One of my favorite books of the last 10 years is Neill Ferguson's The Square and the Tower. The author writes with an audacious clarity, one of those rare books that not only narrates history but seeks to rearrange the mental neurons of how we understand power, networks, and our collective past. Ferguson starts by showing us Siena, Italy, with its stark physical juxtaposition of a bustling piazza and an imposing tower, a metaphor that speaks to an eternal tension between the informal, fluid networks of ordinary citizens and the formal, top-down structures of power. Niall's metaphor, of the square and the tower, isn't merely quaint architecture, it is the crucible of the human social condition.
Ferguson, or rather Sir Niall Ferguson, known for his financial and historical tomes, took a step into the shadowy world of networks, a field he admits to approaching belatedly. Yet, this work marks more than a passing interest, it's an intellectual feast. The Square and the Tower is, in many ways, Ferguson's attempt to recalibrate historical discourse, pulling it away from what he calls the "great men" theory of history. Instead, he digs into how networks, covert, social, sprawling, and chaotic, have repeatedly reshaped the world. The Medici, the Freemasons, the Enlightenment intellectuals, the US Presidents, right up to the Facebookers of today, all gain a starring role in his historical drama.
Ironically, the very networks that overthrow towers are, sooner or later, compelled to build new towers of their own. This observation lends a recurring circularity to Ferguson’s work, much like a tragic play where characters repeat their mistakes in different guises, under different lights. But then again, isn’t history just that, a sequence of revolutions followed by inevitable stabilizations, of Sienese piazzas inevitably overshadowed by new towers?
Ferguson is a master of narrative, bringing together seemingly disparate threads from Renaissance Florence, Cold War Washington, and 21st-century Silicon Valley to argue that networks are not modern phenomena. From Roman trade routes to the underground pamphleteering of the Protestant Reformation, networks are the hidden builders of history, invisible yet potent. However, Ferguson doesn’t romanticize networks, he reminds us of their double-edged nature. Networks can spark revolutions, yes, but they can also generate insular and strange loops, much like today’s algorithms do, that deepen divisions and foster discontent.
Honest Brokers
In his exploration of the Reformation, Ferguson looks at the role of Gutenberg's press in turning Luther's 95 Theses into a viral sensation. It wasn't merely the charisma of Luther that sparked a movement, but the technological leap of mass printing that allowed his ideas to permeate Europe rapidly, bypassing traditional church authorities and reaching an increasingly literate populace. This technological network enabled the Reformation to become not just a religious movement but a sweeping societal shift. The viral spread of these ideas, their power to ignite a whole continent, owes less to the charisma of Luther and more to the infrastructure of a burgeoning information network. Similarly, Ferguson sees eerie parallels between that earlier upheaval and our present-day collision of social media-fueled populism and anxious bureaucratic hierarchies. The squares of our time, social media platforms, are at once energizing and destabilizing. He warns us:
“With an infinity of information at thei disposal, men swing swiftly from euphoria to madness.” And for good measure he adds: “more concerned with spin than substance.”
As Ferguson notes, networks don't sleep. They spread, morph, and erode the legitimacy of the towers. And remember these networks are often of small groups of people. These are similar groups of which Thomas Sowell writes in his majestical The Vision of the Anointed:
“The rise of the mass media, mass politics, and massive government means that the beliefs which drive a relatively small group of articulate people have great leverage in determining the course taken by a whole society.”
Back to Ferguson’s Square and The Tower which isn’t merely an ode to networks. Ferguson wades deep into their limitations, the vulnerabilities, the danger of an overly networked, overly horizontal world. In his view, networks can disrupt hierarchies, but they often lack the tools to govern. This is why Ferguson is skeptical of those who celebrate the toppling of every tower. His central thesis is a simple but uncomfortable truth, the square needs the tower, and the tower is sometimes necessary to tame the volatility of the square. It’s a delicate seesaw, and when it tilts too far in one direction, chaos ensues. The Arab Spring, as Ferguson details, serves as a poignant example. Social networks played a pivotal role in mobilizing people, spreading messages, and bringing masses to the square. However, Ferguson emphasizes that while the networks were effective in dismantling the existing towers, they fell short in constructing new ones. Without solid institutions to channel the revolutionary energy, the movement's momentum dissipated, and the promise of lasting reform was left unfulfilled.
The Cognisphere
So, what guidance does Ferguson offer for our present? He’s not advocating blind allegiance to authority, nor an uncritical embrace of disruption. Instead, Ferguson suggests something of a middle way, a recognition that the balance between networks and hierarchies is precarious but essential. For all the exuberance around networks, history warns us that without some kind of structured power, disorder breeds, and opportunities squandered. In today's world, where digital platforms promise infinite connectivity, Ferguson nudges us to also remember the power of institutions, those old towers we might be too quick to abandon.
The intellectual charm of The Square and the Tower lies in its audacity to provoke questions. What happens when the square consumes the tower? How do we navigate a future where power is distributed in new, unpredictable ways? Ferguson doesn’t claim to have all the answers, and therein lies the humility of this book. It’s less a prescription and more an invitation to consider history not as an inevitable arc but as a messy interplay of people, ideas, and the structures they build and destroy in a continuous cycle. It’s a reminder that behind every story of individual triumph is a network, and behind every network, a structure holding it together. Niall admirably reminds us:
“The power of networks lies in their ability to facilitate information sharing and collective decision-making.” But we must be careful as “benign forces have already learned how to use and abuse the cognisphere.”
Ferguson offers a historical call for a careful balance between progress and stability, and reminds us that amidst innovation, the need for structured power and thoughtful governance is as critical as ever.
Stay curious and connected
Colin
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Too right!