The Quiet Unmaking: How Institutions Decay from Within
by
RAJAT M. NAG
APRIL 30, 2026
DR. B.R AMBEDKAR CENTER, NEW DELHI
1. Salutations and Thanks
Mr. Chairman, distinguished guests, friends:
Good afternoon.
First of all, thank you all for braving the Delhi traffic and heat to be here. I am grateful.
Mr. Chairman: Thank you for presiding over this session. I am honoured.
Mr. Vice Chair: thank you for introducing this Distinguished Lecture Series and doing me the singular honour of inviting me to deliver this inaugural lecture. Thank you very much too for your very generous introduction and setting me up with an impossible task of living up to your expectations.
Ms. Vasudevan, ASIA’s distinguished Member of the Board: I highly appreciate that you travelled all the way from Bengaluru to be here. Thank you.
A special word of thanks and appreciation to Mr. Amogh Rai, ASIA’s indefatigable Director for conceptualising and hosting this Lecture Series.
And, finally, my most sincere thanks to Team Asia, led by Ms. Neeti Goutam and Ms. Abhilasha Semwal for their great work in putting this entire event together. Thank you.
2. The Puzzle
Rome. 133 BCE,
The city is tense. For weeks, political conflict has been building around a proposal that, on the surface, seems straightforward: a land reform program intended to redistribute public land to poorer citizens.
Its sponsor is a young, ambitious tribune (elected magistrate), Tiberius Gracchus.
The proposal was disruptive but not unlawful. But it threatened aristocratic interests.
The Roman Republic had no single written constitution; its order rested less on formal design than on shared restraint. It rested on distributed magistracies, annual rotation, collegial offices, and a deeply embedded norm of “mos maiorum” (the way of the ancestors) Senators could deliberate, the Assembly could vote but only any (of the ten) Tribunes could veto.
A fellow Tribune (Marcus Octavius) did just that. He blocked the land reform proposal.
But Tiberius refuses to accept the veto.
Instead, he takes an extraordinary step. He appeals directly to the popular assembly and has Octavius removed from office—a move not clearly illegal, but deeply against established practice. A line has been crossed. The measure passes. The conflict deepens.
Months later, the stakes rise again.
Tiberius seeks re-election to the tribunate. Not illegal but another break from the norm of “mos maiorum’. His opponents now see him not just as a reformer, but a man who may be trying to accumulate power in ways that threaten the balance of the Republic.
On the day of the vote, a crowd gathers on the Capitoline Hill. The atmosphere is charged. Rumours spread that Tiberius is reaching for the crown—that he aspires, perhaps, to kingship, a word that still carries deep fear in Rome.
Inside the Senate, the mood turns from opposition to alarm.
One of the senior senators, Scipio Nasicarises rises and calls for action. There is no formal decree. No legal process. Instead, he wraps part of his toga around his head, as if for sacrifice, and urges those present to follow him to “save the Republic.”
A group of senators and their supporters move quickly out of the Senate house. They do not carry swords. They pick up whatever is at hand—broken benches, wooden clubs, sticks. They advance toward the Capitoline Hill, where Tiberius stands with his supporters.
The crowd parts, then surges.
In the confusion, blows are struck. Tiberius is hit, then struck again. He falls. Others fall with him. The violence is sudden, chaotic, and concentrated. Within moments, a tribune of the Roman people is dead, killed not by an invading force, not in war, but by members of his own political order.
His body, along with those of many of his followers, is gathered up and thrown into the River Tiber.
Nothing in the formal structure of the Republic has been abolished. The Senate still sits. The assemblies still function. Magistrates will still be elected.
And yet something fundamental has changed. Political violence, in this form, had no accepted place in the life of the Republic. Conflict had always existed—often intense—but it had been mediated through institutions. What happened that day marked not simply an escalation, but a breach of a boundary that had long defined the system
Even more important is how this breach is understood.
