A recent debate between Dave Smith and YouTuber “Liquid Zulu” highlighted a deep misunderstanding of libertarian theory related to the nature and scope of the philosophy, and its axiom, the Non-Agression Principle. Liquid Zulu argued for an uncompromising position — that it is always immoral to violate the NAP, without exception. This rigidity was tested with hypotheticals. In one, an alien race threatens to destroy Earth unless someone steals a single penny. In another, a man could save his dying mother only by stealing his neighbor’s ladder. In both cases, Zulu maintained that he would not violate the NAP.
Dave Smith’s response was straightforward and intuitive: if a theory leads you to such absurd conclusions, then you need to restart the theory. Libertarianism is not and has never been a unified “theory of everything,” Smith argued.
Libertarian thinkers from Rothbard to Kinsella have understood the need for private courts, juries, decentralized decision-making, and the organic development of legal doctrines because the world is complicated and full of edge cases.
At one point, Zulu pressed Smith by asking whether libertarianism is contradictory because it is not “unified” in his view. Smith replied simply: life is complicated. Well put!
However, another way to explain the lack of unified structure in libertarian thought is to point out that it is not contradictory, but rather, just incomplete. Properly understood, libertarianism is a “thin” philosophy: it deals only with the justified use of force, not with the full range of moral, cultural, or religious questions that guide human life.
Indeed, its incompleteness is a feature, not a defect. Libertarianism is simply a legal theory about property rights and the legitimate use of force, not a comprehensive moral system. It very adequately answers one question: When is the use of force impermissible? It does not claim to supply answers to every ethical or societal question; it’s a legal and political philosophy, not an all-encompassing theology. This differs from supposedly unified theories, like objectivism, which posit inextricable theories of politics and religion that must be shared in order for one to be an objectivist.
Generally, libertarians share a belief in the NAP and property rights, but beyond these, libertarians diverge. They differ on theories of punishment, justice, and social ethics. This is why Bob Murphy, a Christian pacifist, and Murray Rothbard, a retributivist, can both stand fully within the libertarian tradition. Murphy believes that, while initiating force is immoral, even retaliatory force should and will be eliminated through peaceful market forces. Rothbard, by contrast, believes that proportional punishment is morally justified and necessary. Yet, both are libertarians. They share a common political ethic but bring it to different conclusions. One could even argue that, to the extent Ayn Rand believed in the NAP and property rights, she was a libertarian, but everything else she demanded of objectivists is beyond the scope of political theory alone.
Many libertarians are subject to the same flaw as the objectivists, highlighting the problem of “thick” libertarians—those who try to pack additional moral or cultural commitments into libertarianism itself. For example, there has developed an archetypal libertarian with socially liberal values who places values like “tolerance” above most other moral and ethical principles. A caricature emerges where it appears that the only moral consideration they have is violations of the NAP, calling on all libertarians to tolerate every single behavior that does not violate the NAP. So, drug abuse should be tolerated, etc. The phrase “libertarianism is not libertinism” comes to mind. One could just as easily say that libertarianism is about the just application of intolerance.
I have argued that libertarianism should not be construed as a “do what thou wilt” philosophy a la Aleister Crowley. That is not libertarianism, since it brings in something else. Instead, libertarianism is simply a belief that people should not initiate force against each other. Full stop.
In other words, libertarianism is not a philosophy of tolerance toward all non-violent behavior. Rather, it is a philosophy of intolerance toward unjust violence. As to what extent things should not be tolerated, Rothbardian libertarianism says that only those things that are mutually intolerable and aggressively violent can properly be met with violence. Every other intolerable thing should be resisted by other means.
Neither should libertarianism be construed as a philosophy opposed to all authority. An opposition to all authority is borrowed from some other framework—it brings in more values. Instead, libertarianism is opposed to all illegitimate authority achieved through the initiation of force. Therefore, it is entirely consistent for a libertarian to submit to, seek, or respect authority on a voluntary basis.
