“REPRESENTATIVE DEMOCRACY”

A SEMANTIC FALLACY

“When I use a word,” Humpty Dumpty said, in rather a scornful tone, “it means just
what I choose it to mean—neither more nor less.” “The question is,” said Alice,
“whether you can make words mean so many different things.” “The question is,”
said Humpty Dumpty, “which is to be master—that’s all.”

A recent YouGov survey in Britain1 asked 100 Members of Parliament and 1684 adults to
choose between the following:

“Are MPs elected to exercise their own judgement or do their constituents’ bidding?
Which of the following comes closer to you view on the role of an MP? They are
elected to act according to:

• their own judgement even when this goes against the wishes of their
constituents; or

• the wishes of their constituents even when this goes against their own
judgement.”

Whilst the constituents responded 63 to 7 that MPs should act according to the wishes of their
constituents, the MPs themselves split 80 to 13 in favour of exercising their own judgement
even when this goes against the wishes of their constituents.

It would seem that in this regard at least, the “representatives” are not representative of those
they purport to represent.

In this paper we consider the meaning of the term “representative democracy” and whether it
is a semantic fallacy.

This type of fallacy arises when a word which has a well-known meaning in one context
(often a meaning with a strong emotional value) is used in another context in which that
meaning either does not apply or cannot apply, or can be applied only by introducing a new –
and sui generis – definition which makes any claim based on it tautologically true.

Such fallacies are powerful tools of rhetoric. To associate a regime with comforting words
like “representative” and “democratic” helps to confer legitimacy on a system which may be
anything but representative or democratic.

1
https://yougov.co.uk/topics/politics/articles-reports/2019/08/13/are-mps-elected-exercise-their-own-
judgement-or-do

1
Democracy historically

We may begin by noting that the common use of the word “democracy” to refer to elective
government is quite modern, dating back only to 1798. Prior to that, the term “democracy”
was used – at least in elite circles - in a pejorative sense to depict anarchy and chaos. We can
see this usage in various speeches from the United States Constitutional Convention of 1787
and the ensuing ratification debates:

All communities divide themselves into the few and the many. The first are the rich
and the well-born; the other the mass of the people ... turbulent and changing, they
seldom judge or determine right. Give therefore to the first class a distinct,
permanent share in the Government ... Nothing but a permanent body can check the
imprudence of democracy. (Alexander Hamilton, Speech to the Constitutional
Convention, June 1787)

Between a balanced republic and a democracy, the difference is like that between
order and chaos. (John Marshall)

...democracies have ever been spectacles of turbulence and contention; have ever
been found incompatible with personal security or the rights of property; and have in
general been as short in their lives as they have been violent in their deaths. (James
Madison, Federalist No. 10)

Whatever we might think of democracy, it is clear that Hamilton, Madison and their
colleagues conceived of it as something to be avoided at all costs.

An important change in usage occurs in the 1790s, paradoxically as a result of Hamilton and
his Federalist Party attempting to smear the “Republican Party” of Jefferson and Madison.
By way of background, it should be noted that this was not the modern Republican Party but
an earlier Republican Party which confusingly evolved into the modern Democrats.

The Republicans contended that the Federalists harboured aristocratic attitudes and
that their policies placed too much power in the central government and tended to
benefit the affluent at the expense of the common man. Although the Federalists soon
branded Jefferson’s followers “Democratic-Republicans,” attempting to link them
with the excesses of the French Revolution, the Republicans officially adopted the
derisive label in 1798.2

So, ten years after ratification of a deliberately non-democratic constitution (in the historical
sense), we see a political party appropriating the title “Democratic” safe in the knowledge
that there was no real threat of actual historical democracy.

This trick was not lost on politicians elsewhere. In the ensuing two centuries “democratic”
has been used to describe almost every form of regime. The “German Democratic Republic”
(the former East Germany) was in fact a police state. Likewise, to this day the brutal North
Korean dictatorship chooses to style itself “The Democratic People’s Republic of Korea”.

