The quagmire of authority

How institutions protect legitimacy by substituting procedure for the right to rule

It has been tempting to hosepipe my readers with analysis of the Judicial Review refusal I received just before Christmas.

I asked a simple question: show me the court order, and I will pay the fine. Instead, I was sent down a blind alley of appeals, procedures, and technicalities. I now have reams of AI-assisted analysis explaining why the refusal is wrong legally, factually, and morally.

Yet focusing on those details misses the point.

The order matters not because it is uniquely bad, but because it is exemplary. It shows, in unusually clear form, how power protects itself when authority exceeds its remit. To engage endlessly with the detail is to fall for the trick—not a lie, but a substitution: the original question is quietly reframed, and a different, safer question is answered instead.

That insight is not specific to my case, so I’ve extracted it.

When bureaucracy operates beyond its authority, it seeks to draw us into debates about merits, remedies, and procedure. That terrain—the quagmire—is where we can be worn down, redirected, and sent in circles. It feels like engagement, but it never returns to the question that matters most: does this authority exist at all, and by what right is it acting?

This pattern is portable. You may recognise it from your own encounters with overreach—at work, in regulation, in administration, or in court. The difficulty is not that we argue badly, but that we argue on ground chosen to protect the system. Challenging the exercise of power is permitted; challenging the existence of authority is quietly set aside.

My hope is that these words offer a moment of recognition—and some clarity about why confronting large-scale simulations of legality is so hard when we do so using the system’s own regulatory framework.

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Imagine you’re stopped by an official—police, court, regulator, administrator—and told you must comply. Pay a fine. File a form. Obey an order. Most disputes that follow focus on how this happened. Was the process fair? Were the rules followed? Was the outcome proportionate?

But occasionally, a different question appears. A quieter one. A more dangerous one.

By what right is this power acting at all?

This essay is about what happens when that question is raised—and why institutions almost never answer it directly. Not because they are corrupt, or lying, or acting in bad faith. But because answering it can threaten the system itself. Instead, institutions make a subtler move: they substitute questions about behaviour for questions about being, drawing challengers into a dense procedural terrain where legitimacy is never resolved, only assumed.

Once you see this move, you start to recognise it everywhere.

The assumptions we carry without noticing

Most of us grow up with a simple picture of authority. Courts decide cases. Officials apply rules. If something goes wrong, there are procedures to fix it. Appeals. Reviews. Complaints. The system may be slow or imperfect, but it is fundamentally oriented toward answering questions put to it.

This picture rests on a few quiet assumptions.

First, that courts and institutions will address the actual dispute before them, rather than reshaping it. Second, that authority is obvious and self-evident—something that simply is, rather than something that must be justified. Third, that procedure is neutral: a fair pathway to resolution rather than a force that shapes outcomes.

These assumptions are understandable. Without them, everyday life would be impossible. But they are also incomplete.

Institutions do more than resolve disputes. They manage risk. They preserve continuity. They keep complex systems running at scale. And when those goals come into tension with answering certain kinds of questions, something interesting happens.

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Two kinds of questions

To see it, we need to distinguish between two very different kinds of challenge. Not in legal jargon, but in ordinary terms.

Behaviour questions: “How?”

These are the questions most of us recognise.

Was the process fair?
Were the rules followed?
Was the decision reasonable, proportionate, justified?

These questions assume that authority exists. They regulate how power is exercised. If something goes wrong, the system can correct itself. Procedures can be improved. Decisions can be revisited. Remedies can be offered.

Courts are very good at answering these questions. Entire legal systems are built around them.

Being questions: “If?”

These are rarer—and more unsettling.

Does this authority actually exist?
Was it properly constituted?
Is there a real source for the power being exercised here?

These are not just harder versions of behaviour questions. They are not procedural steps the system can take later. They are conditions that must already be satisfied for authority to exist at all.

The difference isn’t difficulty, but consequence.
If a “how” question fails, the system can fix it.
If an “if” question fails, the system may have no right to act at all.

This is what makes being-questions uniquely dangerous.

This distinction sets up the move that follows.

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The institutional meta-move

When institutions are confronted with behaviour questions, they engage directly. When they are confronted with being questions—questions that threaten the legitimacy or existence of authority itself—they almost always respond differently.

