Welt und Zeit—The Failure of Internationalism, 18:16—14. Februar 2025

If we endeavor to trace the contours of our contemporary age, through the manifold events that burn across our collective horizon, we find ourselves facing an astonishingly volatile condition that might, in the broadest of senses, be named the failure of international democracy. Such a disintegration is neither confined to a single geographical region nor reducible to the ephemeral vicissitudes of any particular diplomatic entanglement: it is more accurately the reverberation of a deeper crisis, an shaking of the ground upon which, since the dawn of modern political structures, the concept of democracy had dared to erect a foundational ethos of collective self-determination. And yet no confidence can remain unshaken in the face of mounting conflicts, intensifying cynicisms, and a sense of near-perpetual turbulence that seems to permeate the apparatuses once presumed to guarantee order and justice.

We stand amid this precarious climate and witness the near civil-war-like tensions in the United States, a nation that historically proclaimed itself as the bastion of democratic ideals. In the wake of historically unprecedented political polarization, the rhetorical battles that fill the airwaves are only outward forms of a deeper unrest, which stirs in the hearts of citizens who have come to doubt the institutions that once commanded faith. The political fractures within the United States, long heralded as the beacon of democracy, now exhibit the unmistakable symptoms of systemic collapse. The opposition between left and right has ceased to be a mere ideological dispute and has become an existential conflict, a struggle not over policies but over the legitimacy of the political order itself. Electoral processes, once taken as the unquestioned foundation of democratic governance, are now sites of contestation and suspicion. The institutions designed to mediate political conflict—Congress, the courts, the media—are themselves absorbed into the battle, no longer serving as neutral arbiters but as weapons wielded by opposing factions. If civil war is not simply the eruption of violence but the condition in which political antagonisms are no longer contained within a common framework, then the United States has already entered this condition. Democracy here does not fail as a result of external attack; it dissolves from within, through the implosion of its own presuppositions. It is as though an undercurrent of resentments, once subdued, has broken out into the open with a fervor that casts doubt on all mechanisms by which a democratic society might normally calm internal strife. Unrests, allegations of fraud, and the looming threat of political violence within certain segments of society increasingly blur the line between a mere cyclical shift in partisan alignment and the possibility of something far worse. The US, once heralded by many as the incarnation of modern democratic ideals, now grapples with internal polarization. Whereas one might have expected a mature democracy to mediate dissent through stable institutions and reasoned public dialogue, the current predicament highlights a certain collision of opposites that has not found a higher reconciliation. Mistrust in electoral processes, in judicial authority, and in the media has become pervasive. One could interpret this as evidence that Hegel’s notion of Spirit cannot simply remain content with the formal trappings of democracy; the dialectic demands a deeper resolution of the contradictions that underlie social life, contradictions involving economic disparities, racial and cultural tensions, and the dissonances generated by new digital technologies. Instead of unifying into a higher social and political consciousness, these tensions swirl in fractious opposition, casting doubt on the adequacy of existing institutions.

It is as though the promise of the Enlightenment era legacy has begun to corrode from within. The intensification of anger, fueled by the hyperconnectivity of digital media platforms, cannot help but obscure the fate of free discourse, once hailed as the lifeblood of democracy. This free discourse, in the architecture of an ideal democracy, presupposed that open debate and the exchange of ideas would yield, not perfection, but at least a measure of collective wisdom. And now, ironically, that same free discourse—forged in a time before the ubiquitous infiltration of social media, rapid-fire content streams, and algorithmic manipulations—finds itself subverted by a new kind of digital dissimulation. Individuals and institutions manipulate the flows of information to shape the ideological terrain for their own advantage, eroding any shared sense of the real. The result is a dangerously plastic political consciousness, susceptible to conspiratorial thinking, a pronounced tribalism, and impulsive, short-term emotional outbursts that overshadow methodical inquiry or careful dialogue. The fate of democracy under these conditions, especially in so historically central a model as the United States, presents a possibility of systematic global breakdown.