It is not taken as a systemic rupture. It is explained—as an emergency, as a response to provocation, as an act taken to preserve the Republic itself. Because it is framed as exceptional, it does not immediately transform the system. It is absorbed.
But it alters expectations.
The Republic continues.
But it continues differently.
And that, I think, captures the central puzzle we face.
Why do institutions that appear stable—sometimes deeply entrenched and long-enduring—begin to weaken? Why do systems that function effectively for long periods of time gradually lose their coherence?
Our instinct is to look for decisive causes—crises, shocks, revolutions. These are visible, and they often matter. But history suggests that by the time such moments occur, the underlying process of weakening is already well advanced.
Institutions rarely fail at the moment they appear to break.
They fail after a process, that has already unfolded, reaches a tipping point.
Institutions are sustained not only by formal rules, but by expectations—by a shared belief that rules will broadly hold, that limits will be observed, and that others will behave within an accepted framework.
As long as those expectations remain aligned, institutions appear stable.
When they begin to shift, the system does not collapse. It adjusts. Actors respond to what they perceive others are doing. They test boundaries, often cautiously at first, then more openly. They justify deviations as necessary, temporary, or pragmatic.
And because each step appears limited, it is absorbed.
Over time, what was once exceptional becomes arguable. What was arguable becomes acceptable. And what becomes acceptable gradually becomes normal.
This is how institutional changes take hold—not through a single rupture, but through a process of normalization.
It is also why decline is so often misread.
We mistake persistence for strength. We assume that because institutions still function, they remain intact. But history suggests that institutional weakening is often a process of internal misalignment—one that unfolds within continuity rather than against it.
Collapse is the epilogue. Unmaking is the story.
The purpose of this lecture is to understand that story—how institutions hold, how they come apart, and what history reveals about that process.
Let me begin, briefly, then with how institutions hold together.
3. How Institutions Hold: The Conditions of Stability
If the episode of Tiberius shows that a boundary can be crossed, it also raises a question.
What sustains those boundaries in the first place?
Why is it that, for long periods, institutions appear to function with a degree of stability—rules are followed, disputes are contained, and outcomes, even when contested, remain broadly acceptable?
The answer lies not in the formal designs of institutions alone, but in a set of underlying conditions that allow institutions to operate as intended. These conditions are rarely written in any single document. They are embedded in practice, reinforced over time, and sustained through shared expectations.
I suggest that there are essentially five pillars which hold up institutions in a society.
i) First, legitimacy.
Institutions endure when they are broadly accepted as appropriate—by those who operate within them, and by those subject to them, who believe that the rules are worth following. This does not imply agreement with every outcome. But it implies a willingness to accept outcomes within a common framework. Without that acceptance, institutions must increasingly rely on coercion, and their ability to function smoothly diminishes.
ii)Second, restraint:
All institutional systems concentrate power in some form. Their stability depends not only on how that power is distributed, on checks and balances and how they are exercised. When those who hold power accept limits—often unwritten limits—institutions remain balanced. When those limits are tested repeatedly, even within informal rules, the system begins to shift. Restraint, in this sense, is not a constraint imposed from outside; it is a discipline maintained from within.
iii) Third, capacity.
Institutions must be able to do what they claim to do. Decisions must be made and implemented, rules enforced, and outcomes delivered with a reasonable degree of consistency. When this capacity weakens—whether through administrative inefficiency, resource constraints, institutional fatigue or intentionally engineered —the credibility of the system begins to erode. Performance and belief, in this sense, are closely connected.
iv) Fourth, norms.
These are the unwritten expectations that guide behaviour where formal rules are incomplete or silent. They define what is socially acceptable, what is excessive, and what lies beyond the bounds of institutional conduct. They make it possible for systems to function without having to codify every contingency. They are what social scientist Cristina Bicchieri has termed the Grammar of Society—the language a society speaks. When norms are strong, institutions can absorb stress without destabilising. When they weaken, the burden on formal rules increases—and often proves insufficient.
v) And, fifth and finally the capacity to adapt.
