Is the Majority Always Right? — Democracy and Rationality Part I

The concept of political theology first entered modern political thought in Carl Schmitt’s classic work, originally published in 1922. As Schmitt writes: ‘All significant concepts of the modern theory of the state are secularized theological concepts not only because of their historical development, in which they were transferred from theology to the theory of the state, whereby, for example, the omnipotent God became the omnipotent lawgiver, but also because of their systematic structure…’[1] The other important source is Eric Voegelin, who wrote about ‘political religions’ mainly in connection with the ideology of 20th-century dictatorships.[2]

Robert Bellah also introduced the concept of ‘civil religion’ in a 1967 essay, using the United States as his primary example. He argued that this American civil religion is a genuine faith, though not a substitute for Christianity or Judaism. It provides a transcendent moral framework for the nation’s public life. Its key elements include sacred texts: documents like the Declaration of Independence and the Constitution are treated with a reverence usually reserved for scripture. It also includes figures like the Founding Fathers (Washington, Jefferson), and especially Abraham Lincoln, as well as prophets and saints.

How Rational Is Democracy?

Of course, ‘theology’ is not synonymous with ‘religion’, but we can find a close correspondence between them. Most religions have some kind of theology—that is, a systematic reflection on faith—and theology, like religion, is inconceivable without the reference of an element of transcendence, ‘above rationality’.[3]

As Tamás Nyirkos writes: ‘our age is not an age of disbelief’ and that it is characterized by different, contradictory and confusing beliefs. ‘Some ideologies of modernity do not even show traces of rationality, that is, they are much more superstitious and demand much more blind faith than their allegedly less enlightened predecessors.’[4] According to the author, ‘Political theologies’ were created precisely to replace other traditional systems of belief, practice, and institutions that were forced out of politics.[5] Nyirkos means by this concept that the most important political-ideological formations of modernity can be derived from Christian theology, as its secularized and simplified imitations. In place of Theos, that is, the transcendent concept of God in Christianity, there is an absolutized, abstract entity that is also sacralized, in the eyes of the believers. However, from the perspective of traditional religion, these concepts can be seen as forms of idolatry—whether it is the ‘will of the people’ in democracy, the ‘leader’ in dictatorships, the ‘economy’ for economists, or ‘nature’ for ecologists.[6]

Political power always needs a foundation beyond rationality. As Nyirkos argues, the novelty or popularity of ideas does not make them more rational or more accurate than previous ideas.[7] The word ‘democracy’ first appeared in ancient Greek political thought, in the city-state of Athens, as a term denoting the polis form of government, during the period of classical antiquity.[8] Democracy is one of the most widespread forms of state in the world today; almost every existing state is democratic, at least according to its constitution. The term itself has become a quasi-equivalent of ‘good governance’, ‘transparency’, and ‘political freedom’. Since the period of the Enlightenment, democracy has been associated with the ‘rule of law’, and also, the ‘rule of the people’, the free selection and election of the state’s government. The philosophy of modern democracy derives itself from the rationalist Enlightenment. However, its theory and its politics—far from being based on a totally rational basis—have numerous religious and theological implications.

Alexis de Tocqueville, one of the earliest examiners of modern democracy, saw the ‘will of God’ or ‘God’s providence’ operating in the modern expansion of democracy, which is impossible to resist. ‘Whithersoever we turn our eyes, we shall witness the same continual revolution throughout the whole of Christendom. The various occurrences of national existence have everywhere turned to the advantage of democracy; all men have aided it by their exertions: those who have intentionally labored in its cause, and those who have served it unwittingly; those who have fought for it and those who have declared themselves its opponents, have all been driven along in the same track, have all labored to one end, some ignorantly and some unwillingly; all have been blind instruments in the hands of God. The gradual development of the equality of conditions is therefore a providential fact, and it possesses all the characteristics of a divine decree: it is universal, it is durable, it constantly eludes all human interference, and all events as well as all men contribute to its progress.’

According to Nyirkos, Vilfredo Pareto is correct in identifying the weakest premise of the so-called ‘democratic dogma’ in Jean-Jacques Rousseau’s concept of the general will. Although this dogma appeals to rationality, it fundamentally relies on faith—sometimes even blind faith. On one hand, it requires belief in the inherent goodness of the actual majority; on the other, it rests on the far-from-obvious assumption that the will of elected representatives truly reflects the will of those who elect them.[9]

In the political thought of the last two centuries, as well as in practical politics, the media, education, and other forums that shape public opinion, democracy has often been portrayed as the best, indeed the only, remedy against tyranny. Therefore, we almost automatically associate ‘anti-democratic’ ideas with anti-freedom, authoritarianism, and even an often unspecified ‘totalitarianism’. It has been forgotten that democracy can also be totalitarian and tyrannical. According to the most insightful analysts, such as Tocqueville and John Adams, to believe in the ultimate ‘goodness’ of democracy, one needs a specific faith, a quasi-theological belief in the ‘good will’ of the people.

