Editor’s Note: The following essay is based on a recent speech by the author at the Oxford Union.
When I was young, we were old-style leftists. We thought those in power had dignity, while we made obscene gestures, spoke provocatively, and used dirty words. And what we discovered was that those in power are now more obscene than we could have ever imagined.
We got it so wrong in the last elections. It’s incredible how Democrats, for instance, really cannot learn anything. I’m seriously honoured to be here—not a bad joke—and I will try, since I tend to talk too much, to keep it short.
These are more introductory remarks to give you an idea of where we are. So, where are we? I like to flirt with quantum mechanics, but what fascinates me is how to apply its notions—superpositions, collapse, and so on—to social events and history. My basic idea is this: while I remain, in some sense, a radical leftist, my official self-designation is now a “moderately conservative communist.” I will explain why.
I think we need to abandon both the liberal and Marxist dreams of a history that, even if contingent and not guaranteed, still points in a certain direction. Take Fukuyama, for example: he wrote about the end of history. Fukuyama is not an idiot. He now supports Bernie Sanders and has acknowledged that his theory didn’t hold up.
On the other side, we have orthodox Marxists who believe that despite complications, communism is inevitable. They might mask their determinism, invoking phrases like Rosa Luxemburg’s famous claim: “The future will be socialism or barbarism.” But you know what she missed? In Stalinism, we got both at the same time.
Here’s my idea, simplified to the utmost: you know the concept of quantum superpositions? A particle goes from point A to point B. To understand what happens, we must assume that in a virtual state of waves, the particle takes all possible routes before collapsing into one.
I think we’re living in such a moment now. Who knows where we are going? We face three or four deadly crises—ecology, war, immigration (or population movements), and so on.
I won’t delve deeply into this, but the key problem is how these crises will interact. Some people think that worsening ecological crises might reduce wars. I’m not so sure.
The situation is completely open. My belief is that we are in a state of superposition. It could lead to a new form of socialism, or it might result in barbarism, punctuated by isolated pockets of civilisation amidst murderous violence. But here comes the bad news. You can ask me questions later, but this is what makes me sad: the most probable outcome is what I call “soft fascism.”
By soft, I don’t mean Nazi-style fascism or outright extermination campaigns. Rather, what I mean is this: the best definition of fascism for me is a conservative revolution.
That means participating in the dynamic of capitalist development, while recognising that unrestrained capitalism and liberalism can lead to social disintegration. Intelligent fascists understood this. So, they envisioned an economy based on capitalism, but controlled by a strong state that legitimises itself by appealing to invented traditions—often religious, but not necessarily so.
Now, I may upset some of you, but do you know who serves as an example of this? China. I’ve been closely following what happens there. Two months ago, their leader gave a speech. He began with: “Our youth is not educated enough; we must train them ideologically.” I expected the usual rhetoric about reading more Marx or Mao.
But no. He emphasised Confucian traditions, saying they were essential for holding society together. Modi is doing something similar in India—brutal capitalism coupled with a narrative of tradition.
This, I think, is the most probable direction for much of the world.
History, I’m afraid, is not on our side. Another deeply troubling trend is the rise of rogue states. Now, don’t misunderstand me—I’m not using this term in the usual Western imperialist sense. By rogue state, I mean something specific: a state where the existing order can no longer reproduce itself legally or ideologically and relies instead on illegal, brutal violence.
The obvious example is Haiti, where the state has collapsed, and over 80% of the territory is controlled by gangs. But we don’t need to stop there. Let’s look elsewhere.
Take Russia: the Wagner Group was a half-legal, half-illegal military organisation, fully financed by the state but kept at arm’s length. Then consider Israel. Settlers on the West Bank often act outside the law, yet they are implicitly supported by the Israeli state. This is the tragedy of Israel today.
Itamar Ben-Gvir, a man once condemned by Israeli courts as a racist criminal, is now Minister for National Security. In the United States, groups like the Proud Boys represent another manifestation of this. Trump keeps such groups at a distance while continuing to manipulate them.
This, for me, is a sign of a failed state—a state that cannot sustain itself within its own legal or ideological framework. We should be aware of how radically open our current situation is.
One thing is clear: the status quo cannot continue indefinitely. But the future is not predetermined. To borrow quantum terms, we don’t know into what single reality the current state will collapse.
I won’t go into my favourite Hegelian topics here, but let me say this: Hegel understood the retroactive nature of events. Once a particular version of history takes shape, it retroactively redefines the past—not empirically, but in how we narrate and perceive it. We are constantly rewriting the past.
Marx, often dismissed as a naïve progressivist, captured something profound in his Grundrisse. He wrote: “Just as the anatomy of a human explains the anatomy of an ape, capitalism provides the key to interpreting earlier social forms.”
This is not to say that history was predetermined to lead to capitalism. Rather, once capitalism emerged, we began interpreting history as if it had always been moving in that direction.
This retroactive reimagining of history is why I appreciate the work of thinkers like David Graeber. He showed how ancient Inca societies contained both brutal hierarchies and remarkable democratic structures.
To truly understand history, we must pay attention to what might have happened but didn’t. These unrealised possibilities don’t simply disappear—they persist as dreams, either reactionary or progressive.
Let me end with a thought on artificial intelligence. I think we’re approaching it in the wrong way. We often ask: will AI be able to think like us? But why frame it this way? A new form of intelligence might emerge, but it doesn’t have to mimic human thought.
For me, the truly human traits AI cannot replicate are our meaningless daily rituals and our capacity for swearing. These quirks—like compulsively double-checking taps or indulging in bizarre habits—help us impose a fragile sense of order on life’s inherent chaos.
Swearing, in particular, fascinates me. It’s not just vulgarity. Swearing reflects our frustration with language itself, our inability to fully articulate our experiences. This, I believe, is at the heart of what it means to be human.
Finally, what saddens me most today is the explosion of shamelessness in public life. Things that would have been unthinkable even ten years ago are now openly discussed or displayed.
For instance, in Israel, there was recently a Knesset debate about guards at a prison where Hamas prisoners were tortured in horrific ways. What disturbed me wasn’t just the actions, but the tone of the debate: many argued it was a shame the guards were punished. They saw Hamas members as less than human.
Shamelessness like this, I fear, is a growing trend worldwide. The question we must ask ourselves is: in an age of such permissiveness, how can we restore a sense of shame?