No institutional system operates in a static environment. Economic conditions change, social structures evolve, and political pressures shift. Institutions must adjust in ways that preserve coherence. Too little adaptation leads to rigidity; too much, or poorly managed change, can produce instability. The balance is difficult, but essential.
What matters most, however, is not how any one of these pillars operate in isolation, but their alignment.
Institutions function as an equilibrium sustained by mutually reinforcing expectations. Legitimacy supports compliance. Restraint sustains norms. Capacity underpins credibility. Adaptation preserves relevance. Together, they create a framework within which actors can anticipate the behaviour of others with some confidence.
As long as that confidence holds, the system appears stable.
But that stability cannot be taken for granted. It depends on the continued alignment of these underlying conditions. When that alignment begins to loosen—even slightly—the system does not immediately fail. It adjusts.
And it is in that adjustment, often gradual and barely visible at first, that the process of institutional decay begins.
It is to that process—to how systems move from stability to strain—that I now turn.
4. The Common Arc
However, before turning to the underlying drivers of institutional decline, it is perhaps useful to step back and look at how this process unfolded in practice across different historical settings.
I looked at five different societies: The Roman Republic, the Mauryas, the Ming dynasty, the Weimar Republic and Argentina in the twentieth century.
They are separated by centuries, by geography, and by political form. And yet, when we look at them together, a pattern begins to emerge. Let us begin with Rome.
In 133 BCE, as we saw, a political dispute ends in violence. The Republic survives. But something fundamental shifts. Norms that once constrained behaviour begin to loosen. Over the next century, those norms erode further—until, in 49 BCE, Julius Caesar crosses the Rubicon. The Republic does not fall immediately. It transforms—gradually—into something else.
Now consider the Mauryan Empire.
Built under Emperor Chandragupta around 322 BCE, it reaches its zenith under Emperor Ashoka in the third century BCE. But its strength rests heavily on the centre. After Ashoka’s death in 232 BCE, that centre weakens. Coordination thins. Central authority drifts. There is no dramatic collapse. The system simply loses its coherence. By 185 BCE, Emperor Brihadratha is killed by his own general in full view of the assembled court and army at a grand parade, drawing down the curtain on the Mauryas
Move forward to Ming China.
Founded in 1368 by Emperor Hongwu, it creates one of the most sophisticated bureaucratic systems of its time. For nearly two centuries, it governs effectively. But over time, rigidity sets in. Fiscal pressures build. Factional conflict intensifies. The system continues to function—but increasingly without responsiveness. Collapse finally comes in 1644, almost three centuries later. Emperor Chong/zhen takes his own life as rebels are at the gates of Beijing. It appears sudden. But, in reality, the system had gradually lost its ability to adapt. The Qing (Ching) dynasty follows.
Now consider Weimar Germany.
Formed in 1919, it begins with a modern constitution and democratic ambitions. But, legitimacy is fragile even from the outset. The punitive burden of reparations following the Treaty of Versailles, and economic shocks—hyperinflation in 1923, depression after 1929—strain the system. Political fragmentation intensifies and becomes increasingly bitter and xenophobic. By 1930, parliamentary government gives way to rule by decree. Institutions remain—but their substance weakens. When Adolf Hitler is appointed Chancellor in 1933, the transition appears abrupt. But the conditions for it had been building for years.
And finally, Argentina.
At the start of the twentieth century, it stands among the world’s most prosperous economies. But from the 1930s onward, a different pattern emerges—not one of collapse, but of drift. The rise of Perón in 1945 marks a shift in how institutions in the country function. Over the decades that follow, the country moves through cycles of crisis and recovery—coups, inflation, reform, reversal. The system does not break. It endures. It drifts. But its ability to anchor expectations steadily weakens.
Five different beginnings.
Five very different trajectories.