Yet the United States is by no means singular in this regard. Across Africa, myriad tensions and conflicts, both historical and newly emergent, interlock with the complexities of local governance, international interference, and economic vulnerabilities shaped by post-colonial legacies. Where democratic governance was often imposed as a postcolonial inheritance rather than organically developed, the promise of stable institutions is increasingly undermined by a reality in which power remains tied to force, resource control, and shifting alliances. Western interventions, whether in the form of economic restructuring, military assistance, or diplomatic mediation, often serve not to stabilize but to exacerbate existing conflicts, revealing the extent to which international democracy functions less as a normative ideal than as an instrument of geopolitical management. Here, the rhetoric of human rights and electoral governance operates as a thin veil over the persistence of extractive economic systems and neo-colonial dependencies. If democracy is to be meaningful in such contexts, it cannot be imposed as a model but must emerge from within the singular histories and struggles of these societies—something that the international order, in its insistence on universality, is structurally incapable of accommodating. Postcolonial histories, ethnic divisions, authoritarian tendencies, and international opportunism have all contributed to persistent patterns of political instability and armed conflict. An observer guided by Hegel might recall his remarks on history as an unfolding rationality, yet also note the severe limitations of that narrative when the structural inequities that shaped much of Africa’s modern trajectory were imposed from outside, often in ways that stymied the organic evolution of social and political forms. Indeed, the historical dialectic in regions subjected to colonial domination followed a path riddled with external impositions, abrupt transitions, and exploitative arrangements that left entire societies with fragile democratic frameworks. These fragilities persist into the present day, exacerbated by the rise of digital manipulation, resource-driven geopolitics, and the struggles of postcolonial states to assert genuine autonomy. From this vantage, democracy’s failure there is not a moral condemnation of the peoples themselves, but a testimony to how historical contradictions have not been reconciled—how they have instead metastasized into new modes of conflict, corruption, and external interference. These conflicts are not confined to localized violence, they propagate waves of destabilization that reach beyond their immediate environment. Regions riven by tribal, ethnic, and sectarian strife scramble to secure external alliances, often negotiating precarious pacts with global powers whose motivations are themselves veiled in shadows. One glimpses a harrowing spectacle in which the aspiration toward stable democratic institutions struggles beneath the burdens of corruption, underdevelopment, external influence, and internal divisions. Sub-Saharan Africa, North Africa, the Horn of Africa—each region is a full of rising tensions, from ongoing militant insurgencies to fragile political transitions that might be undone by a single strategic miscalculation. The global order, once presumed capable of offering robust support for emerging democratic frameworks, now appears absent or ambivalent, perhaps often even condescending, and fragmented in its capacity to coordinate or even articulate a coherent plan for sustainable peace. Another dimension of international democracy’s failure is thus revealed in this inability, or unwillingness, of the global community to intervene effectively, ethically, and preventatively in regional crises that spiral out of control.

Meanwhile, in Eastern Europe, the Ukraine war powerfully demonstrates the fundamental unpredictability of modern conflicts. Despite the seemingly unambiguous nature of aggression on the ground, the diplomatic and rhetorical structures that frame the war remain anything but stable. The war in Ukraine exposes the undecidability at the heart of contemporary geopolitical conflict. On the surface, it is a struggle between authoritarianism and democracy, an assertion of national sovereignty against imperial aggression. Yet the reality is far more entangled. The international response oscillates between strategic calculation and moral condemnation, revealing the limits of a democratic world order that cannot fully reconcile its principles with its interests. The war is neither winnable nor fully resolvable; it persists as an open wound in the global political body, a conflict that cannot be definitively adjudicated within existing frameworks of international law and diplomatic negotiation. What is revealed here is not only the fragility of international alliances but the deeper instability of a world order that no longer possesses a coherent logic of resolution. The war is at once a product of historical grievances, political animosities, and spheres of influence shaped by older imperial legacies, and yet it is also refracted through the volatile lenses of digital propaganda, international media, and the intangible array of alliances that have formed in part through historical treaties and in part through purely strategic calculations. The so-called “international community”—an entity often conjured as a singular moral voice—is unable to provide a simple solution. The lines between just defense and opportunistic expansion of influence become increasingly blurred. The rhetorical emphasis on democracy and national self-determination collides with longstanding power plays and the economic calculations that make neutrality, for many states, an illusion. The crisis surrounding the war in Ukraine likewise exemplifies a contemporary manifestation of unresolved tensions that defy simple classification. For Hegel, world-historical events always involved, in one sense, the cunning of reason—a hidden rationality behind apparently chaotic power struggles. Yet the destructive force unleashed in this conflict, and the complex motivations behind the actions of local and global powers, seems to belie any neat resolution or ultimate benevolent outcome. The war’s uncertain trajectory, with no definitive consensus among international actors, suggests a perpetual deferral of the so-called rational end state that Hegelian optimism might have anticipated. Instead, we witness an escalation shaped by historical resentments, nationalist fervors, and realpolitik calculations that overshadow any comprehensive, unified moral stance. The repeated failures of international democratic institutions to forestall or at least contain such hostilities point again to a structural breakdown—a sign that the engines of world history may grind forward without necessarily generating a universal moral progress. Each step toward diplomatic negotiation or further de-escalation is overshadowed by a swirl of competing interests, shaped anew by the ever-shifting alliances and the precarious global supply chains on which entire populations rely. Thus, the war in Ukraine collapsed the simple belief that democracy’s supposed guardians could spontaneously unify to resist a blatant challenge to sovereignty. Instead, it blatantly revealed the precarious, uncertain condition of a world in which moral imperatives, economic dependencies, and realpolitik clash, leaving no assured path to resolution.