The Principle of Quantity

It is not an easy task to clean the concept of democracy from the secondary meanings that have been imposed on it during more than two centuries of modern usage.[10] I will not attempt to solve this task; instead, I will undertake a brief interpretation of a very simple principle, the principle of quantity, and its role in modern democracy, in relation to political religion and rationality. When analysing the principle of quantity, I would like to invoke four rules, known as the rules of equality (1), interchangeability (2), difference (3), and majority (4).

These first rules are based on the assumption of equality among the citizens of a democracy. Democratic theory posits that democracy is self-government, where the people are the governors, and the governors are distinct and separate, not in terms of inherent value (rank), but only in terms of function.[11] In theory, every governed can become a governor and vice versa, because in a democracy, the elements are interchangeable. These two closely related rules are called the rule of equality (1) and the rule of interchangeability (2). Since none of the building blocks of the edifice of democracy represent any quality surplus compared to another, it is as if we were working with elements of perfectly equal ‘weight’ or ‘size’. According to the rules of the theory, we must keep the elements strictly equal, that is, they must be abstracted from all other circumstances and strictly reduced to quantity. If we did not do this, we would immediately violate equality and, consequently, also the rule of interchangeability.

According to critics, however, it is highly doubtful whether this theory can withstand empirical and rational scrutiny. The justification of quantitative equality becomes uncertain when we consider the actual—rather than the ideal—foundations of democracy: citizens who are presumed to be equal. If we were to place these building blocks on a virtual scale, we would see that the scale pointer swings out differently in each case. Taking into account the increasing number of tested elements, it would be statistically impossible for everyone to show exactly the same amount, and this quasi-impossibility would increase in direct proportion to the number of components involved. On the other hand, it is not irrelevant from which point of view we examine the ‘weight’ of the elements. A subject may be found to be quite ‘light’ in a certain area, but the exact opposite is true in other respects. Someone can be a brilliant physicist, but a hopelessly flawed soccer player. Human characteristics and abilities do not appear to be equal under any empirical circumstances. However, this empirical circumstance does not, in itself, refute rationalist confidence in democracy: supporters of democracy may argue that it is morally desirable, even if it is not accompanied by equality of results or abilities. There is no need for ontological proof of equality, especially not of equality of ability.[12]

‘To believe in the ultimate “goodness” of democracy, one needs a specific faith, a quasi-theological belief in the “good will” of the people’

I call the aforementioned two the contradictory rule of difference (3) against the rule of equality. The democratic election is based on rules (1) and (2). It takes place according to the majority rule (4). In relation to rule (4), we can also raise the problem that it does not yet contain any realistic and rational verification criteria. Here, we arrive at the most essential point of the critique of democratic equality, which concerns the justice of the decision theory based on the quantitative principle. A special problem arises as to whether the majority rule, which is the conditio sine qua non for the functioning of democracy, is really verifiably fairer than other decision-making mechanisms.[13]

Since democracy is a political theory, and politics is concerned with resolving issues that require decisions, in cases where all elements are perfectly equal, there is ultimately no better criterion than majority voting. In such cases, the outcome is determined solely by which side has the greater number of participants. If we were to consider the maximum extensibility of rules (1) and (2) as a practical criterion of democracy, the most democratic would be if both rules applied in all cases: that is, we would preferably involve all units in every question to be decided, and in every problem that arises, the majority vote would decide. This is exactly what proponents of direct democracy or participatory democracy (more recently, ‘pure democracy’) want, considering only this kind of democracy to be actual democracy.

