In his thought-provoking book, The Problem of Political Authority, Michael Huemer delves into the contentious issue of political authority, which he breaks down into two fundamental components:
(i) Political legitimacy: This refers to a government’s right to enact specific laws and enforce them through coercion against its citizens—the essence of ruling.
(ii) Political obligation: This concept addresses the duty of citizens to obey their government, even when they wouldn’t feel compelled to follow similar directives from private entities.
Throughout numerous chapters, Huemer critically analyzes the most prevalent arguments supporting the notion of political authority, ultimately finding them wanting. However, he is careful to clarify that this critique does not inherently advocate for the dissolution of governments:
Just because authority is absent doesn’t mean we should eliminate all forms of government. The lack of authority implies that individuals aren’t bound to obey laws solely because they exist, nor are government agents entitled to coerce individuals simply for being representatives of the state. There may still be compelling reasons for individuals to adhere to many laws, and state agents might justify a degree of coercive action necessary for maintaining order.
Huemer dedicates two chapters to dissecting social contract theory, first addressing the classical interpretations by thinkers like John Locke, then exploring contemporary iterations that suggest governments could have been established through a hypothetical social contract, thus creating real obligations from theoretical agreements.
With impressive clarity, Huemer dismantles both classical and modern social contract theories. He argues that all variations of the social contract lack the fundamental characteristics required for a contract to generate authentic agreements or obligations. For instance, some contend that by utilizing government services, individuals implicitly consent to pay taxes as part of this social contract. Huemer counters this notion with a compelling analogy: if I were to force you to buy my cookies at an exorbitant price, your subsequent consumption of those cookies doesn’t signify your agreement; you were coerced into the arrangement regardless.
Moreover, Huemer raises another issue with social contract theory that remains unaddressed in his analysis. For a contract to be legitimately binding, its specifics must be unequivocally defined. Yet, even among social contract theorists, there exists a surprising lack of consensus on what such a contract actually entails. While they may agree on the existence of a social contract, they diverge wildly on its terms. This confusion is evident when individuals from across the political spectrum argue that certain laws or institutions violate the social contract, often with conflicting interpretations of what those violations entail.
This disagreement cannot simply be resolved by referencing existing laws or the Constitution as the definitive representation of the social contract. If the social contract merely equated to “whatever is currently legislated,” then no theorist would have grounds to claim that specific laws or institutional arrangements contravene the social contract. Given how frequently such claims arise, it’s clear that the social contract transcends mere legal texts. More fundamentally, the social contract is posited to justify the government’s authority to legislate in the first place. Therefore, using current laws as evidence of the social contract’s existence is circular reasoning. If the existing framework of laws is deemed the social contract, then asserting that the social contract justifies those laws becomes entirely vacuous.
In practice, much of the discourse surrounding social contract theory often resembles a series of definitions shaped by personal biases. It would seem that social contract theorists are more inclined to shape the concept to align with their political preferences rather than genuinely explore its implications. If they were earnest in determining the true substance of the unwritten social contract, we might expect to see them acknowledge aspects of it that contradict their views. Jason Brennan offers a similar critique regarding constitutional legal theory, suggesting it follows a pattern:
1. Begin with a political philosophy—your vision of government’s permissible actions and prohibitions.
2. Accept the Constitution as a given.
3. Construct a theory of constitutional interpretation that conveniently aligns the Constitution with your desired outcomes.
Upon reviewing academic writings from constitutional theorists, it becomes evident that this pattern is prevalent across the ideological spectrum—be it conservatives, liberals, or libertarians. Isn’t that peculiar? Why don’t more libertarian theorists openly acknowledge that while the Constitution permits certain actions, those actions should, in an ideal world, be prohibited? Alternatively, why don’t left-leaning liberals admit that a just society would endorse actions the Constitution currently forbids? Such admissions do occur occasionally, yet the majority of voices tend to argue that the Constitution aligns perfectly with their ideological goals.
Similarly, I cannot recall any social contract theorists lamenting that “the social contract allows X, which should be forbidden, and forbids Y, which should be permitted.” It appears that whatever the terms of this social contract are, they invariably support the political ideology of the individual advocating for the social contract’s importance. A real-world contract with such vague and fluctuating terms would never hold up legally; thus, there’s no compelling reason to believe a hypothetical social contract would be any different.
