It’s becoming increasingly obvious that our governments can justify almost any intrusion into our lives once the public accepts that it’s necessary to prevent harm. Once that premise is granted, the debate becomes much easier for those seeking greater power. All they need to do is identify a supposed “harm,” promise to address it with new policy, and then characterise all opposition as indifference towards those harmed.
It’s now become the standard approach when seeking to put forward unpopular legislation. Highlight the problem. Emphasise the hurt. Present your particular policy not only as the best response, but the only response any decent person could support. Then portray criticism as dangerous opposition from those who wish to prolong the problem for selfish reasons.
In a better world, a government that merely proposes a solution would still be expected to put forward an argument. It has to explain why its policy will work, why other approaches will not, and why the powers it seeks are entirely justified.
Today, however, the politician knows that if they can convince the public that supporting the policy is a test of compassion, those questions can be immediately dismissed without being answered. In fact, even raising such questions is problematic.
Opponents are selfish. They’re heartless. They don’t care about the vulnerable. And who in their right mind is going to defend being selfish, heartless, and cruel?
Of course, that is not what the opponent is defending. He may recognise the problem perfectly well while rejecting the proposed response. He may think the policy will do more damage than good, or that it gives the state authority it should never possess. But these distinctions become difficult to explain once the public has accepted that there are only two positions available: support the government’s policy or support the harm.
It’s low-bar politics, but the unfortunate thing is, it works.
It works because people can be persuaded to accept the moral pronouncements without properly examining the arguments. Tell them a particular position is unkind, unloving, or unfair, and they’ll lean towards whatever those in authority have told them is the opposite of those things. Not a whole lot of manipulation is required when the labels themselves are enough to settle any and all questions.
But framing a policy as the compassionate response tells us nothing about whether it is just or good. Neither does pointing to a genuine problem establish that the government’s preferred solution is necessary.
Even the word “harm” requires a moral judgment. A truthful accusation may damage a person’s reputation. A just punishment may cause considerable distress. A parent may upset a child by refusing to give him something he wants. In each case, the unpleasant consequence alone cannot tell us whether a wrong has been committed. We have to consider what the person deserves, what is actually good for him, and what duties others owe him.
This is why an appeal to harm cannot and should not replace a sound, moral argument. It already assumes one.
The fact is, the state does not acquire the right to define good and evil simply because it has the power to enforce its own definitions. Might does not make right. In Romans 13, the ruler is described as God’s servant for good, charged with punishing wrongdoing. His office is therefore accountable to a standard above his own preferences.
Nor does the existence of a wrong automatically make it the government’s responsibility to correct. This is something Australians find particularly hard to swallow. “More government” is not the answer to every problem in life. Families and churches have duties of their own. Unless we properly distinguish those responsibilities, the promise to prevent harm can become a claim to govern everything. It’s why we have governments intruding into every sphere, dictating what our children must eat, watch, and believe.
There’s also a rather obvious problem with allowing the government to decide how much freedom we must surrender for our own protection. The power being expanded is its own. So, we should hardly treat its own assessment as beyond question, particularly when the proposed protection comes at the expense of those rights it’s supposed to uphold.
A government may have a sound case for a particular measure. If so, let it make that case. Let it explain why the policy is necessary, why its powers are legitimate, and why the consequences are justified.
What it can’t reasonably demand is that we accept its every policy as an act of compassion and then treat every objection or criticism as evidence of cruelty or apathy. Concern for people who suffer does not oblige us to accept whatever “solutions” politicians propose in their name.
In a fallen world, wherever there is power to be gained, someone can find a pretext for taking it.