There is a crucial yet hard-to-understand concept here. Most people grasp the need to set priorities; they put the biggest problems at the top, with smaller problems beneath them. There are simply too many small problems to consider them all. So they draw a horizontal line beneath which they will not tread, directing all their energies to those above the line. I believe there is another approach: If we allow more people to solve problems without permission, and if we tolerate (and don’t vilify) their mistakes, then we enable a much larger set of problems to be addressed. When a random problem pops up in this scenario, it causes no panic, because the threat of failure has been defanged. The individual or the organization responds with its best thinking, because the organization is not frozen, fearful, waiting for approval. Mistakes will still be made, but in my experience, they are fewer and farther between and are caught at an earlier stage.

Stafford Beer’s cybernetics tells us that in these cases, while people’s opinions are important, the facts of the organisational outcomes are what we need to work with. In his most pithy formulation of the principle, he expands the black box principle to a rather more uncomfortable statement.

The purpose of a system is what it does.

An organisation does things, and it systematically does some things rather than others. But that’s as far as it goes. Systems don’t make mistakes — if they do something, that’s their purpose. But it also works the other way around. Systems don’t have inner desires, so they don’t do things intentionally either. There’s just a network of cause and effect. We might think they’re conspiring, but they’re working within structures that made the outcome inevitable. Or we might see everything as a terrible cock-up, but we don’t understand that the outcome was the inevitable result of the way the system works.

There are two obvious ways to fail here. The translation and error-correction mechanism might be inadequate, or the managers might intentionally distort the signals in order to follow priorities of their own. The tragedy of senior management is that it can drift into either of these failure modes without realising; if either problem arises, it arises in their information and communication environment, so they won’t notice it. It’s the problem identified by Niccolò Machiavelli — a prince who is not wise cannot be well advised, and a manager who doesn’t have access to excess analytical capacity won’t be able to tell when something has gone wrong with their subordinates. But maintaining that spare management capacity is expensive.

And this story repeats itself through the history of management science; almost every classic of the literature seems to have described a way of adapting systems to a more complicated world, and then to have become obsolete itself. If you look past the slogans and think about what things like ‘management by objectives’, ‘focus on core competences’ and so on actually mean, they are all different ways of advising executives to restructure their businesses so that they don’t generate complexity faster than it can be managed.