Elsewhere, the precarious existence of the Palestinians in Israel remains a painful emblem of international democracy’s impotence. Decades of summits, agreements, broken truces, and incomplete negotiations have fostered a deep disenchantment on all sides—an entrenchment that makes any move toward a just settlement an excruciating undertaking, if not an apparently impossible one. National interests, religious allegiances, security imperatives, historical claims, and systemic inequities converge into a knot so tightly wound that even those who speak eloquently of “peace” often cannot imagine its tangible realization. The situation of the Palestinians, long emblematic of the contradictions of international governance, continues to deteriorate under a global order that claims to uphold democracy while systematically failing to apply its principles to those rendered stateless, occupied, or displaced. The precariousness of Palestinian existence under Israeli control is not simply the result of military asymmetry or failed negotiations but of a structural condition in which democratic ideals are subordinated to geopolitical imperatives. The international community, despite repeated declarations of commitment to peace, remains paralyzed, caught between rhetorical commitments and material interests. This paralysis is not accidental but symptomatic of the broader crisis of international democracy: a system that proclaims universality while operating through exceptions, exclusions, and indefinite deferrals. In the Palestinian context, the notion of democracy is confronted by the stark contradictions of power and dispossession. Generations have lived under precarious conditions, shaped by shifting international alliances and perpetually deferred promises of autonomy and peace. Although democracy is often invoked as a guiding principle in the region, the lived reality for many Palestinians suggests instead a systemic impasse, a blockade against the possibility of stable self-determination or genuine political participation. Here, one perceives that democracy, once conceptualized as the universal right of all people to shape their collective destiny, buckles beneath entrenched asymmetries of power, heightened by religious and nationalistic claims whose complexity defies easy resolution. The structures meant to mediate these claims—the global institutions and agreements designed to uphold a universal sense of right—repeatedly fail to deliver any lasting settlement. If the Hegelian dialectic implies a moral arc bending toward freedom, then its progress appears painfully stalled in the face of these grinding, long-term contradictions. The question of democracy in this context becomes entangled with the question of who is granted the right to self-determination, under what conditions, and in whose territory. The tenuous environment for Palestinians, the internal political transformations within Israel, and the frustration of generations who have been born into conflict without witnessing any stable resolution reflect a systemic breakdown in the global capacity to mediate. International bodies, formed precisely to uphold peace and the universal values of democracy, repeatedly prove either powerless or are undermined by the competing agendas of global powers. Thus, democracy fails not only in the sense of internal political processes but also in the sense of a shared global architecture meant to uphold human rights and the possibility of equitable co-existence.

Meanwhile, the specter of a possible war over Taiwan indicates how quickly unresolved historical tensions can escalate in a global environment marked by advanced technology, strategic alliances, and mutual suspicion. The precarious status of Taiwan reflects a confluence of overlapping claims: geopolitical, ideological, cultural, and historical. The vulnerability of this position, in which a small island nation finds itself caught between global powers, shows us the fragility of democratic institutions when confronted by stark asymmetries in economic and military might. And in Taiwan, the looming possibility of war stands as a stark reminder that the geopolitical order rests not on democratic consensus but on fragile equilibria of power. The question is not simply whether democracy will be defended but whether it is even the decisive factor in determining the course of events. Military strategy, economic interdependence, and technological supremacy all play a role in shaping the conflict in ways that render traditional democratic discourse secondary. The fate of Taiwan, like that of Ukraine, is not determined by democratic will but by the interplay of forces that exceed the framework of democratic governance. The international community proclaims support for democratic values, yet economic entanglements, corporate interests, and the real possibility of catastrophic armed conflict render moral clarity an elusive goal. The path forward remains uncertain, driven by the swirl of global supply chains, the production of advanced technologies (such as semiconductors crucial to the world economy), and the conflation of national pride with strategic imperatives. If Hegel’s dialectic once envisioned a rational development in which contradictory interests would eventually coalesce into a universal ethical life, the realities in East Asia suggest a continuing standoff in which no immediate reconciliation can be confidently predicted. The looming threat of war in Taiwan builds the tension born of a new age dominated by rising superpowers, formidable economic rivalries, and advanced military technologies that have the capacity to upend entire regions in weeks—if not days. Far from a marginal concern, a possible Taiwanese crisis would mean a fundamental shift in the balance of power that would unsettle the prior assumptions of global democratic order. Just as the old Cold War seemingly ended with the collapse of the Soviet Union, a new and more complicated alignment of powers would emerge, in which questions of sovereignty, cultural identity, and economic leverage would fuse in unpredictable ways. In the swirl of supply chains, semiconductor industries, and historical claims, we see a situation that defies the linear predictions of an earlier era. We are left to rethink the possibility of a large-scale conflict igniting over an island whose strategic and symbolic importance resonates far beyond its size on the map. Should that conflict ignite, the global impetus to preserve democratic norms would once again prove deeply divided, buffeted by economic dependencies that have become the hallmark of the globalized world. It is no longer the case that a singular democratic coalition, firm in purpose and moral clarity, can necessarily stand as the bulwark against aggression. Instead, corporations, international organizations, and state actors with myriad conflicting interests enter the scene in ways that confound the very notion of a united global front.

These crises—spanning the near civil-war atmosphere of United States politics, the conflagrations and power struggles in Africa, the undecided and indeterminate war in Ukraine, the enduring plight of Palestinians under the entangled governance of Israel, and the looming anxiety over Taiwan’s fate—compose a portrait of global fragmentation. The ideal of democracy, by which we might have once meant a set of universal values capable of bridging cultural and national divides, appears subject to relentless fissures. Moreover, this is not merely a crisis of one dimension—political, economic, or cultural—but rather a manifold crisis that cuts across through all dimensions simultaneously. We are compelled, from an ontological standpoint, to recognize a shift in the fundamental structures of our shared reality: the unpredictability of outcomes has reached a fever pitch, fueled by digital technologies that instantaneously connect billions of people, saturate them with information that is impossible to fully verify, and accelerate the speed with which decisions—both personal and political—are made. The illusions of stable governance structures or unassailable democratic norms have been laid bare, replaced by a ceaseless contest of narratives that swirl through social media, mainstream news outlets, intelligence leaks, and corporate announcements. In this environment, the role of artificial intelligence, which increasingly shapes the flows of data and the frameworks of public debate, only deepens the sense that the human capacity to navigate complexities is being tested—and at times overwhelmed—by systems whose logic transcends any single individual’s or government’s capacity to direct.