But just because a regime chooses to call itself “democratic”, does that mean it is Democratic
in a meaningful sense of the word?
2
Encyclopaedia Britannica, online edition, “Democratic-Republican Party”, retrieved 9-10-2019.

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With the passage of time lexicographers may succumb to the common usage promoted by the
regime and insert a new entry into their dictionaries. But just as a government coining new
money to suit its convenience debases the value of existing currency, so a regime coining
new meanings to legitimise its rule debases the value of existing language.

What about “representative” democracy?

One of the most common strategies for changing the meaning of the word “democracy” is to
prefix it with the word “representative” and then use it to describe elective government.

But what exactly does “representative” mean? And in what sense is elective government
representative?

Let’s consider the various non-political meanings of “representative”.

First, there is statistical representativeness.

Statistical representativeness occurs when a sample is drawn from a population and the
sample is required to have the same proportions as that population for some parameters which
are regarded as important. For example, it may be thought important to have the same
proportions by age, or by sex, or by religion, or by income, or by weight, or by ethnic origin,
or educational qualifications, or by the presence of some gene, or by place or residence, or by
number of children, and so on, and so on.

If there is an indefinite number of factors for which the sample needs to be statistically
representative then the sample will need to be as large as the population. When applied to
elective government this would mean a legislature comprising all voters, or a form of direct
democracy.

More practically, if one wanted to approximate statistical representation on an indefinite

number of factors it would be better to choose “representatives” randomly, a form of
government known as “sortition”. The likelihood of each factor being chosen would be
proportional to its prevalence in the population.

Elected politicians are clearly not statistically representative of the population a whole. For a
start, they are all politicians! The very process of competitive election makes them
unrepresentative of the population as a whole, a process of “adverse selection” described by
Economics Nobel laureate James Buchanan3:

[S]uppose that a monopoly right is to be auctioned; whom will we predict to be the

highest bidder? Surely we can presume that the person who intends to exploit the
monopoly power most fully, the one for whom the expected profit is highest, will be
among the highest bidders for the franchise. In the same way, positions of political
power will tend to attract those persons who place higher values on the possession of
such power. These persons will tend to be the highest bidders in the allocation of
political offices. . . . Is there any presumption that political rent seeking will
ultimately allocate offices to the ‘best’ persons? Is there not the overwhelming
presumption that offices will be secured by those who value power most highly and
3
James Buchanan and Geoffrey Brennan, “The Reason of Rules”, Cambridge University Press, 1985, p64

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 who seek to use such power of discretion in the furtherance of their personal projects,
be these moral or otherwise? Genuine public-interest motivations may exist and may
even be widespread, but are these motivations sufficiently passionate to stimulate
people to fight for political office, to compete with those whose passions include the
desire to wield power over others?

The tendency of elective government is to adversely select narcissistic, machiavellian

individuals with a strong desire for exercising power over others.

This is seen directly in the YouGov survey. Adverse selection has drawn from the population
a tiny set of individuals whose views on the nature of government are diametrically at odds
with those they purport to represent. It has drawn from the population a tiny set of
individuals who believe that their own opinions should prevail no matter what their
constituents might prefer.

Elected politicians are statistically unrepresentative in all sorts of other ways as well. They
tend, for example, to be more gregarious and extroverted than the general population. Again,
this may be attributed to adverse selection. Shy, thoughtful introverts tend to avoid
addressing large crowds and may feel uncomfortable using glib slogans to win people over.

Such behaviours are more likely to occur in “communal narcissists”4 whose overwhelming
need for public acclamation overrides any scruples they might have about honesty and
accuracy or the ultimate welfare of those with whom they engage. The next time you
encounter a politician droning on about “simply wanting the opportunity to serve” try asking
if he or she would be prepared to undertake an Implicit Association Test.

This is not to suggest that every candidate for office is a closet Hitler or Stalin. But it does
suggest that politicians are not statistically representative of the population as a whole, and
the further up the political tree they climb the less representative they are likely to be. Like
Alexander Hamilton they are more likely to imagine themselves possessing a Monopoly on
Wisdom and Virtue.