Rousseau, one of the earliest theorists of modern democracy, argued in The Social Contract that people, as a whole, have the general will, which is the same as the ‘will of the people’, and this is also the same as the will of the majority. This theory is mystical and opposed to empiricism. It means the creation of a kind of ‘dogma’ of popular sovereignty, which represents a transition of a theological concept into the realm of secular concepts, also highlighted by Carl Schmitt.[14]

As Rousseau writes: ‘The citizen gives his consent to all the laws, including ones that are passed against his opposition, and even laws that punish him when he dares to break any law. The constant will of all the members of the state is the general will; by virtue of it, they are citizens and free. When a law is proposed to the assembled people, what they are being asked is not (1) Do you approve or reject this proposal?, but rather (2) Is this proposal in conformity with the general will?—the general will being their will. Each man’s vote gives his opinion on that point, ie, his answer to question (2); and the general will is found by counting votes. When the opinion that is contrary to my own prevails, this proves neither more nor less than that I was mistaken, and that what I thought to be the general will was not so.’[15]

‘Pure Democracy’

A question will immediately arise regarding ‘pure democracy’: if we are not examining the abstract and sterile ‘laboratory’, but real conditions, real human societies and real states, can we apply such strict mathematical regularity? Critiques could say ‘pure’ majority voting would not be possible, because—not only would it be unfeasible in terms of the technical conditions of voting, but it is also clear that a real state would simply become ungovernable in a short time and collapse due to the slow, cumbersome and completely inefficient form of such a decision-making mechanism—or, it would be at an irreparable disadvantage compared to those states where the decision-making process is faster and simpler. It is therefore obvious that self-government in this form is not possible, and thus some kind of distinguished government is needed, which is separate from the vast mass of the governed. The other, and even more serious problem with this is that the maximum application of rules (1) and (2) would actually mean the maximum application of the quantitative principle, that is, in such a system, everything would be decided by numbers, completely excluding the quality-criteria of intelligence, reason, knowledge and experience, those very important factors that do not depend on quantity in any sense. Such a democracy would actually have to make the rationally and empirically unverifiable claim that ‘the people’—acting as a majority—have some kind of mystical wisdom, a God-like nature (as Rousseau also wrote) and that the majority of the people are always, or at least almost always, right.[16] If these were realistic facts, the question ‘What is truth?’ would rightly be answered by the larger number. But these are, argue the critics, not realistic facts. According to them, if we apply ‘pure democracy’, we would create an arbitrariness without counterweights, the ‘pure arbitrariness’ of the majority. For example, if the majority decides everything, then there is no guarantee that the laws guaranteeing the protection of minorities will not be changed based on the majority’s decision.

‘It is therefore obvious that self-government in this form is not possible, and thus some kind of distinguished government is needed’

Before proceeding to the frailties of representative democracy, it is crucial to acknowledge that this critique of democracy as a political religion is not without its powerful rationalist rebuttals. Proponents of modern democracy, particularly those in the deliberative or republican traditions, would argue that this focus on a quasi-mystical ‘will of the people’ mischaracterizes their project entirely. For a theorist like Jürgen Habermas, democratic legitimacy is not found in the blind aggregation of votes but in the process of deliberative reason. A political decision is justified if it emerges from open, uncoerced discourse where the ‘unforced force of the better argument’ prevails. This is an attempt to ground democracy in communicative rationality, not faith.[17]

Similarly, republican thinkers like Philip Pettit advance a pragmatic, rational defence: the purpose of democracy is to secure the condition of ‘non-domination’. From this perspective, democracy is the most rational system not because it divines the truth, but because it provides the institutional mechanisms—elections, courts, and a free press—to ensure citizens are not subject to the arbitrary, unchecked power of a master.[18]

Yet, even these sophisticated rationalist defences do not entirely escape the charge of requiring a foundational, non-verifiable belief. The Habermasian ideal of a perfect speech situation, free from power dynamics and manipulation, arguably demands a leap of faith in the capacity of human reason to overcome inherent irrationality and self-interest—an Enlightenment tenet that itself functions as a kind of secular faith. Likewise, while the goal of non-domination is rational, the claim that mass democracy is the most effective means of achieving it remains largely an article of faith—especially when confronted with the realities of elite capture, voter ignorance, and Michels’s ‘iron law of oligarchy’. The belief that institutional processes can reliably overcome the flawed human material they must work with rests on an optimistic—and ultimately unproven—premise. Thus, while the object of faith shifts from the ‘wisdom of the crowd’ to the ‘power of the process’, a foundational faith persists.