This modern era, imbued with digital transformations at every level of social existence, has eroded many of the boundaries that once gave shape to the political realm. The territorial sovereignty that provided the foundation for traditional conceptions of democracy now intersects with virtual spaces that are borderless, multifaceted, and perpetually in flux. Political influence, once rooted in physical communities and institutions, migrates across platforms that can be accessed, manipulated, or weaponized from any corner of the globe. As a result, interference in election processes, the spread of disinformation, and the orchestration of mass propaganda movements can happen instantaneously, short-circuiting the slower, historically grounded processes by which democratic societies used to legislate and deliberate. Meanwhile, advanced analytics, data-driven microtargeting, and AI-driven persuasion continue to distort the classic image of a citizen who can weigh arguments with relative freedom from manipulation. In an irony that should not escape us, the tools designed to heighten connectivity, expand knowledge, and democratize information access have contributed to a fracturing and polarizing dynamic of unprecedented magnitude.

Thus, the present meltdown of international democracy is not a mere crisis of short-term leadership or ephemeral policy. It is rather an epochal disruption, recasting the entire notion of political agency, collective deliberation, and accountability. We find ourselves in a situation where states large and small, democratic or otherwise, can easily find rhetorical and economic justifications to champion their own particular “order,” while digital technologies—amplifying local voices of resentment or dissatisfaction—roil across borders. As illusions of shared global values are shredded in real-time, we must ask whether the very project of modern democracy has been, from the beginning, more fragile than its advocates supposed. Yet this does not necessarily mandate a resignation to cynicism. The impetus in philosophy is to hold open the possibility of rethinking democracy’s premises, of reimagining a global community that is perhaps not anchored in the illusions of universal harmony but in a more sober recognition of the irreducible tensions that shape human coexistence. And to carry that burden of rethinking, we must attend carefully to the actual intensities of conflict, the real precarities of daily existence for those on the front lines of war or political strife, and the unstoppable transformations wrought by the digital era and artificial intelligence.

In that spirit, reflection on the failure of international democracy transforms from lament into a desire for deeper understanding—an attempt to identify where illusions about democratic inevitability have obscured the need to continually ground democratic processes in broader socio-economic and cultural contexts. The civil-war-like tensions in the United States highlight that democracy cannot survive on mere procedural correctness if the underlying social fabric is frayed by years of mistrust, inequality, and manipulation. The conflicts in Africa, likewise, reflect that democracy cannot take root without addressing fundamental inequities and lingering colonial legacies. The Ukraine war demonstrates that even explicit acts of aggression in a supposedly post-imperial era can upend illusions of a stable European order, while the situation of Palestinians forces us to confront the failure of global mediation at the precise juncture where democracies profess to champion human rights. Finally, the looming possibility of a confrontation over Taiwan echoes the shadowy realignments of a twenty-first century in which economic might, technological prowess, and national ambitions converge with a force that no single normative framework has yet contained.

We persist, then, within this precarious juncture, aware that what has been called the “end of history” is in reality just another façade. History is not closed; the conflicts and tensions across the globe confirm that history remains startlingly open-ended, subject to the flux of countless wills and forces. What is truly unprecedented is the speed and interconnectedness with which these events unfold, so that no crisis remains purely local for long. This hyperconnected environment means that our talk of democracy’s failure cannot remain an abstract condemnation of faulty institutions; it must become an articulation of how the entire global architecture—political, economic, technological—has reached a tipping point. One might recall from In the Wake of Thought that genuine philosophical inquiry compels us beyond the surface phenomena, urging us to perceive that the illusions of stable progress are intimately tied to illusions about human agency, rationality, and our capacity to master the complexities of history.

Yet a complete pessimism would be equally misguided. If democracy’s decline or failure is now so widely recognized, it might spur an awakening—a renaissance of political imagination or a new call to accountability that embraces the necessity of constant struggle and reinvention. After all, democracy in its classic form was never a static artifact; it was always a living, evolving practice. If that practice has been hijacked, fractured, or commercialized by digital technology and artificial intelligence, perhaps there is hope in the prospect of reasserting the primacy of the human dimension, forging new forms of community, and challenging the illusions of manipulative digital architectures. Nevertheless, the path toward such renewal is likely to be fraught with difficulty. The existing global system, shaped by generations of economic competition, geostrategic rivalries, and centuries of uneven development, cannot simply be disassembled overnight. States entrenched in a quest for power, and industries driven by relentless market imperatives, are not easily swayed by appeals to moral or philosophical insight. The real challenge for democracy’s defenders and creators in every region of the globe, from the contested enclaves of Africa to the deeply divided neighborhoods in the United States, remains that of reconciling the urgent need for reform with the structural inertia that resists fundamental changes.

In effect, the unpredictability of these outcomes—whether in the realm of potential escalations, emergent peace deals, sudden electoral swings, or even technological breakthroughs—has instilled a sense that we are living in an era characterized by the ungraspable. Philosophically, one might argue that all eras have been marked by unknown futures, but the difference in this modern configuration is the staggering acceleration and scope of information flow, the intensification of systemic fragilities, and the interaction between advanced technologies that can coordinate or sabotage entire systems at lightning speed. This transforms everyday political decisions into a conglomerate of risk calculations. Even the so-called experts, be they policymakers, diplomats, or CEOs of global tech companies, find their predictive power challenged by the dizzying complexity of real-time global data and the emergent properties of AI systems.