Moving on statistical representation, “representation” may also take the meaning of

individual agency. For example, a barrister “represents” his or her client in court the
following sense: we expect that the barrister will put forward the same arguments that the
client would, assuming that the client had sufficient legal skill and was sufficiently articulate.
The barrister acts as if her or she were the client.

But that form of “representation” cannot possibly apply in politics. Why? Because in politics
there is more than one client, and the wishes of the clients clearly conflict. Which “client” is
the political “representative” going to represent?

The absurdity of political representation of this type is vividly illustrated by imagining

yourself arriving at court one morning to find that your barrister was “representing” not only
you but your opponent also, and the state, and anyone else who might claim an interest in
your case.

4
For more on communal narcissism, see: Arash Emamzadeh “The Communal Narcissist: A New Kind of
Narcissist?”, Psychology Today Blog, 6 December 2018, and Fatfouta and Schroder-Abe, “A wolf in sheep’s
clothing? Communal narcissism and positive implicit self-views in the communal domain”, Journal of Research
in Personality, Volume 76, October 2018.

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In such cases, the agent is not acting as a representative but as an arbiter.

Thirdly, there is the concept of “representation” as delegation. An individual or a group may

appoint an agent to act on their behalf. The members of the group may even have differing
wishes. Typically, however, they set out the terms of the agency agreement and limit the
authority of the agent. They may give the agent certain latitude to act alone but require other
matters to be referred back to the group for direct decision. They may reserve the right to
veto certain actions of the agent. They may move to recall the agent if they feel that he or she
is failing to act in the interests of the group.

Once again – in Australia as in most other countries – that meaning of “representation”

cannot apply because the People have never been asked whether they wish the politicians to
act on their behalf. They have never been given a choice between direct democracy and
elective government.

In Australia and in most other countries the People have simply been told that the politicians
will enjoy a monopoly on legislative and executive power, and asked which team of
politicians they would prefer to exercise that monopoly.

Had Australians ever been given an opportunity to choose between direct democracy and
elective government, then one reasonably argue that those who chose elective government
had chosen to be “represented”, had chosen to delegate their decision-making to agents
unconditionally. But politicians have always been very careful never to offer that choice. And
even if they had offered it sometime in the distant past, it would apply only to those who
voted on it at the time and not to their descendants today.

This brings us to the issue of “implied delegation”: the claim that people have “consented” to
a unconditional delegation implicitly by not changing the system. It may be shown that
implied consent is itself a form of semantic fallacy, but the demonstration requires a
painstaking consideration of all the steps involved in the process of change.

The Fallacy of Implied Consent

The Fallacy of Implied Consent is a claim that the People have implicitly consented to
delegate authority by failing to take those actions which would implement genuine
democracy. Such actions might be to create and to vote for parties which proposed genuine
democracy. This has happened at times in history – for example during the Progressive Era
in the United States – so it is clearly not impossible.

However, to use the word “consent” to describe acquiescence is itself a semantic fallacy.
People have “consented” only if we accept a sui generis definition of “consent” meaning the
failure to overcome almost insurmountable obstacles.

In the same way, one might be said to “consent” to imprisonment – or even capital
punishment – by failing to escape from custody. Escapes have been known to occur,
sometimes against the most extraordinary odds. So it’s clearly not impossible to escape.

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But does that mean everyone sitting in prison “consents” to their incarceration? Does it mean
that everyone led to the scaffold is actually committing suicide? “If you’d really wanted to
save your life you would have escaped.”

The obstacles which make nonsense of the word “consent” in this context arise from five
sources:

i) the Mandate Fallacy;

ii) Prisoners’ Dilemma;

iii) the manner of holding elections;

iv) Schelling Focal Points; and

v) adverse selection.

The first obstacle is the Mandate Fallacy, the illogical claim that voters’ individual
preferences can be inferred from a vote for a single candidate or party. This may be
illustrated with the following simple example in which there are only two parties:

• Party A proposes Policy X and Policy Y;

• Party B proposes Policy not-X and Policy not-Y; and

• a voter prefers Policy X and Policy not-Y.