Representative Democracy

These counter-arguments to ‘pure democracy’ are taken into account when defenders of the democratic theory are forced to make concessions or restrictions compared to ‘pure’ or absolute democracy. In a representative democracy, the governed temporarily transfer their power to the governors. However, this type of democracy also raises questions regarding rationality. The two groups are still equal in theory, although specific political decisions are made exclusively by a narrow group of governors, and the governed have no say in those decisions. A certain permeability of the hierarchy formed in this way is ensured by the fact that, in theory, ‘everyone’ can become a governor, and the governors need the reinforcement of the governed. In practice, this kind of democracy differs from ‘non-democracy’ in only two ways: the governed can replace the governors, and they can also become governors. If rule (3), which we called the rule of difference, is extended and applied to the field of political action, we can see that it is difficult to reconcile with rule (1)—equality—and, consequently, with rule (2)—interchangeability. While rules (1) and (2) are abstract and ideal, rule (3) is concrete and realistic. One of the basic criteria of representative democracy, according to which the governors and the governed are always interchangeable, may also not be fulfilled in reality. Taking into account the extreme complexity of managing a real state, it would undoubtedly be utopian to conclude that every adult citizen of the state is equally suitable for president, just as it would be unfortunate to require a diplomat to develop the same skills as a military or economic leader.[19]

It is a well-known fact that in every field, vast differences exist between the abilities of individuals, despite uniform education or conditions that can be considered more or less the same. Since the abilities that seemingly ‘predestinate’ individuals to perform different tasks are extremely unevenly distributed in the population, it is never possible to bring them to the same level (‘the equality of outcome’). According to a ‘negative formulation’ of the (1) democratic argument, the complete equality between potential voters is necessary to assume, because there is no clear objective criterion based on which certain groups can be included, while other groups can be excluded from the circle of those exercising the right to vote. We can never fully know what hidden potential lies within someone who appears fundamentally unqualified. Since the proportion of people who are truly incapable of making decisions seems relatively small within society as a whole, everyone should be given at least an implicit opportunity to develop their dormant abilities. It is also reasonable to agree that a person’s true qualities often remain undiscovered without genuine opportunities. For this reason, inclusive participation is justified—even if some may initially seem unfit.

A critic might argue that the development of certain abilities is determined not by any single factor—such as education, upbringing, social circumstances, genetic traits, environment, culture, or geography—but by an extremely complex interplay of all these elements. Of course, many individuals in all kinds of societies possess some sort of gift, and it would be almost impossible to find someone who does not have some kind of ability. However, the different characteristics of people do not necessarily predestinate the person for the same and definitely not for ‘everything’.[20]

Taking these circumstances into account, the process of the formation of ‘natural aristocracy’ (natural elite formation)[21] also begins in representative democracies: a group (or groups) of people, more or less closed and separated from the majority, emerges and monopolizes political power. In theory, this group is open to everyone, but in practice, we can see that this ‘everyone’ is only a very limited part of society.[22] New elements enter the political elite only very slowly. Many factors need to be fulfilled at the same time for someone to enter the governing elite, but also to move in the direction of a political career in general.[23] This elite constitutes the ‘raw material’ of every political party, regardless of what the given party appears to represent, what ‘colours’ it starts in.[24]

A significant counterargument to this critique comes from pluralist democratic theorists, such as Robert A Dahl. Rather than a single, cohesive oligarchy, Dahl argued that modern democracies are ‘polyarchies’ where power is diffused among multiple, competing interest groups.[25] In this view, no single elite can dominate, and the system ensures responsiveness to the public will through the constant push and pull of electoral competition. However, even if one accepts the ‘polyarchy’ model, it does not escape the fundamental critique of democracy as a political religion. This diffusion of power among elites does not alter the fact that political decision-making remains the domain of a specialized class, distinct from the general populace. Furthermore, the competition between these groups often revolves around the very mechanisms—populist promises, media manipulation, and appeals to emotion—that rely on non-rational faith rather than reasoned debate. The ‘will of the people’ remains a sacralized concept used to legitimize the outcomes of these power struggles, thus reinforcing, not refuting, the idea of democracy as a faith-based system.

The powers of the governed in the representative system are limited to the fact that they can freely choose which elite group, or in other words, which ‘faction’ of the all-encompassing elite governs them, based on the principle of majority rule (4). It is not possible to measure how much share the governed actually have in the current power through representation. In a representative democracy, the people, in theory, are governed by their delegates, who are expected to represent and enforce the interests of the people. The ‘people’, although, would undoubtedly not be some homogeneous group whose interests can be represented simply and without contradiction. In other words, what happens in a representative democracy is that the people make their ‘power’ available to a group of other people. But why should we assume that so-called representatives truly represent—or even can represent—the (often vaguely defined) ‘will’ of the electorate, without favouring their own personal or, at best, party interests, and without receiving any specific instructions from their voters?[26]

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[1] Carl Schmitt, Political Theology. Four chapters on the concept of sovereignty, Chicago–London, University of Chicago Press, 2005, p. 36.