The failure of international democracy is not a closed endpoint, but a threshold phenomenon, signaling that the established models of politics, statecraft, and collective deliberation cannot contain the intensities now coursing through the veins of the world’s populations. And so we recognize that what we label as “failure” might equally be the birth pangs of a new form of global consciousness, albeit one that is not guaranteed to coalesce into any stable or democratic formation. The ambiguities that swirl around us—the illusions, manipulations, and illusions-of-illusions—emphasize the radical contingency of our human projects. The structures we built to manage or mitigate such contingencies are themselves uncertain. If this is not an outright condemnation of the democratic ideal, it is at least a formidable challenge to all those who believed that democracy was an evolutionary certitude rather than an ongoing creation.

Yet even if we sense the fragility of democracy, the human longing for freedom, justice, and participation in shaping our common world does not vanish. That longing might manifest in strange or contradictory ways; it might be subsumed under nationalistic fervor or populist rhetoric, or co-opted by corporate sponsorships that commodify activism. The sincerity of human aspiration to live with dignity, to find meaning in community, endures alongside the violent surges of disillusionment. The philosophical question, then, is whether we can craft new institutions, new technologies, and new forms of transnational dialogue capable of channeling these aspirations without succumbing to the self-destructive impulses now so visible on the world stage. If a civil-war-like scenario in the United States reveals anything, it is the brittleness of even the most venerable democratic systems when confronted with the unchecked force of new media ecosystems that feed on outrage and division. If the tensions and conflicts in Africa teach us anything, it is the necessity of grounding democratic ideals in material security, social trust, and equitable opportunity. If the Ukraine war teaches us anything, it is that the veneer of a peaceful modernity can be stripped away in an instant by the reassertion of raw power. And the precarious state of Palestinians in Israel should show us that the rhetoric of democracy can lie in uneasy tension with systematic dispossession and international inaction. As for the looming threat of war in Taiwan, it is that the entire edifice of global interdependence might remain at the mercy of confrontational national interests and the unstoppable logic of technological advancement.

Therefore, it is not hyperbole to claim that these global flashpoints and uncertainties have ushered us into an era of deeper ontological instability—an era in which the old frameworks we used to rely upon for predicting, negotiating, or containing conflicts have proven obsolete, or at least insufficient. The question, in the end, is not merely whether democracy will survive this epoch, but rather how the structures of human society and consciousness will respond to a situation of near-permanent crisis. Will we, as a global collective, remain caught in the illusions of new digital empires, consoling ourselves with customized feeds that confirm our preconceived biases? Or will we open ourselves to a radical re-examination of the ground of political community, forging alliances that transcend the superficial divides exploited by the same technologies that were once heralded as the architects of a universal, democratic public sphere? Time, as always, remains the crucial dimension, for it alone can reveal the deeper arcs of history that confound even the most rigorous attempts at prognostication.

In the end, democracy fails not just on the grand stage of world politics, but in every instance where the will to sincere dialogue, to mutual recognition, and to the difficult labor of forging consensus is abandoned in favor of domination or retreat into ideological bunkers. Indeed, democracy’s fate is entwined with the fate of truth, the capacity of individuals and communities to engage in reality-tested discourse, and the willingness to accept compromise when faced with complexity. These elements, if they are to be sustained or revitalized, demand an ongoing commitment that transcends momentary interest or ephemeral advantage. The intensification of technology and the presence of artificial intelligence in governance might threaten or bolster such a commitment, depending on how these developments are integrated into the moral and philosophical fabric of our societies. In the same way, the illusions we see fueling conflicts in the United States, Africa, Ukraine, Israel-Palestine, and Taiwan can only be confronted if there is a corresponding intensification of philosophical interrogation—a willingness to see the illusions for what they are and to question the deeper motivations that sustain them.

Thus, the crisis of global democracy cannot be answered by a simple restoration of an imagined past, nor by a naïve hope in the inevitability of progress. It demands an existential reckoning with the ways power, technology, and narrative-building have mutated in our century. If that reckoning is delayed or evaded, we may plunge further into disarray, drifting toward authoritarian models or warlike expansions that disregard even the pretense of democratic virtue. If, however, that reckoning is undertaken with seriousness and depth, then perhaps the intensities of our moment can be harnessed for a reconfiguration of international relations and the practice of democracy itself. But in truth, neither outcome is guaranteed. We dwell in the precarious realm of possibility, facing the open question of whether we collectively muster the will to evolve our political forms as swiftly as our technologies are evolving our environments. The failure of international democracy may not be final; it may be a purgatorial state from which we emerge with a renewed sense of the fragility and necessity of shared governance. Yet such emergence depends on the capacity of people—across all divides—to reimagine what democracy means and to resist the easy seductions of chaos, cynicism, or the siren call of unthinking power. This is the promise and the challenge in our age, an era marked by the intensification of history’s unpredictability and the haunting question of who, or what, ultimately decides the future of our communal life.

