The underlying reason for the West’s democratic crisis may be a lost sense of open-ended time.

We live today amid the dregs of time. A sense of doom is shared on all sides of the political spectrum. Democratic politics in the West has turned into a clash between two extinction rebellions and two nostalgias: an extinction rebellion of climate activists who are terrified that if we don’t radically upend our way of life, we shall destroy life on Earth, and an extinction rebellion of the “great replacement” right, which lives in fear that if something doesn’t change, it is the end of our way of life. The right is nostalgic for the past. The left is nostalgic for the vanished future. Radically different in their goals, they share one common vantage point: an apocalyptic imagination.

It is in the context of this creeping eschatological position that one can assess the originality and importance of Jonathan White’s In the Long Run: The Future as a Political Idea. White, a professor at the London School of Economics and Political Science, offers an original reading of the current crisis of democracy by defining it as a temporal regime and arguing that an “open future,” one that is not predetermined but is shaped by human agency, is a precondition for the successful functioning of democratic regimes. In his view, “When the future seems to be closing in, institutions organized around the idea of persistent disagreement and changing opinion start to look out of place.”

By contrast, the reigning characteristic of our “age of emergency” is that there is no room for error. If certain decisions are not taken today, it no longer matters whether they will be taken up tomorrow. It will be too late.

White’s argument is that, just as humans die in the absence of air to breathe, democracy can die from the inability to dream collectively. What makes democracy work is a productive tension between a near future and a distant and utopian future. The near future is the one we can plan for—the one that politicians promise to voters and remains at the center of democratic accountability. What the government did yesterday and what the parties pledge for tomorrow will always be the bread and butter of electoral politics.

White, however, is correct to insist that the distant and utopian futures, ones radically different from today’s reality, are also constitutive for democratic regimes. Distant futures are the basis for political hope today and the motivation for deferring the gratification of immediate political goals. Take the future out of democratic politics and elections turn into civil wars with ballots or a never-ending crisis management.

But today our relationship to the future is marked by collective distrust. The resulting imbalance between democracy as a project and democracy as a projection of futures—whether economic, demographic, or technological—is at the center of the West’s current crisis. Uncertainty about the future, and the resulting hope that tomorrow can be radically different from today, are the hallmarks of the democratic idea. The question is whether uncertainty is still possible in our current age of emergency.

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People associated with the far-right group America First attend an anti-vaccine protest in New York.

Left: People associated with the far-right group America First attend an anti-vaccine protest in New York on Nov. 13, 2021. STEPHANIE KEITH/GETTY IMAGES   Right: Climate activists participate in a demonstration in front of the Thurgood Marshall U.S. Courthouse against a Supreme Court ruling that curbed the Environmental Protection Agency’s ability to broadly regulate carbon emissions, in New York on June 30, 2022. SPENCER PLATT/GETTY IMAGES

Climate activists participate in a demonstration in front of the Thurgood Marshall U.S. Courthouse against a Supreme Court ruling that curbed the Environmental Protection Agency’s ability to broadly regulate carbon emissions, in New York.

White sees the future as a political idea that has gone through different historical iterations, not all of which have productive relationships to democracy.

His consideration of rational calculation is a useful case study. White makes clear the opportunities, and far greater risks, to assuming that the future can be mastered by experts who have mastered the scientific method and the use of statistical data. This faith was on the ascent in the early 20th century, White explains, when new forms of accounting inspired confidence in the power of business project future earnings. The market forecaster was the new sage, and technocracy as a collective tool to solve the ills of man was infectious. Planning would become a new mantra and a way that ideologies of very different stripes could make sense of what came next.

But how does this impulse to rationally plan the future square with the open-mindedness of democracy and its inherent uncertainty principle? It would seem to be in contradiction. As White writes, “To assume the stability of people’s preferences is to discount the worth of a political process that seeks to change them.” One definition of democracy, offered by the political scientist Adam Przeworski, is a system in which elections cannot be changed ex post or predicted ex ante. Some things have to be left open to chance if a democracy is to be worthy of the name.

It is here that White’s stress on the utility of aspirational futures becomes a separate and essential dimension. Were everything to be left to expert planning or price signaling, the world of imagination would rapidly become impoverished. We would be taking our social cues from rational planners and prognosticators. Although White doesn’t mention him, the late sociologist Erik Olin Wright’s decadeslong research program on “real utopias” is instructive. Wright never lost sight of conceiving in bold yet imaginable terms a world of tomorrow that was also rooted in today’s pragmatic realities, squaring the circle of a wishful long game and the acceptance of the here and now.

In arguing for the critical importance of the future for the success of the democratic project, White is highly persuasive. But in trying to answer how the future could be reimagined, his analysis is less convincing. Out of fear of alienating, it seems, a progressive constituency, he stands guilty of diluting his most salient points while preaching the return of an old ideological politics. When trying to suggest the way out of the current age of emergencies, White starts to sound like a nostalgic leftist. His plea for the return of the revolutionary party strongly committed to a future project sounds noble but is ultimately unrealistic, as the absence of any suggestions for how to create this collective ideological project in his book seems to attest. In recent decades, the spontaneous resurrection of ideological politics has become the left’s version of alchemy.