[2] Thierry Gontier, ‘From “Political Theology” to “Political Religion”: Eric Voegelin and Carl Schmitt’, The Review of Politics Vol 75, No 1, Winter, 25–43.

[3] Under the terms ‘religion’ and ‘theology’, I mean the ‘Abrahamic’ monotheistic religions (Christianity, Judaism, and Islam), although I note that it is also possible to discuss, for example, Hindu and Buddhist theology. These religions, however, have a very different concept of transcendence, so I will not focus on them in the present context.

[4] Nyirkos Tamás, Politikai teológiák. A demokráciától az ökológiáig, Typotex/Pázmány Péter Katolikus Egyetem, Budapest, 2018, p. 9.

[5] Ibid, p. 11.

[6] Ibid, p. 9.

[7] Ibid, p. 58.

[8] The word comes from demos, ‘common people’, and kratos, ‘strength’. According to Erik von Kuehnelt-Leddihn, kratos is force (in opposition with arkhé—‘to rule’) in the sense of meaning that includes a kind of ‘brutality’. (Erik von Kuehnelt-Leddihn (Francis Stuart Campbell), The Menace of the Herd, Milwaukee, The Bruce Publishing Co., 1943, p. 2.)

[9] Nyirkos 2018, p. 57. According to him, by adopting a theological concept, Rousseau created the highly mystical concept of the ‘general will’, which is probably not even comprehensible without its theological origins (Ibid, p. 11).

[10] Here, I would like to draw attention primarily to the dictionary definitions according to which ‘democracy can be interpreted as the sharing of power, the limitation of power and the rule of law.’ (Millner, D (1987) ‘Democracy’ In: Millner D, Goleman J, Conolly W (eds) Blackwell Encyclopedia of Political Thought, Wiley-Blackwell, p. 466.) This definition not only highlights that democracy today can be understood as almost anything that can cover the concept of good government if specific legal-philosophical ideas and socio-political conditions are fulfilled, but also that everything that seems reasonable, good or desirable in the world of political theoretical fictions is almost automatically assumed to be some kind of ‘democratic’ practice.

[11] According to the basic principle of modern mass democracy, the political community entitled to some degree of decision includes all who meet at least these two basic conditions: they have reached a certain age (regardless of whether they acquired any qualifications before reaching the age limit drawn on the basis of these criteria), the other is that they were born within the borders of a given state. In such circumstances, voters who are already considered competent do not have to provide any real qualification criteria. If, for example, a potential voter turned 18 and was born in Hungary, one person’s opinion is worth just as much as another’s—regarding the election of a parliament.

[12] In fact, when it comes to the rights of people with disabilities or animals, it may even become necessary to artificially balance or mitigate inequalities, for example, as advocates of democracy may argue.

[13] In liberal democracies, ‘checks and balances’ are designed to limit the ‘tyranny of the majority’—this is primarily related to the constitution (or constitutional court) that stands above the majority and the minority. However, due to the nature of the decision-making mechanism, the constitution can also be changed (if the state is completely secular, ie, there are no ‘sacred’ principles that stand above the minority and the majority), and the process of appointing constitutional judges can also be corrupted by the majority power.

[14] As Nyirkos mentions, the idea of ‘Sovereign’ and ‘Sovereignity’ is a medieval word formation: as opposed to supremus, ie, the top, it was intended to express ‘higher than the top’ or ‘highest’, ‘most important’. The term was first applied to God as ‘supreme father’ (Nyirkos, 2018, p. 31).

[15] Jean-Jacques Rousseau, The Social Contract, p. 56. In this regard, it is rather strange that Rousseau also mentions: ‘A population of gods could have a democratic government. A government as perfect as that is not for men.’

[16] However, there are democrats who do not exactly share this view: Surowiecki’s book, The Wisdom of Crowds, explores the possibility of collectively making ‘wiser’ decisions through the aggregation of the decisions of epistemically limited subjects. Those who represent the democratic position can acknowledge the ignorance of the individual without attributing a collective, higher level of consciousness to people organized into a crowd. In short, both individuals and crowds can be wrong, but crowds, Surowiecki would argue, gather more knowledge, so the chance of major mistakes is smaller. This is a more moderate position than ‘the crowd is always right’.

[17] Jürgen Habermas, Between Facts and Norms: Contributions to a Discourse Theory of Law and Democracy, MA, MIT Press, Cambridge, 1996, 304.