It is clearly impossible for this voter to cast a vote which reflects his or her preferences.
Conversely, it is impossible to infer the voter’s preferences simply from the votes cast for
candidates or parties.

In the present context the policy of interest is the policy of introducing democracy. It may be
readily observed that in most jurisdictions all the major parties steadfastly refuse to offer this
policy. There is a cartel in political agency which operates to preserve the cartel itself.

The issue then arises whether it is feasible to establish a competitor. Is it feasible to establish
a viable party which would offer democracy.

This leads to the second obstacle: the barrier to formation of political parties committed to
democracy. This is a Prisoners’ Dilemma.

Even if a large number of voters (perhaps even a majority of voters) desired the formation of
such a party, each would rationally conclude:

i) the formation of such a party would be worthwhile only if were of sufficient size and
strength to overthrow the entrenched parties which are strongly committed to
preventing democracy. That is an enormous undertaking requiring the commitment of
significant resources and a large number of people;

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ii) if I were to commit my time and resources to such a venture, and if insufficient other
people did likewise, then I would have wasted my time and money, so my optimal
strategy would be to do nothing;

iii) but if sufficient other people did undertake the formation of a large enough party, then
my individual contribution to such a huge undertaking would be both negligible and
unnecessary, so my optimal strategy would still be to do nothing; and

iv) given that other rational players may be expected to arrive at conclusions (i) to (iii) –
and therefore do nothing – my dominant strategy is therefore to do nothing.

Whatever the strategies assumed to be adopted by other players, the preferred strategy for
each individual player – the dominant strategy – is to do nothing, even though it leads to a
suboptimal outcome. This is the famous Prisoners’ Dilemma.

If these were prisoners in a physical prison, it would be like trying to organise an escape
which required a majority of the inmates to cooperate and not to free-ride by allowing others
to take on the risk and effort of tunnelling. In close-knit communities – POW camps for
example – such cooperation has been shown to be possible. Free-riders are known to their
camp mates and they may be made to suffer the consequences of not cooperating. In a much
larger society it becomes all but impossible to identify and sanction free-riders.

Prisoners’ Dilemma is not a hurdle for established parties which are able to make credible
offers of future reward for those who help them, or credible threats of future punishment for
those who oppose them. Businesses, for example, may rationally donate money to a party –
even a party which is currently in opposition – if it can credibly promise to deliver on
rewards or punishments sometime in the future from a position of government.

The threat or promise might not be explicit. Indeed, it rarely is. But influential groups who
understand the power of government will make sure to keep the establishment politicians on-
side, even if they are currently in opposition.

Established parties can offer a plausible prospect of pre-selection – and then possible election
– for those loyal party members who give years of faithful service manning polling stations
on election day and organising mail drops.

None of this is true of minor parties. Unless and until they have a credible prospect of
exercising power – and of fulfilling promises of future reward or threats of future punishment
– they cannot attract the same special interest group support as major parties opposed to
democracy, nor can they offer their supporters the prospect of personal advancement.

Nevertheless, despite this hurdle it may be observed that many parties – albeit small parties –
are actually formed, established by those whose passionate commitment (or irrationality) is
sufficient to make them spend time and resources on what may be a futile undertaking.

The next stage is to communicate the party’s existence to potential voters. This presents two
further hurdles:

• the manner in which elections are held; and

7
• the way in which media and political parties interact.

Political elections are characterised by:

• (except in the unusual circumstances of a by-election) simultaneous elections for all

positions in the Legislature; and

• in many cases, the simultaneous election of Legislative and Executive positions5.

Although usually taken for granted as the “normal” system of elections, this mechanism is
neither necessary nor ubiquitous. Corporate practice, for example, typically sees company
directors retire in rotation. Only one or two face re-election at each meeting and the electors
can focus on them individually6.

The effect of simultaneous elections is to congest communications channels between

candidates and potentials voters, as all communication is squeezed into the short period of the
election campaign and all candidates are seeking to use the same media channels.

This leads to the next hurdle, at which almost all small parties fall: the Schelling Focal Point7.