White’s most important suggestion is also the least inspirational. In his view, the only way to escape the trap of a politics of emergency is to confront head-on the apocalyptic appeal of both the climate left and the great replacement right. Alexis de Tocqueville was one of the first to assert that the discourse of crisis is the native language of any genuine democracy. Democratic politics, he claimed, need drama. “As the election approaches,” Tocqueville observed in his classic travelogue, Democracy in America, “intrigue becomes more active and agitation lively and more widespread. The entire nation falls into a feverish state. … As soon as fortune has pronounced … everything becomes calm, and the river, one moment overflowed, returns peacefully to its bed.”

Democracy thus operates by framing the normal as catastrophic, while promising that all crises are surmountable, thus framing catastrophe as normal. Democratic politics functions as a nationwide therapy session where voters are confronted with their worst nightmares—a new war, demographic collapse, economic crisis, environmental horror—but are convinced they have the power to avert the devastation. In other words, democratic politics is impossible without a persistent oscillation between excessive overdramatization and trivialization of the problems we face. Elections lose their cogency when they fail to convince us that we’re confronting an unprecedented crisis and that we have it in our power to avert it.

It is at this point that the climate left ceases to be a friend of democracy—not because it is wrong in its judgment of the existential threat of global warming, but because its apocalyptic discourse prevents democracy from finding its necessary solutions. As White argues convincingly, “The sense of finality that fills today’s world is central to its volatility.”

In this context, it is worth comparing the anti-nuclear movement of the 1970s to the extinction rebellion of today. It is impossible to overstate the apocalyptic impact of the atomic bomb. For a world emerging from the ashes of World War II, the bomb was the end of the world imagined. But in political terms, preventing nuclear disaster was far easier than preventing climate disaster. To prevent nuclear disaster, it was enough for Soviet and American leaders to refrain from using the ultimate weapon. There was no time dimension. The success was to persuade the leaders of the two superpowers of what not to do. In a nuclear disaster, almost all of humanity will die simultaneously.

It is not the same with a climate disaster. It will take a longer time. At least initially, there will be winners and losers. And success will be measured not by telling leaders what not to do, but by convincing them to do certain things without necessarily a consensus around what might work. So, while the threat of nuclear disaster succeeded in mobilizing a global response that was a political success, the risk is that the climate emergency can result in fatalism and demobilization.

This banalization of catastrophe is the only way to make democracy work. Ultimately, this is also White’s important and necessary conclusion, one that he is shy to endorse. As the literary critic Frank Kermode argued, “Crisis is a way of thinking about one’s moment, and not inherent in the moment itself.” Our apocalyptic views of crisis and catastrophe are ways of making sense of the world, of rendering it intelligible.

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Fog hides most of the top of the Capitol dome.

A dense fog obscures the U.S. Capitol building in Washington, D.C., on Nov. 4, 2022. SAMUEL CORUM/GETTY IMAGES

White diagnoses today’s actually existing system of Western democracy as one exhausted of political imagination. The diagnosis is appropriate, but we should look closer to the cultural factors that have caused this exhaustion.

Reinhart Koselleck, the German intellectual historian, is helpful here in that he always insisted that modernity is defined in the dialectic between the “space of experience” and the “horizon of expectation.” But recently, something radical has again happened to both dimensions of our existence. Humankind’s recent collective migration into virtual reality redefines how we understand experience. Do we have war experience if we spent countless hours playing war games on our computer or if we religiously followed reports of ongoing wars happening elsewhere?

At the same time, the expectations about our own mortality are undergoing dramatic transformations. Could it be that we have reached the moment when nations start to look mortal while individuals are reluctant to take their own mortality for granted? It might be safe to argue that the changing demography of Western societies, their aging and shrinking, is one of the factors of the exhaustion of political imagination. Does an often childless younger generation view the future the same way that previous generations focused on the life of their children did? Is the diminishment of the nation-state in most parts of the West not at least partially responsible for the decline of the future? Is collective imagination, particularly a collective demographic imagination, in elective affinity with the nation-state?

And is the impotence of our collective imagination not related to the fact that, for some, particularly those resident in Silicon Valley, immortality is a project to be achieved in the very near future? Some informed observers believe the person who will live for 200 years has already been born. In this perversely paradoxical sense, anxiety about the apocalypse is fueled by our hope to cancel it forever. In our secular world, apocalypse is simply our own death.

In the same way that the invention of the modern individual was a precondition for the emergence of democracy in modern times, it is the hope of individual immortality that marks the end of collective dreams. Many would agree with Woody Allen when he explained, “I don’t want to achieve immortality through my work; I want to achieve immortality through not dying. I don’t want to live on in the hearts of my countrymen; I want to live on in my apartment.”

The vanishing future is probably the most critical element for the current crisis of democracy. But it can’t be overcome by simply advocating for more democracy. And while White may not offer the needed answers, he is doing something even more important, and long overdue, by asking the right questions.

Ivan, the chair of the Centre for Liberal Strategies in Sofia, Bulgaria, and Leonard Benardo, senior vice president for the Open Society Foundations.

courtesy: Foreign Policy