasonable individual just as much as if I had raised a tyrant. Given a choice between a world of rule-followers and a world of imperfect decision-makers who possess the judgment to uphold the spirit of the rules, I unequivocally choose the latter.
Legalism not only stunts moral agency but also leaves individuals ill-equipped to navigate situations that rules fail to address:
Unique circumstances demand judgments informed by the rationale behind rules. Those who operate solely out of fear of noncompliance will struggle in such scenarios. Alarmingly, they may apply rules in ways that contradict their intended purposes, acting unjustly under the guise of legality, be it in denying coffee or freedom.
Lam expresses particular concern over the increasing reliance on AI-generated algorithms for decision-making, which further erodes human judgment. The use of AI in this context strips away the possibility of understanding the rationale behind rules:
These algorithms yield equations that defy human comprehension. Although a programmer could present the equation, its complexity would render it nearly indecipherable. The only coherent explanation might be, “This equation best fits all past verdicts.” Deep learning creates a level of opacity that renders rules incomprehensible. This represents the extreme culmination of legalism, where no one understands the regulations governing our lives.
Ultimately, AI operates much like a by-the-book bureaucrat, enforcing rules without context or rationale:
AI resembles a bureaucratic figure, adhering to a rule that forbids coffee purchases from any vendor outside of designated options, offering no justification for why one vendor is acceptable while others are not. When asked to explain the rationale behind such rules, the only response is a reiteration that “it is the rule.”
Lam argues that Han Fei mistakenly viewed legalism as a remedy for mediocrity:
Han Fei believed that legalism countered mediocrity. In contrast, I maintain that legalism breeds mediocrity. Standardization—whether in food, housing, grading, or bureaucracy—produces merely acceptable outcomes, lacking the spark of excellence.
This conversation transcends theoretical discussions about the need for discretion to mitigate the constraints of legalism. For Lam’s insights to translate into practical applications, a clear path forward must be defined. In the next post, I will explore his suggestions for expanding the role of discretion.