They do not usually deny the question outright. Instead, they acknowledge it politely and then redirect the conversation.

Yes, we see your concern—but first, did you follow the proper procedure?
Before we get into that, were all remedies exhausted?
Let’s consider whether the decision was proportionate.
The law generally allows this kind of action.

This is the substitution.
A question about whether authority exists is replaced with questions about how authority is exercised.

This is not a trick. It does not require deception. To insiders, it often feels responsible—like focusing on what can be managed rather than what could unravel everything. But the effect is decisive: the original legitimacy question is no longer the thing being answered.

Enter the quagmire

Once this substitution occurs, challengers find themselves in a familiar landscape.

The question becomes:
Did you appeal?
Was the appeal timely?
Was the correct form used?
Was this the right forum?
Should the issue have been raised earlier?

Each answer opens another gate. None lead back to the original question.

One clear challenge multiplies into many technical disputes.
Each response generates new procedural requirements.
Time, money, and energy drain away.
The legitimacy question is no longer in view—only its procedural shadows.

This is the quagmire.

It is not confusion. It is structured. It is dense. And it is safe for the system.

The quagmire isn’t just exhausting—it’s protective.
Once debate lives here, the system no longer has to answer the legitimacy question at all.

From inside the quagmire, everything looks like engagement. Hearings are held. Papers are filed. Judgments are issued. But the foundational question—by what right is this power acting?—has quietly slipped out of reach.

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Why institutions do this

It’s tempting to read this pattern as evasion or bad faith. That temptation should be resisted. The logic is more mundane—and more revealing.

Answering being questions directly can be dangerous for institutions.

First, there are cascading consequences. If one exercise of authority lacks a foundation, others may as well. Entire classes of decisions could be called into question.

Second, there is scale. Modern systems process enormous volumes of cases through automation and standardisation. Examining foundational legitimacy case by case would grind them to a halt.

Third, there is reliance on presumption. Everyday governance depends on treating authority as real unless conclusively disproved. Remove that presumption, and nothing moves.

Finally, there is continuity. Suspending enforcement while legitimacy is examined threatens stability in its own right.

Seen this way, the substitution of behaviour for being is a form of risk management. It allows the system to keep operating without confronting questions that could destabilise it.

The result is a way of working in which authority does not need to be demonstrated—only treated as if it exists.

Why arguing harder rarely works

From the challenger’s perspective, the natural response to the quagmire is to push harder. To master the procedures. To rebut every technical point. To prove, again and again, that the original question matters.

This usually fails—not because the argument is weak, but because the terrain is wrong.

The quagmire is designed for behaviour questions. It can absorb endless debate about process, proportionality, and compliance. What it cannot do is return to being.

More effort inside the quagmire deepens engagement without restoring the original issue. The system is not ignoring the challenger; it is engaging them on terms that make the legitimacy question irrelevant.

Seeing the pattern elsewhere

Once recognised, this move is hard to unsee.

It appears in bureaucratic disputes where automated decisions are challenged, but only the appeal process is discussed. In regulatory regimes where foundational mandates are questioned, but compliance mechanisms dominate the conversation. In governance debates where legitimacy concerns are reframed as technical implementation problems.

The pattern is consistent:

1. A question threatens the existence or legitimacy of authority.

2. The system redirects attention to behaviour.

3. Debate proliferates.

4. Authority continues to operate as if its foundation were secure.

This is not conspiracy. It is how complex systems survive.

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What this lens offers

This essay is not an argument for rebellion or disengagement. It is a lens for understanding.

It explains why people can feel trapped in endless procedure without resolution. Why institutions can appear responsive while never answering the question that matters most. Why good-faith engagement sometimes leads nowhere.

Most importantly, it corrects a common misunderstanding.

Endless procedure does not mean the system is grappling with your concern.
It may mean the system has found a way to avoid it.

When institutions face questions that threaten the very existence of their authority, they protect themselves by substituting behavioural debate for legitimacy itself—arguing endlessly about how power is exercised so they never have to prove the right to exercise it.

Once you see that move, you stop mistaking motion for progress.