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By Ricardo F. Morín

October 10, 2025

Bala Cynwyd, Pa

Power unexamined becomes its own justification—Anonymous civic maxim.

Prologue

Governance is the moral discipline of order—the effort to keep authority aligned with conscience so that power remains a function of justice, not an instrument of self-interest.  Government enacts that discipline:   necessary, fallible, and ever in danger of mistaking permanence for legitimacy.

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1

Political history rarely unfolds as a straight line.  It accumulates as a palimpsest in which new regimes—imperial, republican, authoritarian, and democratic—write their doctrines over the residues of previous orders.   Institutions and laws rarely vanish; they survive as layers of precedent and practice that later governments reinterpret to serve new purposes.   The present political moment in the United States should be examined within that structure of accumulation.  What appears to be a radical break with constitutional tradition is, in fact, the latest rewriting of an existing template.   The mechanisms that once safeguarded the republic now expand the reach of executive power; these mechanisms reveal how continuity and rupture coexist in the same act.

2

During the first half year of the Trump administration’s return to office, the political system of the United States has entered a state of controlled dislocation.  Executive directives have overridden congressional appropriations, suspended statutory programs, and reorganized entire departments under provisional authority.   A government shutdown, declared an administrative necessity, has become a method for restructuring the State.   Mass dismissals, selective funding freezes, and the redefinition of agency mandates have become coordinated tools for concentrating authority in the executive branch.  These are not isolated disputes between branches of government.  These actions reveal a coherent strategy of reconfiguration, executed through administrative acts that appear lawful but are designed to disfigure the balance of powers from within.

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The guiding principle of this transformation is the normalization of exception.   Powers that earlier generations considered temporary—emergency measures to be used only under extreme threat—have become ordinary instruments of governance.  The invocation of the Insurrection Act, intended for rebellion or lawless obstruction, now functions as justification for domestic military deployment in states governed by political opposition.  The use of this authority is framed as a response to rising crime, even when verified data show a national decline.   In this inversion of logic, the declaration of emergency precedes its necessity.   The government generates the crisis it claims to confront and allows coercive measures to appear both inevitable and legitimate. What dissolves in this process is not only institutional restraint but the moral discipline of order—the very principle that once bound authority to conscience: i.e. the active faculty of perception through which recognition becomes responsibility and seeing acquires ethical weight.

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This redefinition of authority as authoritarianism is reinforced by judicial doctrine.   The Supreme Court’s 2024 decision in Trump v. United States established that a president enjoys absolute immunity for “core official acts” and presumptive immunity for all other actions undertaken in an official capacity.  This ruling altered the meaning of accountability.  It placed the office of the president above ordinary legal scrutiny by presuming legality wherever official duty could be claimed.   The decision inverted the constitutional order that once defined the presidency as a position constrained by law.  Under this new interpretation, legality flows from function rather than from statute.   The Court did not invent executive supremacy; it legalized its evolution.   By insulating the executive office from the consequences of its acts, the judiciary, perhaps unintentionally, became an instrument of the very transformation it was designed to prevent.

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Measured against the triad of government powers—legislative, executive, and judicial—the present equilibrium reveals a pronounced distortion.   Each branch retains its formal outline, yet its interior authority has thinned. Congress’s control of the purse has been undermined by impoundment and selective disbursement.   Administrative agencies have been hollowed out through abrupt firings and structural reorganizations.   The judiciary, bound by its own doctrines of deference and immunity, finds itself unable to intervene effectively.   What remains of institutional balance depends less on constitutional principle than on administrative inertia.  The machinery of government continues to function, but its continuity now rests on habit rather than on law.

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This condition does not yet constitute overt dictatorship.  It represents a subtler phenomenon—a system that operates through legal forms but concentrates power in practice.   Authority remains constitutional in appearance while using those same procedures to entrench unilateral control.  The pattern can be recognized not through proclamations but through measurable actions:   decrees replacing legislation, “temporary” orders renewed without expiration, funds withheld from political adversaries, and federal troops dispatched to jurisdictions where disorder has not been empirically established.   Each measure, taken alone, seems limited and justified.   Together they form an architecture of exception—an invisible framework that reorganizes power without declaring revolution. Beneath this architecture lies the decline of the moral discipline of order, where legality endures but conscience recedes.

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A forensic approach must therefore focus not on accusation but on diagnosis.  The purpose is to identify where practice diverges from principle, and where legal continuity conceals political mutation.  The question is not whether democracy has vanished, but how far the republic has drifted from its own operational norms.   This drift can be measured empirically through ordinary data:  the number of appropriations ignored or delayed, the duration and scope of emergency declarations, the ratio of confirmed officials to acting appointees, and the frequency with which presidential immunity is invoked to block review.   Each indicator marks a step away from the rule of shared power that defines constitutional democracy.

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The concept of the republic, in its classical and Enlightenment sense, presupposed a balance between power and virtue:   the rule of law safeguarded by citizens free from dependence.   In contemporary practice, that idea has been reduced to a partisan label.   The republicanism that once demanded civic responsibility now coexists with mechanisms—PAC financing (Political Action Committee: An organization that raises and spends money to elect political candidates), factional loyalty, corporate influence—that transform governance into an instrument of private interest.   Thus the very word that once signified restraint now conceals its opposite:   a system where representation serves its sponsors more faithfully than its citizens.

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History suggests that constitutional systems rarely collapse through open defiance.  They decline through adaptation.   The Roman Republic did not abolish its institutions; it gradually converted them into imperial offices.   Modern democracies follow similar paths when crisis is used to justify the consolidation of power.  Executive authority expands, legislative restraint weakens, and judicial caution hardens into complicity.  The American case fits this pattern.   The existing framework of the Constitution remains in place, yet its meaning shifts incrementally through interpretation, precedent, and administrative habit.  The transformation proceeds without formal amendment because each deviation is defended as continuity.

10

The metrics of decline are structural rather than moral.   When legality depends on will—the self-legitimating impulse of power once detached from moral accountability—and will is shielded from scrutiny, the architecture of restraint loses coherence.   Here the moral discipline of governance yields to the self-justifying logic of power.   What follows is not anarchy but organized dislocation—a condition in which institutions operate as before yet serve opposite purposes; in truth it is anarchy disguised as its own absence.   Procedures are observed; substance is inverted.   The outward appearance of democracy persists, while its inner logic is replaced by a system that governs through perpetual exception.

11

The task for observers and citizens alike is not to forecast collapse but to recognize mutation.  Political systems rarely announce their turning points; they disguise themselves as routine.  The test of civic intelligence is the capacity to detect when law becomes vocabulary, when oversight becomes performance, and when the state of exception ceases to be temporary.   The republic continues to function, but it functions under altered premises.   The preservation of legality therefore depends not only on the design of institutions but also on the vigilance of those who interpret them. Justice endures only where institutions remember that they exist to limit power, defend the vulnerable, and preserve the moral foundation from which authority derives its right to act.

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The endurance of the republic will therefore depend not on the spectacle of its elections but on the recovery of its first obligation:   to keep authority answerable to the moral idea from which it draws its right to act.   Justice endures only where institutions remember that they exist to limit power, defend the vulnerable, and preserve the moral discipline of order through which freedom remains lawful and law remains human.   When that memory fades, what remains is administration without soul—a government still standing, but no longer governing.

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