At a recent graduation ceremony at one of Latin America’s oldest and most prestigious law schools, young lawyers applauded a vision of authority in which law no longer operates as a limit on power, but as its instrument. This was not a trivial academic ritual or a moment of youthful enthusiasm, it was a revealing social signal. When those trained to defend due process celebrate its suspension, the problem is no longer merely legal, it is civilizational.

This episode took place in Brazil, but its meaning is not local. Brazil today offers a clear illustration of a broader global tendency, the transformation of law from a system of general constraints into a flexible tool for managing perceived emergencies. Understanding why future jurists applaud this shift requires looking beyond personalities and toward the ideas now shaping legal education itself.

Brazil’s Supreme Court has gradually accumulated an unusual concentration of functions. Under the recurring justification of “defending democracy,” the Court has authorized investigative, prosecutorial, and judicial actions within its own institutional sphere. While this arrangement has been formally upheld by the Court, it has normalized a model of governance in which exceptional procedures are no longer temporary responses to crises, but standing methods of rule.

One justice of Brazil’s Supreme Court has become a visible symbol of this broader institutional logic. His role in consolidating the investigative framework known as Inquiry 4.781, later validated by the Court in ADPF 572, exemplifies a legal culture increasingly comfortable with procedural improvisation. The significance of this example lies not in the individual, but in the precedent—a judiciary that teaches, by practice, that legal form may yield whenever urgency demands it.

This inversion was diagnosed long ago by Frédéric Bastiat. In The Law, Bastiat argued that law exists not to perfect society, but to restrain force. When law abandons this negative function and begins acting in pursuit of higher ends, a silent moral reversal occurs. The instrument designed to protect rights becomes the means of violating them under the appearance of legality. Legal plunder, Bastiat warned, does not require overt tyranny. It requires only the belief that law may be reshaped according to the urgency of the moment. The danger lies not in the isolated exception, but in the pedagogy that trains entire generations to accept exceptions as a method.

Yet institutional design alone does not explain the enthusiasm with which young jurists embrace this logic. Alexis de Tocqueville offers the missing psychological key. In Democracy in America, he warned not of brutal despots, but of a tutelary power—administrative, benevolent, and protective—welcomed by citizens who no longer desire freedom as responsibility, but as comfort. Such power does not coerce; it guides. It does not silence; it reassures. Over time, it shapes preferences until submission feels like care. When exception is presented as protection, servitude ceases to be imposed and becomes chosen.

Classical political theory reinforces this diagnosis. For John Locke, in the Second Treatise of Government, political authority is fiduciary. It exists solely to safeguard pre-political rights. When power exceeds that mandate, it reverts to force, regardless of legal ornamentation.

Montesquieu, in The Spirit of the Laws, reached a similar conclusion from an institutional angle. The concentration of investigative, legislative, and judicial functions is incompatible with liberty, irrespective of intentions. Freedom depends, not on virtue, but on structure.

Friedrich Hayek later explained why such systems rarely collapse dramatically. In The Constitution of Liberty, he showed that freedom is usually lost through precedent, not revolution. Ad hoc decisions gradually displace general rules. Exceptional measures harden into permanent frameworks. What begins as an emergency response becomes ordinary governance.

What is happening in Brazil is therefore not an anomaly, it is a warning. When law schools educate future lawyers to admire those who bypass legal limits for ostensibly noble reasons, they cease to produce guardians of the rule of law and begin training managers of permanent exception. Applause, in this sense, is not a detail, it is a symptom. The future of liberty will not be decided only in courts or constitutions, but in classrooms that either teach, or forget, that law exists precisely to restrain those who claim to act in its name.

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