Rome stretches over centuries.
The Mauryan Empire fragments relatively quickly.
Ming decays slowly.
Weimar collapses within a generation.
Argentina does not collapse at all. It drifts.
And yet, beneath this variation, there is a common pattern.
In each case, decline does not begin similarly. It begins at a point of stress—norms in Rome, the central authority in the Mauryas, adaptability in Ming, legitimacy in Weimar, expectations in Argentina.
From that starting point, pressures spread across the system.
And over time, something deeper begins to shift—not just institutions, but behaviour itself.
That is where the story becomes common.
These cases differ widely in time, geography, and institutional form. But each provides a concrete illustration of how systems that appear stable begin to weaken—and how that weakening evolves over time.
If that is the pattern we see across these cases, the question becomes:
What are the forces that drive this process?
I identify five such forces (or drivers) of decay, and to them I now turn.
5. The Drivers of Decay
i) First, elite fragmentation
Institutions depend on a minimum level of coordination among those who operate them. Where elites share a common framework—even amid disagreement—competition remains bounded.
When that framework weakens, coordination becomes more difficult. Trust declines. Political and institutional competition become less bounded. Actors become less willing to accept short-term losses within a stable system, and more inclined to secure immediate advantage—even at the cost of weakening the system itself.
In Rome, this is visible in the growing inability of political actors to accept limits within the system. The Tiberius episode marks an early point at which disagreement begins to move beyond accepted boundaries. Over time, this fragmentation deepens, making cooperation increasingly difficult.
In the Mauryan case, fragmentation takes a different form. It is not expressed through overt conflict, but through the weakening of central authority. As the coherence of the centre diminishes, the system loses its ability to coordinate effectively across regions.
In both cases, the form differs.
But the effect is the same: the system’s coordinating core begins to weaken.
ii) Second, institutional capture
As coordination weakens, institutions begin to be used more transactionally. They are not dismantled; they remain in place. But their operation shifts—from general rule-based functioning to more particularistic use.
This shift does not usually appear dramatic. Rules are not necessarily abandoned; they are reinterpreted, bent, or selectively applied. It often takes place through incremental adjustments—appointments, procedural changes, selective enforcement. Each step, taken in isolation, may seem defensible. But over time, these changes alter the functioning of the system. The effect is cumulative.
In the later Roman Republic, institutions such as assemblies and magistracies increasingly become arenas for political manoeuvring rather than neutral mechanisms of governance. The pattern appears as selective enforcement, politicized appointments, or uneven application of rules.
iii) Third, erosion of norms and legitimacy
Norms define acceptable behaviour; legitimacy sustains voluntary compliance. When norms weaken, behaviour begins to expand into areas that were previously constrained. When legitimacy declines, compliance becomes increasingly conditional.
As norms weaken, so does legitimacy… Institutions may continue to function, but they are no longer upheld with the same degree of acceptance. Outcomes are questioned more frequently, and acceptance becomes more conditional.
In Rome, early norm violations do not destroy the Republic, but they alter the baseline. In Weimar, constitutional provisions designed for exceptional use are invoked with increasing frequency, gradually changing the character of governance.
iv) Fourth, administrative and fiscal decay
Institutions must deliver. They must implement decisions, enforce rules, and provide outcomes with a reasonable degree of consistency. When this capacity weakens, —the credibility of the system begins to erode.
Ming China illustrates this particularly well. The administrative apparatus remains extensive, but over time its effectiveness declines. Fiscal constraints limit capacity. Bureaucratic rigidity reduces flexibility.
v) And, fifth and finally, external or structural shocks
Economic crises, wars, environmental stress, and technological changes can place sudden pressure on institutions. These shocks do not, by themselves, determine outcomes. What matters is how institutions respond to them.
Where underlying conditions remain strong, systems can absorb shocks and adapt. Where they have already weakened, shocks tend to accelerate decline. They expose underlying vulnerabilities and intensify existing pressures, pushing systems closer to critical thresholds.