This failure of internationalism in our contemporary epoch is itself a deeply rooted phenomenon, one that cannot be grasped merely by surveying a few headlines or casting blame upon particular political actors. It calls instead for a reflective inquiry into the foundations of collective life and the structures that shape human destiny across nations and continents. From a Hegelian perspective, world history had long been viewed as a rational process—a dialectical unfolding of freedom and reason, propelled by the contradictions inherent in human societies. Hegel famously posited that the progress of history was nothing less than the development of Geist (Spirit), moving through stages of conflict and reconciliation, a dialectic that should lead to ever-increasing freedom in political and social life. When democracy was established as the formal principle of governance in various modern nations, many believed it to be the culmination of this historical process: an achievement in which Spirit found a way to give voice to the aspirations of individuals and collectives alike. To look upon the modern scene, however, is to sense a potential unraveling of that supposed culmination. Instead of witnessing democracy as a stable resolution, we observe deepening fissures in the very societies that historically championed it, suggesting that the dialectic has not concluded and that contradictions persist in formidable new forms. Such a litany of global tensions would remain incomplete without acknowledging the role that Heidegger’s thinking can play in understanding the deeper underpinnings of the crisis. Heidegger, unlike Hegel, did not place his main emphasis on a triumphant rational process unveiling itself in history. Instead, he probed the question of Being and the ways in which modern technology, metaphysics, and forgetfulness of our authentic relation to existence might shape destinies. For Heidegger, the essence of technology (Gestell) imposes a framework upon the world that reduces all entities to objects of manipulation and consumption, obscuring the deeper mystery of Being. When viewed in this light, the failure of international democracy might also be read as a manifestation of enframing: political relationships become functions of strategic calculation, reduced to the logic of efficiency and power, rather than guided by any authentic openness to communal life or mutual understanding.

The omnipresence of digital technologies—artificial intelligence, social media, real-time data analytics—intensifies the Heideggerian problematic. Where once the formation of public opinion and democratic consensus might have been anchored in at least a semblance of deliberative processes, the rapid pace of algorithmic dissemination twists and fragments discourse, amplifying polarizing narratives. Citizens come to be seen not as thoughtful participants in the political realm but as data points, targets of sophisticated micro-targeting campaigns. This transformation of persons into resources to be managed, manipulated, or harnessed for political ends unveils the technological ordering that Heidegger warned would eclipse the possibility of a more originary engagement with truth. Democracy, in its classical conception, relied on the capacity of individuals to deliberate in good faith, orient themselves toward collective norms, and shape a shared polity. Under the intensifying reign of digital technology, this capacity is threatened by an environment that fosters echo chambers, distrust, and an abundance of disinformation.

It would be too simplistic to claim that Heidegger’s critique of modern technology is the sole explanation for the current turmoil. Yet there is an undeniable resonance between his diagnoses and the visible symptoms: the failure of international bodies to navigate crises, the manipulative use of information to stoke conflict, and the precariousness of democratic institutions that seem ill-equipped to manage the pace and sophistication of digital transformations. The risk is that democracy itself comes to be viewed as a mere tool, a convenient label to legitimize particular regimes or alliances, while the actual practice of democratic governance withers under a barrage of manipulated narratives and realpolitik machinations. The contemporary world, therefore, may embody precisely that condition Heidegger described as the forgetting of Being: a condition in which instrumental reason prevails over any deeper sense of responsibility or care (Sorge) for the world we share.

In the collisions between these Hegelian and Heideggerian perspectives, one might unearth a new vantage point from which to consider the meaning of democracy’s apparent breakdown. On one hand, the Hegelian framework of historical dialectic suggests that these conflicts and crises could serve as the negative moment out of which a higher order might eventually emerge. On the other hand, Heidegger’s emphasis on the question of Being and the dangers of technological enframing underscores the possibility that these conflicts might not resolve themselves into a more rational or free society, but instead propel humanity ever further into a dehumanized future. We cannot take for granted that some beneficent force inevitably shapes outcomes for the better. Instead, the question arises whether we inhabit a moment in which the conditions for democracy’s flourishing—both practical and ontological—have become severely compromised, leaving open the possibility that the world might slip into new forms of oppression or totalizing control. Yet, neither Hegel nor Heidegger should be invoked simply to pronounce doom upon the modern order. Hegel, with his unrelenting dialectical pessimism, would insist that where contradictions arise, there also lies the possibility for creative development. Even as democracy falters on the world stage, there may be new energies, new forms of solidarity, new modes of conceptualizing freedom that could sublate (aufheben) the failures of the current epoch. Such a possibility would require, however, that individuals and communities not shrink back from contradiction, but rather face it with the courage to transform it. This transformation demands a confrontation with entrenched power structures and an acknowledgment of the illusions that have sustained them—illusions of perpetual progress, of the neutrality of technology, or of some guaranteed moral teleology guiding history. Heidegger would propose a different path for such a transformation. Instead of waiting for the dialectic of history to resolve itself, his thought encourages a radical rethinking of the human relationship to Being, a retrieval of authentic dwelling and community that is not subordinate to technological manipulation. This might manifest in localized forms of political life, direct engagement with communal needs, or the cultivation of mindfulness that resists the incessant demand for optimization and control. While Heidegger’s reflections do not yield an immediate political program, they do cast into relief the depth of the crisis at hand. Democracy cannot simply be patched up by new legislation or well-intentioned reforms if it is fundamentally enmeshed in a world-picture that regards everything—including citizens—as objects within a standing reserve. Unless a deeper shift in orientation takes place, the crisis may only deepen.

