I am always astounded—though by now I really shouldn’t be—by the arrogance of politicians. The assumption behind so much of their rhetoric and action is twofold: first, that they know what’s best for everyone, and second, that they have the power to deliver it by controlling circumstances, people, and outcomes. It’s a kind of hubris so embedded in modern political life that we barely notice it anymore, yet when I pause to reflect, it still jars me.
The world we live in is in constant motion. Every single day, we discover that what we thought was true yesterday is already being revised, undone, reshaped. Yesterday’s static image of reality has morphed—quietly but completely—into something else. That’s not a metaphor. It’s a fact observable in everything from the molecular level of biology to the largest structures in the cosmos. Change is not a feature of life—it is life. Yet somehow, politicians, with all their polished speeches and staged debates, continue to behave as if reality can be frozen, manipulated, and marched into compliance with their latest policy frameworks.
It’s laughable, really. Picture someone trying to freeze the ocean, not by technology, but by standing at the shore and commanding the waves to stop. As, it is said, that King Canute attempted. That’s the level of absurdity we’re dealing with when someone says, “We’ll eliminate inflation by next year,” or “We’ll fix the global climate through this summit,” or “We have a ten-year plan to end poverty.” Noble intentions, perhaps. But these promises are often blind to the sheer complexity—and unpredictability—of the systems they claim to control.
We live on a tiny chunk of dirt spinning around a relatively average star, in what appears to be an unremarkable arm of a rather ordinary galaxy. And even so, the forces that keep this planet going are mind-blowing in their scope. Gravity, electromagnetic fields, tectonic shifts, solar winds. The energy that powers this vast and intricate dance is the same energy that flows through every single human being. It moves us, inspires us, shapes us. Not one of us is separate from it—not even the politicians. And yet, we continue to entertain this strange, antiquated belief that power can harness life and bend it into submission.
Science has been showing us for centuries that this isn’t how the universe works. Think of the Heisenberg Uncertainty Principle—a foundational idea in quantum mechanics. At the subatomic level, it’s not possible to precisely measure both the position and the momentum of a particle at the same time. The act of observation changes the outcome. In other words, even in the realm of pure physics, control is an illusion. And yet we still trust in five-year plans, campaign promises, and public inquiries to bring about neatly predictable outcomes.
Just look at the COVID-19 pandemic. It was a global masterclass in humility. Suddenly, nations boasting the world’s most sophisticated health systems were scrambling. Leaders who just months earlier were speaking with certainty about economic growth found themselves pleading with citizens to stay home, and trying to model viral behaviour with charts and projections that changed week by week. Despite all our tools, all our data, all our planning, the virus made a mockery of our sense of control.
And yet, what did many politicians do? They doubled down. Some began blaming scientists, others blamed other nations, some even blamed their own citizens for “not complying enough.” At no point did the political class pause to say: Maybe we don’t know. Maybe life is too vast, too interconnected, too dynamic to be managed like a company spreadsheet.
Even on a smaller scale, the desire to control extends into our personal lives. City councils draft zoning laws assuming they can predict how communities will evolve. Educational boards create rigid curricula, thinking they can predefine the needs of children who will be adults in a world we can’t yet imagine. And individuals, too, try to script their lives down to the minute, only to find that love, loss, illness, joy, or inspiration show up uninvited and throw the whole plan into question.
So where does this strange idea come from—that anyone can manage life itself? Perhaps it’s fear. Chaos frightens us. Change unsettles us. And control, or at least the appearance of it, offers a temporary comfort. But it’s a lie, and deep down we all know it. Real wisdom lies not in pretending to master the ocean, but in learning to sail—and even to dance—with the waves.
I don’t want leaders who claim certainty. I want leaders humble enough to admit when they don’t know, curious enough to listen, and wise enough to respond with flexibility rather than force. The same goes for how I want to live my own life: not according to rigid plans, but in relationship with the ever-changing now.
Because the truth is, life doesn’t obey blueprints. It grows, it shifts, it surprises. And that, in the end, is what makes it so breathtakingly beautiful.
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