The Death of the State

Such is the natural and inevitable tendency of the best constituted governments. If Sparta and Rome perished, what State can hope to endure for ever? If we would set up a long-lived form of government, let us not even dream of making it eternal. If we are to succeed, we must not attempt the impossible, or flatter ourselves that we are endowing the work of man with a stability of which human conditions do not permit.

Such is the natural and inevitable course of even the best-designed governments. If Sparta and Rome fell, what state can hope to last forever? If we want to establish a long-lasting government, we must not even dream of making it last forever. If we are to succeed, we must not attempt the impossible. Nor should we fool ourselves into thinking we can give human creations a stability that human circumstances do not allow.

The body politic, as well as the human body, begins to die as soon as it is born, and carries in itself the causes of its destruction. But both may have a constitution that is more or less robust and suited to preserve them a longer or a shorter time. The constitution of man is the work of nature; that of the State the work of art. It is not in men's power to prolong their own lives; but it is for them to prolong as much as possible the life of the State, by giving it the best possible constitution. The best constituted State will have an end; but it will end later than any other, unless some unforeseen accident brings about its untimely destruction.

The body politic, like the human body, begins to die as soon as it is born. Each carries within itself the causes of its destruction. But both may have a stronger or weaker constitution, allowing them to survive for a longer or shorter time. The human constitution is the work of nature. The State’s constitution is a human creation. People cannot prolong their own lives. But they can prolong the State’s life as much as possible by giving it the best possible constitution. Even the State with the best constitution will come to an end. But that State will last longer than any other, unless some unforeseen accident destroys it before its time.

The life-principle of the body politic lies in the sovereign authority. The legislative power is the heart of the State; the executive power is its brain, which causes the movement of all the parts. The brain may become paralysed and the individual still live. A man may remain an imbecile and live; but as soon as the heart ceases to perform its functions, the animal is dead.

The life force of the body politic lies in its sovereign authority. The power to make laws is the heart of the State. The power to carry out laws is its brain, making all its parts move. The brain may become paralyzed, and the person may still live. A man may remain mentally impaired and still live. But as soon as the heart stops working, the animal is dead.

The State subsists by means not of the laws, but of the legislative power. Yesterday's law is not binding to-day; but silence is taken for tacit consent, and the Sovereign is held to confirm incessantly the laws it does not abrogate as it might. All that it has once declared itself to will it wills always, unless it revokes its declaration.

The State survives not through its laws, but through its power to make laws. Yesterday’s law is not binding today. But silence is taken as unspoken consent. The Sovereign is therefore understood to continually confirm the laws it could repeal but does not. Everything the Sovereign has once declared to be its will remains its will unless the Sovereign withdraws that declaration.

Why then is so much respect paid to old laws? For this very reason. We must believe that nothing but the excellence of old acts of will can have preserved them so long: if the Sovereign had not recognised them as throughout salutary, it would have revoked them a thousand times. This is why, so far from growing weak, the laws continually gain new strength in any well constituted State; the precedent of antiquity makes them daily more venerable: while wherever the laws grow weak as they become old, this proves that there is no longer a legislative power, and that the State is dead.

Why, then, are old laws treated with so much respect? For this very reason. We must believe that only the excellence of past acts of will has kept those laws in force so long. If the Sovereign had not found those laws beneficial throughout, it would have repealed them a thousand times. That is why, in any well-organized State, laws do not grow weaker but continually gain new strength. Their long history makes them more worthy of respect every day. But wherever laws grow weaker as they age, that weakness proves there is no longer any legislative power. It also proves that the State is dead.