In the face of civil-war-like tensions in the United States, the path forward would require more than the ritual invocation of democratic ideals. It would necessitate a renewal of communal ties that transcends partisan divides, a recognition that the political sphere cannot function as a perpetual battleground if it is to serve as a space of collective deliberation. Across Africa, the complexities of conflicts—often fueled by centuries of economic exploitation and continuing geopolitical interference—demand new frameworks of solidarity and justice that overcome inherited antagonisms. In Ukraine, the war’s intractability shows the danger of clinging to any simplistic narrative of historical progress, reminding us that moral righteousness, while essential, does not automatically align global powers behind a single cause. The plight of Palestinians stands as an enduring case of democracy’s moral vacuum when universal principles are selectively applied, while the tension over Taiwan calls attention to the precarious intersection of national sovereignty and globalized production chains upon which entire economies depend. Underlying these conflicts is the new dimension of digital technology and artificial intelligence, which both reflect and aggravate the crises that democracy faces. These technologies can, in principle, serve as instruments of transparency and public engagement, but they can just as easily be wielded to generate misinformation, manipulate populations, and concentrate power in opaque or unaccountable systems. The question, from a philosophical standpoint, is whether the essence of technology—understood through a Heideggerian lens—can be appropriated or redirected toward a more humane end, or if it inevitably transforms democracy into an algorithmic puppet show. Hegel might suggest that an eventual rational ordering could incorporate AI into a more enlightened social structure, but such an ordering would only come about if reason truly guides these developments rather than the pursuit of profit or the consolidation of political power. History, in this sense, remains painfully open-ended.

Against this backdrop, one might find it tempting to surrender to cynicism. It is easy to see these failures as definitive signs that democracy cannot withstand the onslaught of technological complexity, tribalist fervor, and geopolitical aggression. Yet both Hegel and Heidegger, each in his own way, remind us that moments of profound crisis can also be moments of reevaluation and transformation. The dissolution of an older order, under the weight of internal contradictions, can prepare the ground for a genuinely new articulation of human co-existence—if there is the will and clarity to bring it forth. Hegel calls upon us to see the dialectical necessity in the breakdown of obsolete forms, urging us not to cling sentimentally to what is crumbling but to look beyond its failures for the embryo of something more comprehensive. Heidegger, for his part, challenges us to step outside the technological enframing that imprisons us and to search for a more primordial relation to truth, community, and the earth itself. Whether such radical transformations are feasible on a global scale, in a time when conflicts can erupt almost instantaneously and digital networks can amplify hostility with breathtaking speed, remains an open question. Skeptics might argue that the structural forces arrayed against meaningful democratic renewal are too formidable, that the illusions propping up the present system are too entrenched, and that the fractious nature of global politics only intensifies. Still, philosophy has always served as the space in which the human spirit can imagine possibilities beyond the immediate constraints of the present. If democracy is to survive, it must be reimagined in light of the historical and ontological challenges laid bare in these turbulent conditions. The impetus for such reimagining may well come from those local initiatives, grassroots movements, and philosophical breakthroughs that refuse to accept the finality of the current crisis. In bringing Hegel and Heidegger into direct reference, we see that the failings of international democracy are not merely political anomalies; rather, they signal deeper ruptures in the trajectory of world history and in the way we understand our being-in-the-world. Democracy falters when it becomes reducible to empty procedures, formalities that mask simmering antagonisms; it withers further when technology is harnessed not for the sake of shared deliberation but for the commodification of truth. A Hegelian might see in this a failure to complete the dialectic, while a Heideggerian might see a further entrenchment in the oblivion of Being. Both diagnoses circle around a shared insight: the possibility of a more free, more just, and more meaningful human community hinges on our capacity to confront the contradictions shaping our epoch, not to flee from them into ideology, distraction, or further manipulation.

Thus, the failure of international democracy can be interpreted as a clarion call to revisit fundamental philosophical questions that have lain dormant beneath the surface of political discourse. What does it mean to be free in a hyperconnected world? How can collective responsibility be enacted when power is dispersed yet also concentrated in technological and economic networks beyond any single state’s control? Is there a pathway to a deeper understanding of communal life that neither denies the complexity of modern technology nor blindly submits to it? These are the questions that arise when Hegel’s vision of historical progress collides with Heidegger’s warning about the essence of technology—a collision that reveals both the potential for and the obstacles to forging a truly democratic global order. We cannot predict with any certainty whether democracy will recover from its current travails. The wars, tensions, and looming threats that define our age underscore how volatile and fragile political arrangements can be. But it is precisely because of this precariousness that philosophical reflection remains indispensable. If we do not ask, at the deepest levels, what it means to live together as historical beings endowed with reason, memory, and the capacity for dialogue, then the hazards of our technology-driven present might close off the future for any meaningful democratic practice. If we do not confront the illusions that have allowed the current failures to metastasize, we risk descending into new forms of tyranny or never-ending conflict. The examples at hand—civil strife, rampant discord, and the threat of large-scale wars—testify to this grim possibility. Yet the very act of naming it, of seeking to understand it through the lenses offered by Hegel and Heidegger, is itself a gesture of defiance. It implies that amidst the wreckage of our political illusions, the desire for truth and the hope for a genuinely liberated collective life still persist.