The Schelling Focal Point refers to a situation in which players in a game seek to coordinate
their actions (perhaps even unwittingly) in the absence of communication. The classic
example used by Schelling concerned two people who know they must somehow meet in
New York City on a certain day but are not able to communicate where or when. Each player
must try to anticipate the time and place that the other player would anticipate that they
themselves would choose.

The most commonly proposed solution was to meet at Grand Central Station at noon8. Grand
Central Station at noon is not necessarily the best time and place for people to meet. A quiet
coffee shop or bar might be more pleasant. But Grand Central Station at noon was the most
likely time and place that each person would expect the other person to expect the first person
to think of.

The Schelling Focal Point becomes relevant to the political process when reporters are
seeking to focus their limited resources on reporting “newsworthy” events in the context of
an election campaign. But which events are “newsworthy”? In the absence of other
outstanding factors, events become newsworthy if reporters in general consider them to be
newsworthy. Each reporter is thus confronted with a Schelling problem of trying to guess
what other reporters would guess that other reporters would imagine to be newsworthy.

In the political arena, established political parties are the overwhelming focal point solution.
In any general election, all but the tiniest fraction of media coverage concerns the established
parties. This in turn allows the established parties to “control the narrative”: to determine the

5
The Westminster system always combines the two. Systems with elected executive presidents may hold the
elections on the same day or on different days.
6
And, of course, in a democratic country like Switzerland the voters go to the polls up to four times a year to
vote not just on specific candidates but on specific issues.
7
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Focal_point_(game_theory)
8
Grand Central Station’s salience may have declined since this example was used in the 1960s. Modern players
might be more likely to go to Liberty Park but this does not alter the essence of the game.

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election issues which will be regarded as important, to prevent discussion of issues they want
to avoid9, and to make it all but impossible for minor parties to get any coverage at all.

For voters confronted with an election involving a multiplicity of issues which need to
assessed simultaneously in the context of congested information channels, mainstream media
provide a perfectly rational informational social influence10, but it is one which inevitably
favours established parties.

This effect is intensified by smaller parties’ lack of members and financial resources to
employ the sorts of direct marketing campaigns used by major parties.

For most small parties, voters are not even aware of their existence – let alone what they
stand for – until they see their name briefly on the ballot paper seconds before marking it.

There is one way for a minor party to circumvent the Schelling problem and the consequent
media bias that favours established parties. But it comes with such high costs that it usually
ends up being self-defeating.

With the exception of “high profile” candidates – who often gravitate to established parties to
maximise their chances of success – virtually the only way for an independent candidate or
minor party to circumvent the Schelling Focal Point is engage in such outrageous behaviour
that the media’s attention is briefly diverted onto them.

This helps to explain why smaller parties often behave in this way. Examples in Australia
include politicians like Pauline Hanson, Fraser Anning, or even Bob Katter. In the United
Kingdom, Nicholas Farage courted controversy to maintain the focus of attention. If they’re
to get any attention at all, they need to keep pulling “stunts”. They need to take extreme
positions.

However, there is an invidious trade-off. Because elective government involves handing a

monopoly on power to the winner, many voters are not prepared to support such outrageous
candidates, even though they might agree with some of their individual policies.

This was demonstrated vividly in the Brexit plebiscite. While most commentators fell over
themselves to point out the narrowness of the majority in the Brexit referendum, what they all
failed to notice was a far more important result: that 87% of people had voted against UKIP
at the preceding general election. And that was UKIP’s best result ever. Whilst apparently
agreeing with UKIP’s signature policy, the vast majority of voters were not prepared to see
UKIP given access to the reins of power.

Prisoners’ Dilemma, the manner of holding elections, and Schelling Focal Points destroy the
prospects of almost all single-issue parties. For pro-democracy parties, however, there is yet
another hurdle to overcome: adverse selection.

Despite all the barriers put in their way, minor parties do sometimes manage to grow and gain
a foothold in the political system. In the United Kingdom, the Labour Party managed to

9
Again, the difference with democracy may be noted. Once an issue is on the ballot it will be voted on,
however much established parties might wish to suppress discussion of the topic.
10
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Social_influence

9
supplant the Liberals as the main party of opposition to the Tories. In Australia, the
Australian Labor Party eventually managed to become one of the two major parties.

