Adela Cortina, one of Spain’s most influential contemporary thinkers and a key voice in European ethics, has offered a stark yet measured diagnosis of the country’s evolution over the past 50 years. In an interview published by El País, where she has been a regular contributor since 1987, the philosopher argues that Spain’s democratic journey, while successful in many respects, now faces new fractures driven by polarization, migration debates, attention fatigue and the disruptive acceleration of artificial intelligence. At 79, the Valencia-born academic continues to engage actively in public debate from the Fundación Étnor, which she helped create to promote ethical reflection in business and society.
Cortina situates Spain’s democratic transition not only as a political milestone but as the culmination of an earlier “ethical transition” within society itself. She recalls how, in the years leading up to the end of authoritarian rule, Spanish society was already undergoing internal change driven by pluralism, social mobility and external influences such as returning emigrants, tourism and student movements. According to her, these forces created a “revolution from within” that made political pluralism possible. Rather than a sudden rupture, she describes the transition as a convergence between institutional reform and a society that had already begun to shift its values and expectations, making democracy both possible and durable.
However, Cortina is equally clear that the optimism of that period has faded. One of the key failures she identifies is the erosion of what she calls the belief in upward social mobility. In earlier decades, she explains, there was a widespread conviction that each generation would live better than the previous one. Today, that expectation has been replaced by a growing narrative that younger generations will fare worse than their parents. She rejects this outlook as both inaccurate and damaging. In her view, young people today have unprecedented opportunities for education, global connection and technological access. The challenge is not a lack of possibility, but a paralysis of perception that leads many to underestimate their own potential.
She criticises what she sees as a growing sense of collective pessimism among the young, arguing that it risks becoming self-fulfilling. Far from living in decline, she insists, today’s generation has access to tools and networks that were unimaginable decades ago, including digital learning, international mobility and the possibilities offered by the European Union. The problem, she suggests, lies in a failure to encourage confidence and initiative. This emphasis on opportunity rather than limitation reflects her broader ethical philosophy, which consistently stresses agency, responsibility and the cultivation of civic optimism.
Migration and identity politics are another central concern in her analysis. Cortina, known for her influential concept of “aporophobia” — the rejection of the poor — argues that social hostility is not directed equally at all foreigners, but primarily at those in conditions of economic vulnerability. She distinguishes between the acceptance of affluent tourists or successful migrants and the rejection of those arriving in poverty. In this context, she criticises political slogans such as “national preference,” describing them as ethically unacceptable and socially dangerous. While acknowledging public concerns about administrative strain, she argues that migration policies must be handled in an orderly and fair manner to avoid scapegoating vulnerable groups.
Her reflections extend to the broader political climate in Spain and beyond. Cortina expresses concern about the rise of extremism, but places greater emphasis on what she sees as a breakdown in dialogue across the political spectrum. In contrast with the spirit of consensus that characterised Spain’s transition to democracy, she argues that contemporary politics is increasingly defined by confrontation and the construction of symbolic “walls” between ideological blocs. Speaking from the perspective of someone who has long engaged with public institutions and civil society, she calls for a return to the culture of agreement that once allowed deeply divided actors to coexist within a shared democratic framework. El País, she notes with appreciation, played a significant role in fostering that culture during the transition years.
Cortina is nonetheless confident that recovery of political concord is still possible. She rejects the idea that current divisions are irreversible, pointing instead to historical precedent. If Spain was able to rebuild democratic life after the trauma of civil war, she argues, it should also be capable of overcoming present-day tensions with the political resources it already possesses. Her position is pragmatic rather than idealistic: societies must work with the “materials” available, even when imperfect, and seek incremental reconstruction of trust rather than waiting for perfect conditions.
A major concern in her analysis is the transformation of attention in the digital age. Cortina warns that constant distraction, driven by technology and platform-based economies, is undermining the capacity for reflection and critical thinking. She describes contemporary society as an “attention economy” in which human focus is increasingly commodified and manipulated. For her, this shift has profound implications for education, where sustained concentration is essential for intellectual development. Without the ability to focus, she argues, individuals lose the capacity for reasoning, comparison and ethical judgement, weakening democratic culture itself.
She also raises alarms about global political instability, suggesting that traditional alliances and certainties are becoming increasingly fluid. Without referring to a single country as uniquely responsible, she notes that multiple international actors are contributing to a weakening of established democratic norms and strategic consistency. In this volatile environment, she urges caution and coherence in foreign policy, warning that constant shifts in alignment undermine credibility and long-term trust between states.
Despite these concerns, Cortina places significant hope in journalism. In one of the most emphatic moments of her interview with El País, she insists that the role of professional media remains essential in shaping public understanding and democratic consciousness. Journalism, she argues, is not merely a channel of information but a formative force in society. It helps build ethical awareness and collective judgement in ways that artificial intelligence, regardless of its sophistication, cannot replicate. In an era increasingly shaped by automated systems and algorithmic content, she defends journalism as a uniquely human practice rooted in responsibility and interpretation.
Her personal habits reflect this philosophy. Cortina does not use a mobile phone, a decision she associates with a desire for freedom from constant connectivity. While she acknowledges some regret about this choice in a rapidly digitalised world, she maintains that the detachment helps preserve autonomy and mental space. Her concern is less technological than existential: she fears a society in which individuals feel increasingly “enslaved” by devices designed to capture attention.
Looking ahead, Cortina refrains from predicting the next half-century with certainty. Instead, she expresses a hope grounded in ethical aspiration: that future societies will remain democratic, open and capable of cultivating justice and compassion. Her reflections, shaped by decades of philosophical work on ethics, business responsibility and social cohesion, ultimately return to a central conviction: that democracy depends not only on institutions, but on the moral imagination of its citizens.