In that persistence lies the seed of future transformations. Hegel would hope that contradictions, once recognized, will press toward resolution in one form or another. Heidegger would qualify this optimism, warning that our world’s totalizing technological system can bind us ever more tightly unless we learn to see it as such and choose otherwise. Whether the negativity unleashed by the failure of international democracy can be the crucible for a renewed commitment to freedom, or whether it will lead to deeper entrenchment of conflict and technological manipulation, remains uncertain. What is certain, however, is the urgency of reflection, dialogue, and principled action in a world whose ontological underpinnings and historical trajectory are very much in flux. The fragility of democracy is not merely a political problem; it is the manifestation of an existential crisis that compels us to interrogate the categories through which we understand ourselves, each other, and our collective fate.

From this vantage, the crises that seem to threaten democracy on every continent can also be occasions for wrestling with truths we have long postponed, illusions we have long harbored, and possibilities we have not yet dared to imagine. We do not need to cling to the notion that democracy must inevitably march forward, nor should we simply pronounce it dead. Rather, in acknowledging its failures, we open the space for a deeper engagement, a philosophical and practical endeavor to reconsider what democracy was supposed to mean: not merely majority rule, but a shared ethos that respects human dignity, fosters reasoned discourse, and remains accountable to the well-being of all. Ultimately, if we are to overcome the current malaise, we must heed both Hegel’s insight that history is shaped by contradictions that push us beyond old forms, and Heidegger’s warning that our being-in-the-world cannot be reduced to resource management without losing its essential humanity. It is only in balancing these insights—holding them in tension and letting them interrogate our assumptions—that the failure we now witness might yet become the germ of an unforeseen renewal.

The failure of international democracy is not merely the collapse of a set of institutions or the breakdown of diplomatic mechanisms; it is the unmasking of an illusion, the revelation of a world that no longer operates according to the presumed logic of liberal progress, rational governance, and consensual politics. In the unfolding catastrophe of modern geopolitics, the contradictions that were once concealed beneath the rhetoric of democratic universality now erupt into full visibility. The civil-war-like paralysis of the United States, the rising tensions and conflicts across Africa, the undecidability of the war in Ukraine, the precarious condition of Palestinians under Israeli control, and the looming threat of a military conflagration over Taiwan—all of these crises, in their own singularities and interconnections, testify to the inadequacy of a world order that presumes stability where there is none, that invokes dialogue where there is only power, that insists on the rule of law while law itself is subordinated to brute force. What emerges from this landscape is not merely a failure of policy or the breakdown of specific treaties but a fundamental crisis of the very idea of democracy on a global scale.

Hegel’s philosophy of history, with its dialectical unfolding of spirit, does not offer us a comforting teleology in which democracy is the inevitable end of historical development, but rather an insight into the necessity of contradiction itself. The ideal of international democracy, conceived as the universalization of political participation, the resolution of conflict through deliberation, and the triumph of a reasoned global order, has always carried within it the seeds of its own disintegration. For it is not simply that democracy, when extended to the international level, encounters external obstacles—wars, authoritarian states, economic crises—but that democracy, as such, generates its own internal limits. The world does not resist democracy from the outside; rather, democracy itself, when confronted with the realities of sovereignty, power, and contingency, reveals its own internal impossibilities. The presumed universality of democratic governance has never been truly universal, but always dependent on exclusions, repressions, and historical contingencies that it cannot fully account for.

Heidegger’s analysis of modernity reveals an even deeper anxiety at work: the technological transformation of the world, the calculative logic of global governance, and the instrumentalization of politics itself render democracy less an ethical project than an administrative mechanism. Democracy, in its classical conception, presupposes a people, a demos, capable of self-governance, of deliberation, of collective decision-making. But in an era dominated by artificial intelligence, surveillance capitalism, and algorithmic prediction, the very conditions of democratic agency are called into question. The digitalization of politics does not simply introduce new tools for democratic participation; it restructures the very mode of political being. When AI systems predict voter behavior more accurately than voters understand themselves, when social media algorithms dictate the parameters of public discourse, when governance is reduced to data management and crisis control, the space for genuine political action—the kind that presupposes autonomy, judgment, and the capacity for radical decision—contracts. What remains is a procedural shell, a democracy that persists in form while hollowed out in substance.

If democracy is failing on the international stage, it is not merely due to the actions of authoritarian regimes or the inadequacies of diplomatic institutions. It is failing because the world itself is no longer structured in a way that accommodates its premises. The unpredictability of outcomes in the new modern era is not an anomaly but the defining condition of a world governed by forces—technological acceleration, economic volatility, digital surveillance, artificial intelligence—that render classical democratic deliberation increasingly obsolete. The very idea that the world can be democratically managed presupposes a level of transparency, predictability, and rational control that no longer exists. Heidegger’s notion of being-toward-the-event (Ereignis) reminds us that history is not the unfolding of predetermined plans but the emergence of the unforeseen, the rupture of the expected by the real. What we now witness is not merely the failure of international democracy but the exposure of its fundamental contingency—the realization that history remains open, unresolved, and beyond the grasp of any governing logic.

Simon Gros

Welt und Zeit—The Failure of Internationalism, 18:16—14. Februar 2025

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Welt und Zeit—The Failure of Internationalism, 18:16—14. Februar 2025

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