[18] Philip Pettit, Republicanism: A Theory of Freedom and Government, Oxford University Press, Oxford, 1997, p. 52.

[19] Rule (2) is partly based on the epistemological thesis inherited from the empiricist tradition, which Locke formulated as Tabula Rasa: according to this theory, at birth, the human mind is like an empty board on which the stimuli from the outside world ‘write the signs’—that is, the human personality can be shaped indefinitely depending on the environmental influences on it. However, argues Kuehnelt-Leddihn, the gigantic expansion of information does not make it easier, but actually more difficult for people to really see their world: ‘If we compare now, for instance, one of the Swiss cantonal diets in the Middle Ages, or a New England town hall meeting, with the elective processes in a modern mammoth democracy, we will quickly discover that there is in the two first-mentioned cases the possibility of an equitable relationship between political decision and personal knowledge.’ (Kuehnelt-Leddihn, Erik von: Liberty or Equality. The challenge of our time, Caldwell, The Caxton Printers, 1952, p. 117.) According to this author, regarding increasingly complicated informational, technical and scientific apparatus of the modern world, the gap between ‘known things’ and ‘things that should be known’ is constantly growing. The hopes attached to education are the least able to bridge all this, since education, made compulsory as a result of egalitarian ideals, will, in practice, not result in a higher, but a lower standard (Ibid, p. 278).

[20] There is also no doubt that abilities can be developed and developed, but not without limit. Someone may have brilliant musical skills, but at the same time have a terrible ability to learn foreign languages, be a wonderful poet, but a hopeless mathematician. A poet may become a passable mathematician through serious study and long effort, but it would be quite utopian to assume that he could become as brilliant in mathematics as he is in poetry.

[21] This social-political concept was also used by Thomas Jefferson, one of the founding fathers of the American Republic, who is generally considered a ‘democrat’. Thomas Jefferson’s concept of a ‘natural aristocracy’ refers to a ruling class distinguished by virtue and talents, rather than the artificial distinctions of birth, wealth, or social status. He saw this as the ideal leadership for a republic. See in his correspondence, most notably in a famous series of letters with John Adams in 1813, Jefferson laid out his theory. He contrasted the ‘natural aristocracy’ with what he termed the ‘artificial aristocracy’ (or ‘pseudo-aristocracy’). For Jefferson, the entire project of the American republic was to create a system that would allow the ‘natural aristocracy’ to rise to the top while preventing the ‘artificial aristocracy’ from gaining a foothold. He believed that public education and political freedom were the key tools to achieve this.

[22] This fact can also be problematized from an ‘egalitarian’ point of view.

[23] Above all, people applying to be a politician need to obtain a considerable amount of ‘will to power’, practical skill, legal training, and—most importantly—sufficient relational capital and political acumen. However, these criteria are still far from enough; many other conditions must be fulfilled for a politician to be influential, among which are a considerable financial background, the ability to influence, self-discipline, individual luck, and the entirely contingent role of ‘being in the right place at the right time’. Another issue is that in a very large proportion of cases, even if they had the skills and circumstances, the overwhelming majority of individuals are simply not interested in power politics. The chances of achieving real political power by a party, for example, that a completely random citizen of a modern state becomes the prime minister of the country, or even that of becoming a decision-maker of an influential party, are not much more likely than in ancient times for a slave to become the Roman Empire’s emperor. Not statistically impossible, but negligible.

[24] The theory of the cycle of political elites was formulated by different elite theories, including those of Pareto, Michels, and Mosca, which examined various aspects. According to the theory, in every political system, which is divided into the governed and the governors, an elite of an oligarchic character—the elite of the governors—is in fact in control. (Vilfredo Pareto, ‘The circulation of elites’, In: Theories of society; foundations of modern sociological theory, Free Press of Glencoe, New York, 1961, pp. 551–557.) Michels formulated this as the ‘iron law of oligarchy’.

[25] Robert A Dahl, Polyarchy: Participation and Opposition, Yale University Press, New Haven, 1971, p. 3.

[26] To this, we can add that the so-called mandate, also known as the binding mandate, was fundamentally inseparable from the operation of the medieval and early modern parliaments, which meant that the representative could not actually deviate from the subject that he had to represent in the Parliament as a result of his electoral mandate. In other words: no matter how small the representative’s say in the formation of laws may be, and no matter how small a fraction of society sends him, this means realistic representation in contrast to the free mandate of modern representative democracy, which means nothing other than the complete renunciation of realistic representation. That is, the relationship between the electors and the elected is almost completely severed.

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