Libertarianism is not an egalitarian philosophy that opposes all social values, all structures, all hierarchies, all authority, or all religions. Again, that is borrowed from elsewhere. Each of those worldviews may very well be wrong, but libertarianism does not inform that question — it just says you can’t be forced or coerced into any of those worldviews. Properly understood, it is simply a legal theory that seeks to abolish aggression from society.
And this is the heart of the matter: libertarianism is a political ethic, not a total ethic. It restricts the permissible use of force, but it does not dictate the entire moral universe in which people live. That universe can be filled in by and made consistent with Christianity, Judaism, atheism, Aristotelian virtue ethics, family tradition, or whatever worldview an individual or community holds, so long as it is not directly opposed to the fundamental libertarian ethic.
Consider Jacob Winograd, a Christian libertarian and the host of the debate between Dave and Zulu. Jacob believes in the Ten Commandments — thou shalt not murder, steal, commit adultery, covet, etc. — and also in sins of the heart: that looking upon a woman with lust is morally akin to adultery, or hating a brother is akin to murder. This worldview may lead him to conclude that stealing a ladder to save one’s mother is far less morally grave than committing adultery. In fact, one who steals to save a loved one may be a hero, while one who cheats on a spouse may be a degenerate. From the Christian perspective, that behavior is to be forgiven but strongly discouraged in society.
None of these moral evaluations contradict libertarianism unless you expand the definition of libertarianism to mean something it’s not. They simply exist alongside it. Libertarianism leaves much of the moral space open, allowing cultural, religious, and social norms to enforce themselves through voluntary means, like church discipline, boycotts, ostracism, relationship networks, and other forms of nonviolent social pressure.
And crucially, this incompleteness explains why libertarians often value decentralization. Because libertarianism is incomplete, it must rely on private courts, local norms, contractual arrangements, and “polycentric” or “anarchic” legal orders to fill in the rest. It is the reason we do not generally advocate for philosopher-kings who hand down universal punishments for every NAP violation everywhere. Instead, libertarianism allows different communities to adopt different standards that best meet their needs and preferences.
A Murphy-style pacifist society might forbid all violence, not merely the initiation of force, and enforce this through contracts, reputation mechanisms, or insurance structures. A Rothbardian community might adopt proportional punishment and retributivism, as argued for in Ethics of Liberty. A Christian community might require adherence to Christian moral codes as a condition of residency.
This is entirely consistent with the NAP. Again, libertarianism does not reject authority, just violently imposing it.
Imagine property covenants that run with the land. To live on this land or in this community, you agree that if you commit X act, Y will be the penalty. Further, libertarian arbitrators or private courts may develop doctrines of private necessity that allow stealing a ladder to save a life; another system may simply demand that the ladder is returned and any repairs be made; and yet another arrangement may impose a predictable fee for ladder theft—say $100 every time—to ensure stability and clarity (and as Austrian economics and subjective value theory would suggest, a person might rationally prefer paying the cost of the $100 penalty to losing their mother). This is perfectly consistent with libertarianism.
Libertarianism does not require treating all NAP violations identically, and in fact, it cannot, because the NAP itself is merely a boundary line, not a full legal code. It’s like how two different sports leagues can agree on what constitutes a foul, but disagree on the penalty.
Libertarian theorists have always emphasized that doctrine must evolve locally, through common-law-like processes, competitive legal systems, and decentralized experimentation.
That is why libertarianism is beautiful. Its incompleteness is not a flaw — it is the very mechanism that allows it to harmonize with different ethical, religious, and social worldviews. It does not dictate moral uniformity; it provides the legal framework within which moral and cultural diversity can coexist, and compete, peacefully.
In short, libertarianism is not a unified theory of everything. It is a limited but powerful theory of legitimate force. The lack of a unified structure does not make it contradictory, it simply makes it internally consistent and capable of being made consistent with other theories. And precisely because it is incomplete, it gives individuals and communities the space to freely build moral worlds around it.