Even in a two-party system, there is often a significant third party, such as the Liberal
Democrats in the United Kingdom, or the Greens in Australia.

However, by the time parties have been around for long enough to get this close to exercising
real power, they have also been around long to be taken over by adversely selected
narcissistic agents concerned more with exercising that power than with any thoughts of
democratisation.

Again, this was vividly illustrated in the United Kingdom following the 2010 election when a
once-in-a-generation opportunity gave the Liberal Democrats the balance of power in the
House of Commons. The party had campaigned for decades to reform the first-past-the-post
voting system and introduce proportional representation. But when the opportunity finally
presented itself, party leader Nick Clegg threw it all away in return for the prospect of being
deputy Prime Minister for five years. He conceded to a referendum on single transferable
voting (“preferential voting”) which was roundly defeated as it offered little change from the
existing system.

Likewise in Australia, the Australian Labor Party in 1924 included in its General Platform a
“right of recall”, interpreted to be a form of citizens’ initiated veto of legislation11. However,
the party’s elected (and adversely selected) politicians did nothing to implement their own
policy. In 1963, having enjoyed the exercise of political power both federally and in various
States, the party quietly removed its commitment to democracy.

In summary, to argue that the People have implicitly “consented” to elective government is to
ignore the successive hurdles imposed by Prisoners’ Dilemma, congested communications
channels, Schelling Focal Points and adverse selection.

This is “consent” only if we agree to introduce a separate sui generis meaning of the word
which makes the claim tautologically true.

Before leaving implied consent, it is worth drawing attention to the irony implicit in its use.

If “representative” government is based on the assumption of consent, then why rely on the
tendentious claim of implied consent? Why not simply settle the matter by seeking explicit
consent? Why not ask the population – in a referendum – if they prefer the current system of
“representative” government over all other possibilities12? One might expect that those who
genuinely believe in the existence of consent would be those most eager to put it to the test so
as to have their belief publicly validated.

11
Anne Twomey, The Recall and Citizens’ Initiated Recall Elections Options for New South Wales, University
of Sydney, 4 September 2011, page 10. A proposal for recall of Members of Parliament was defeated in 1943.
12
To test against all other possibilities, the required question would need to be of the form: “Do you support a
revision of the constitution, with the details of revision to be determined by a subsequent series of initiatives and
referendums?” If there was consent for the current system over all other possibilities one would expect a
resounding No in that first question or No votes in response to all subsequent proposed changes. See the
discussion of non-privileging aggregation here: https://www.scribd.com/document/413830971/The-
Democratic-Eigensolution.

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And yet we find the exact opposite. Those most insistent that consent actually exists are also
those most insistent on never testing the consent they purport to believe in so wholeheartedly.

There is a legend that when Galileo appeared before the Inquisition – charged with heresy for
claiming that there were moons orbiting Jupiter – he begged his inquisitors to look through
the telescope so they would see the moons for themselves. One of the cardinals is said to
have replied: “I have no need to look through your device because I know that there are no
moons to be seen.” The advocates of implied consent seem to adopt a similar approach to
knowledge: they have no need to hold a referendum because they know that the People
consent.

Conclusions

So where does that leave us?

The analysis of implied consent destroys the case for implied delegation.

There has been no actual delegation.

There is no logical possibility of individual representation when the individuals being

“represented” hold conflicting preferences.

There is no statistical representation.

We can say that elective government is “representative” only if we introduce yet another
definition (a sui generis definition) of “representative”: “the thing that elective government
is”.

But sui generis definitions of this type are tautological: “elective government is
‘representative’ because ‘representative’ has been defined to mean elective government”. We
could just as easily say that elective government is “yellow” or “smooth” or “hot” or “wise”
or “holy” or “good” by inserting the appropriate sui generis definitions into the dictionary.

And the word “democracy” itself has been debased by the introduction of a similar sui
generis definition.

Representative Democracy is nothing but a Semantic Fallacy.

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