These shocks vary in form, but their significance lies in how they interact with existing weaknesses. In Weimar Germany, economic crises intensify already fragile legitimacy and deepen political fragmentation. In Argentina, repeated shocks interact with weak institutional foundations to produce cycles of instability.
6. The Downward Spiral
Taken together, these five drivers provide a way of understanding how institutional decline unfolds.
These five drivers will not have the same impact in each case. They are not to be equally weighted. In any case, their importance lies not in their individual presence.
It lies in their interaction.
They form a system.
And once that system begins to falter, decline tends to spread across institutional dimensions.
In the early stages, deterioration is often still manageable. Norms can be restored, coordination rebuilt, and policies adjusted. At this stage, decline remains episodic rather than systemic.
But there comes a point—often gradual and difficult to identify—when the nature of the problem changes.
Expectations begin to shift.
Actors no longer assume that rules will broadly hold or that commitments will be reliably honoured. They begin to treat compliance as conditional rather than automatic. Time horizons shorten. Decisions become more defensive, more opportunistic, and less anchored in shared institutional expectations.
These adjustments might be individually rational. Each actor is responding to perceived uncertainty in the behaviour of others. But collectively, they produce a new dynamic.
Institutional weakening begins to generate behaviour that reinforces it.
This is the logic of the downward spiral.
The historical cases illustrate this dynamic with striking consistency, even as they differ in form and pace.
What makes this process particularly powerful is that it is largely endogenous. It arises from within the system rather than being imposed from outside. External shocks may accelerate it, but they do not create it. The spiral is sustained by the interaction between expectations and behaviour.
If the downward spiral explains how institutional decline becomes self-reinforcing, it also helps clarify something that is often misunderstood: decline does not lead to a single, predictable outcome.
The ultimate end point of the decline need not always be a collapse alone. It may also lead to transformation, fragmentation, failure, capture, or persistent underperformance. The specific outcome depends on how the underlying drivers interact with the structure of the system and the choices made by those who operate it.
7. The Lost Moments
There is another very important and interesting common pattern in the five countries we have discussed so far.
In each case, there were periods when corrective actions might still have been possible.
These were not moments of acute crisis, but periods in which the system still retained sufficient coherence for reforms to be effective. In Rome, there were opportunities to restore norms of restraint before conflict escalated further. A more institutionalised and stable succession process in the Mauryan Empire might have preserved central coherence before authority began to thin. Administrative reforms in Ming China might have strengthened adaptive capacity before the pressures became overwhelming. In Weimar Germany, periods of relative stabilisation offered space to rebuild legitimacy and coordination. In Argentina, repeated moments of partial recovery created openings for deeper institutional consolidation.
These were, in a sense, the lost moments.
They did not necessarily pass unnoticed. Reform efforts were often attempted. But they were either not sustained, or sufficiently embedded, or were overtaken by the dynamics of the downward spiral. Policy changes alone proved insufficient. What was required was a deeper realignment—of expectations, behaviour, and institutional function—and that proved more difficult to achieve
8. The Quiet Unmaking
Let me now draw the various threads together by offering two observations.
One, institutions are reshaped gradually, as the conditions that sustain them begin to shift. Individual responses to a shift may appear rational, but collectively Sen’s “Rational Fools” concept begins to take hold. What might be rational for an individual could be irrational for the system as a whole. “The Quiet Unmaking” begins. At some point down the line, the decline is no longer episodic. It becomes self-reinforcing. Collapse or some other transformation ultimately follows.
But each case also offers us some hope, and that is my second observation.
Each indicates that there were lost moments which need not have been lost.
These moments arise during the period before the collapse; the quieter period in which institutions still continue to function but have begun to fray.
And it is that quieter period where perhaps, just perhaps, some actions could have been taken, and who knows, history might have been different.
Thank you.
End