Assumption of the Throne

There are far fewer ways an absolute ruler can properly assume sovereignty than in governments of distributed political power. If you’re looking for a systemic reason to like absolutism, I think this is it: That ruler untangles the web of hierarchy and obligation, formal and informal, and sets it anew starting from himself.

There are countless examples in history of complex systems of aristocratic and literate elite castes crashing and burning upon encountering external pressures. But really—it’s just better, isn’t it? I don’t want to be ruled by a bunch of nerds and rich people. I want a king. At the end of the day, every single person within a state must reckon with who’s in charge and what that means for them. The commoner doesn’t have time for nuance in this, and any uncertainty is bound to afflict him with fear and doubt. For the elite, it’s a siren’s call, and the temptation will tear at his soul.

That being said, let’s take a look at the ways I see an absolute ruler taking the throne: succession, usurpation, and conquest.

In the case of succession, an absolute ruler receives his sovereignty directly from an equally absolute predecessor. Note that this is the natural order of things—the old leader picks a new one, and everyone continues to go about their regular business. The key here is assertion. Upon loss of the previous leader, the “who’s in charge” question springs anew to the forefront of the mind. In the event of succession, the question comes in the form of challenge, and we are well attuned to sniff out any wavering in self-confidence.

How does the new king overcome the challenge? Before all else, he must be worthy. This worthiness is one of the mysteries within us, and its manifestations are as various as they are elusive. The only measure to be had is in observation: No unworthy ruler has ever attained absolute rule.

Perhaps, then, there is some measure to be gained in practice. In times of true succession (as true as they can come, anyway), it appears very little tends to change. To imprudently test the limits of power with sweeping decrees and hell-bound conquest is to reveal weakness. Others will take notice, and they will find an opportunity to take advantage. On the other hand, many kings have misjudged the seat which they inherited, lulled into complacency by times of plenty, only to realize at the moment of crisis that his power had left him long ago—if he had ever held it in the first place. How to know, without upsetting that delicate balance of question and answer? It takes some keen insight, to be sure.

Suppose, then, that a newly crowned king rightfully comes to know that the seat of power is shared and sees fit to regather sovereignty at its center. His is a specific case of the more general category, usurpation. The defining characteristic here is a would-be absolute ruler consolidating sovereignty within himself.

Again, the positions which the would-be ruler finds himself at the outset are innumerable, and each of them incur a unique set of perilous challenges. They all require a political deftness in the coercion of those holding the distributed powers. Who does he ally with, and who does he destroy? He might find some or all statesmen quite eager to step away from the obligations of sovereignty, but perhaps not. The temptations of power injure lesser men, and their manifestations take many strange shapes; a capable usurper is a detective and a healer of souls.

What if he arrives at the conclusion that there is no way to unravel the mess left in the hands of the state? He would do well to consider his fitness for the task, and if he sees another of greater capability, support his endeavors. In doing so, he heals his own injuries.

There are perilous times in which no man sees any means to assume sovereignty within his state and has no choice but to start his own—ours is such a time, I gather, but there have been many before it, and I have no reason to believe there won’t be any after. Those who succeed do so by way of conquest. Whether he resolves to first establish sovereignty of part or whole of an established state (or another land entirely), he uses military force to do so. The primary challenge facing the aspirant ruler of this sort is dexterous balance of the roles of commander and sovereign. His subordinates in either role have different, often opposing reasons for accepting his orders. The conqueror must be as or more prepared with an answer for state as he is with war, or else his borders dissolve by the hands that forged them. Does he want to be king, or does he want victory in battle? If the former isn’t his foremost drive, he should find another, and pledge his army to him.

Recognizing the dizzying complexity of assumption, however, is not an indictment of subjecting ourselves to the absolute ruler’s capacity to navigate it. The underlying causes of them remain all the same if it’s one ruler or a million; all that changes is that every new ruler added is another set of rigorous conditions for success. How clever do we think we are, that we attempt to bend our own natures to our will? If there's an empirically reproducible balance of power aside from absolute rule, I've yet to see it. Such grave matters of government are best left to the best among us. These are all personal issues for whoever that is, and we would be better off not having to worry about them.