Арсен Аветисов – Political Narratology. How Stories Shape Power and Compliance (страница 11)

Charismatic legitimacy arises where power is linked to a person. Not to an institution, not to a rule, but to a specific figure who appears exceptional.

The charismatic leader is a character in the story in whom expectations, fears, hopes, and projections are concentrated. They are attributed with special vision, destiny, a mission, and a connection to the future or the past. They may break the rules, and paradoxically, this very fact is taken as proof of their strength.

But charisma is unstable; it lives only as long as it is sustained by a story of success. Failure destroys it instantly.

That is why charismatic power either rapidly institutionalises or collapses irretrievably.

Tradition: The Power of Habit

Traditional legitimacy is the quietest and the most resilient. It requires no adulation; habit is sufficient.

People submit because ’it has always been this way’, ’it is customary’, ’this is how the world is ordered’. Here, there is no need to explain every decision; it is enough to refer to the order of things.

Tradition is a narrative in which time works for power, and the past serves as an argument.

But this form of legitimacy has its own weakness: it weathers abrupt change poorly. When the world accelerates, the traditional narrative begins to appear archaic and rapidly loses persuasiveness.

Rationality: The Power of Procedure

Rational-legal legitimacy is built on belief in rules. Not in people and not in the past, but in procedures. Here, people submit not because they love the power, but because they consider the system as a whole to be fair, or at least predictable.

Laws, elections, courts, and regulations – all these are elements of a narrative in which power appears impersonal and therefore purportedly neutral.

But rationality, too, requires belief. As soon as procedures begin to be perceived as a fiction, this form of legitimacy collapses faster than any other.

Legitimacy as a Story about Justice

All forms of legitimacy share a common element: they tell a story about justice. Justice may be understood in different ways: as the will of the leader, as fidelity to tradition, or as adherence to rules. But without a sense of justice, submission becomes fragile.

A person can endure inconvenience, restrictions, and even suffering if these are embedded in a story where justice exists.

When this story of justice disappears, nothing remains but bare coercion. And that does not work for long.

Submission as Participation

One of the most dangerous myths is the conception of submission as a passive state. In reality, submission is a form of participation. A person always participates in the reproduction of power when they repeat its language, when they explain its decisions, when they justify its mistakes, and when they condemn those who doubt. They participate even when they censor themselves internally.

Legitimate power conserves resources because people do part of its work themselves. This is precisely why legitimacy is power’s chief capital. Armies, police, and laws are necessary for its functioning, but they are secondary.

When Submission Becomes the Norm

The most stable moment of legitimacy is when the question ‘Why do we submit?’ ceases to arise. At that moment, power becomes a convenient background. It is not discussed, not problematised, not recognised as a choice.

People begin to perceive the order as natural and the alternative as dangerous, naïve, or irresponsible.

This is the peak of narrative force.

Cracks in Legitimacy

Legitimacy does not vanish suddenly. It is eroded gradually. First, a discrepancy appears between the story and experience, then doubt arises, then cynicism. And only then – open conflict.

When power continues to tell the same story, and reality fits into it less and less, submission itself begins to demand ever greater effort.

It is precisely this moment that we will examine next, in the chapter on how power loses its right to the story.

Why This Understanding Matters

Understanding legitimacy is a way not to confuse submission with necessity nor order with truth. A person who sees how belief in power arises ceases to perceive it as a natural background, even if it is a convenient one.

They may still continue to submit, but now consciously. And conscious submission is, at the very least, less dangerous than blind submission.

Because legitimacy is not something that power possesses once and for all. It is something that society each day either confirms or refuses to confirm.

And in this lies the hidden point of freedom, from which political thinking begins.

Chapter 12. When Power Loses Its Right to the Story

Power weakens when its explanations grow longer than society’s patience.

The Loss of Power Does Not Begin with Revolt

It is customary to think that power collapses due to uprisings, coups, economic disasters, or external pressure. But that is already the final stage.

A real crisis of power begins earlier, at the moment its story ceases to work. When people still obey but no longer believe; when words continue to sound but no longer evoke either a response or support. When the language of power remains the same, but the internal consent of the masses disappears.

Power may retain control over institutions, the army, the economy, but if it loses its right to the story, it begins to exist in a state of deferred disintegration.

What The Right to the Story Means

The right to the story is not a formality; it is society’s agreement to accept the interpretations of power as plausible.

Power possesses this right so long as its explanations seem credible, align with everyday experience, give meaning to what is happening, promise a future, or at least explain its absence.

As soon as these conditions are violated, a rupture emerges between words and reality. And it is precisely this rupture that is the beginning of the end.

Discrepancy as the First Symptom

The loss of narrative power begins with micro-cracks. People notice that official explanations no longer match what they see and experience. That the language of power becomes either too optimistic, too abstract, or overtly defensive.

A sense of falseness appears. Not necessarily lies – specifically falseness.

It is important to understand the distinction here: people can tolerate a lie for a long time if it is embedded in a convincing story. But they cannot endure meaninglessness.

Repetition Without Conviction

One of the characteristic signs of a dying narrative is obsessive repetition. Power begins to say the same thing more frequently, louder, more insistently. The effect is the opposite. Repetition ceases to reinforce belief and begins to destroy it.

Words sound like an incantation that no longer works. The formulae remain, but their energy is lost. This is the moment when power does not yet realise the criticality of the moment, but already instinctively tries to maintain its control over interpretation.

Cynicism as a Mass Condition

The next stage is cynicism. Cynicism is not equal to protest, and in the short term it can even be convenient for power.

A cynical person does not believe, but neither do they resist. They adapt, ironise, distance themselves, live a ‘private life’, repeat the phrase ‘they’re all the same’, but it is precisely this cynicism that corrodes the narrative from within.

When a society on a mass scale stops taking words seriously, any mobilisation becomes impossible. Neither fear nor hope nor appeals can work as they once did.

The Narrative Vacuum

The most dangerous state for power is the absence of a story. When power loses its right to the story, a vacuum of meaning emerges. Events are no longer explained, linked together, or justified. Rumours, alternative versions, conspiracy theories, fragmentary explanations, and emotional outbursts appear.

Power may try to fill the vacuum with force, but force does not create meaning. It merely suppresses chaos temporarily.

From Explanation to Coercion

When the narrative ceases to work, power begins to rely on control. Regulation intensifies, the number of prohibitions grows, the language of threats and punishments expands. Explanation gives way to demand.

This is a critical moment: power still exists, but no longer as a story; rather, as pressure. It is precisely here that a qualitative fracture occurs: obedience ceases to be internal and becomes external.

Why Force Cannot Replace the Story

No regime can exist for long on fear alone. Fear is exhausting and requires constant reinforcement. It does not create loyalty – only temporary compliance.

Without a story, power is forced to constantly prove itself anew through repression, displays of force, harsh measures. This is costly, unstable, and dangerous.

A story, on the other hand, is fantastically economical, causing people to obey voluntarily. This is precisely why losing the right to the story is already a strategic defeat.

Competing Stories