Philosophy: A Very Short Introduction

contracts its members may make with each other, and scarcely anything more. But except for the very few who jump off the bottom end of this scale (‘States have no legitimate authority at all’), everyone faces the question how a State’s authority over individuals arises.
An answer with a long history—we have already seen a version of it in Crito—is that it arises out of some kind of contract or agreement between individuals and the State of which they are citizens. It is a very natural answer. A person might agree to accept the authority of another (in a certain area of activity) because he saw substantial benefit (for himself) in doing so, and in return for that benefit. Most would accept that such an arrangement legitimates the other’s authority over him as far as their agreement reaches, provided that agreement was voluntary. Though natural, it is not the only answer worth considering. Another would be that the stronger has natural authority over the weaker, and this authority is legitimate so long as it is used for the weaker’s benefit. That might be a good way to think of parents’ authority over their infant children, for instance. But if we allow the weaker to be the judges of whether they are benefiting or not, then we are very close to saying that the power is legitimate only so long as they accept it. Whereupon we are back in the neighbourhood of a ‘tacit consent’ theory, like the one that the Laws and State of Athens appealed to against Socrates (p. 20 above). Unless we allow that superior force makes authority legitimate (‘might is right’), or that God has granted authority to certain persons or institutions (the ‘divine right of kings’), it isn’t easy to avoid the contract theory in some form or other.
There are several forms of it because of the wide variety of answers to the question ‘Who makes what contract with whom?’ Since we were speaking of every individual’s obligation to the State we might suppose that everyone must individually be a party to the contract (that would appear to be the drift of Socrates’ approach in Crito); but some theorists write as if it were enough that one’s ancestors, or the founders of one’s society, should have been party to it. And regardless of that question, is the contract made with the whole of society (so that you contract to go along with the decisions of the whole body, of which you are yourself a member)? Or with some distinct sovereign person or persons to whom you then owe allegiance? You can see that the resulting difference in the constitution may be enormous: anywhere from social democracy to absolute monarchy.
And what is the contract? In what circumstances can the individual properly regard the contract as having lapsed? The famous contract theory of Thomas Hobbes (1588–1679), which we shall return to in Chapter 9, has it that the sole benefit that the contracting individual can rightfully demand is the preservation of their life: the sovereign puts up a stop to the murderous, thieving lawlessness of the pre-contractual situation, and organizes defence against attack from without. If that fails, all bets are off; otherwise, complete obedience.
Epicurus had something pertinent to say: ‘He who knew best how to meet the fear of external foes made into one family all the creatures he could.’ Even Hobbes granted families a certain natural exemption from the war of all against all. In troubled times families are the groups most likely to hold together, and are the best model for cooperation and allegiance. (Some readers may find that idea out of date—but perhaps that is so because, and in places where, times are easier.) In Plato’s prescription for an ideal State (The Republic) he in effect abolishes the family—no doubt he had seen much family-centred intrigue and corruption. A plurality of cohesive units within it must be dangerous to the power of the State and its capacity to preserve peace. If there is to be a family it is best that there should only be one—as Epicurus’ remark implies—and that the State (recall Crito 50eff.) be thought of as everyone’s parent.Evidence and rationality
Rationality is what you’ve got if you have some capacity to reason: to work out, given certain truths, what else is likely to be true if they are; perhaps also (though you need rather more rationality for this) how likely. It is the quality of mind Hume was talking about when he said, in Of Miracles, that a wise man proportions his belief to the evidence.
Forming the right beliefs, with the appropriate degree of confidence, isn’t the only manifestation of rationality however. A familiar situation is that in which you want to know whether a certain thing is true or not (‘Was it the butler who did it?’ ‘Have we any bread in the house?’), and here your rationality will show at least as much in what evidence you seek out, as in what you believe once you have got it. As well as powers of investigation, we also have a capacity for rational choice: given certain desires, to choose a course of action likely to lead to their fulfilment. And our reason is sometimes, though controversially, assigned a further function: not just to tell us what we ought to do, given that we have certain goals, but in addition to tell us what goals we ought to have. There is an influential heavyweight on either side of this tricky question, with Kant affirming that reason does have such a power, Hume denying it. (To my mind Hume and his followers have slightly the better of it, though battle continues.) But here we stick with the issue of belief and evidence.
9. Beyond the family, anything goes. Hobbes’s state of nature?
Why should we be interested in having evidence, or being able to offer reasons, for our beliefs? Because it makes it more likely that they will be true; and it makes us