Why Democracy Needs an Open Future

Democracy promises that political defeats need not be permanent and mistakes can be corrected. Yet fears of catastrophe and promises of national restoration increasingly shape how societies imagine their future. Defending democracy requires us to reconsider something we often take for granted: its relationship with time.

In the well-known ancient paradox, the swift hero Achilles never catches the slow tortoise. For every time Achilles reaches the tortoise’s position, the animal has already moved a little farther. Something similar is present in contemporary studies of democracy: as soon as a problem is identified, the terms of debate seem to transform. Analyses reach a landscape that has already passed.

Consider a few examples from past decades. Initial optimism about the internet’s potential to enhance wider democratic participation has given way to concerns about fragmented publics and algorithmic manipulation. Following the Brexit referendum, calls for referenda or direct democracy were replaced by renewed appreciation for parliamentary deliberation. During the eurozone crisis, critics argued that technocratic governance limited genuine political alternatives. More recently, the rise of populism seems to have made everything political again.

Why democracy resists timeless definitions

Obviously, these challenges are neither simple nor mutually exclusive. Technocratic governance may well persist alongside cultural conflicts. Efforts to expand participation may, in practice, result in greater centralization of authority.

Still, something in democracy slips past any analysis that tries to stand outside history. While transhistorical definitions may have their place, persistent disagreements over the nature of democracy are a fundamental characteristic of democratic culture. Every diagnosis of its troubles carries assumptions about what it once was, how it has changed, and what it might become.

How democracy changes our relationship with time

In my recent book, Time of Democracy: History, Memory, and the Politics of the Future (Routledge 2026), I examine these diagnoses through democracy’s relationship to time. The book’s title has a double meaning. I trace how democratic ideas developed historically, from Renaissance debates to the crises of the present. But I also explore the distinctive ways in which democratic societies remember the past, act in the present, and imagine the future.

According to the central thesis of the book, modern democracy rests on the idea that the future is open. People can question the political system they inherited and change it. No single generation, governing majority, or historical doctrine gets the last word on how society should be organized.

Why democracy must leave room for mistakes

This points towards a key intuition: in democracy, no defeat is permanent, and no decision is beyond review. Governments get replaced, laws get rewritten, politics changes direction. Those who lose an election accept the result because they can run again. What defines democracy, really, is that it lets us learn from our mistakes and move forward.

Understandably, this openness is not a self-evident feature of contemporary politics. The democratic promise that mistakes can be corrected becomes harder to sustain in an age of overlapping apocalypses. From climate breakdown and nuclear war to nationalist fears of cultural extinction, the future increasingly appears as a series of final deadlines. Each decision may be our last chance; each mistake may be one from which there is no return.

How democracy became a promise about the future

History shows that democracy can survive wars, economic crises and social conflict. Whether it can survive the loss of an open future is much less clear. To understand this problem, we need to consider how democracy became associated with the future in the first place.

For much of European history, democracy belonged to the past. It was tied to small ancient societies, which were thought unsuitable as models for large modern states. Even in the eighteenth century, popular government on a large scale still looked problematic. The French Revolution changed that, and democracy became a concept pointed at the future.

How America gave European democracy a model

The United States had a significant influence on the way Europeans conceived of politics. Upon his visit to the New World in 1831, Alexis de Tocqueville observed a society which appeared to preview what the future might bring to Europe. In the two volumes of Democracy in America, published in 1835 and 1840, he examined whether equality and freedom could coexist with political conflict. He saw local government and voluntary associations as important because they let people act together without society becoming a single homogeneous body.

The existence of slavery and the exclusion of certain groups limited the American example. However, American democracy’s significance extended beyond its constitutional structure, as it demonstrated the possibility of alternative political futures. For Europeans, this provided a new context for political experimentation.

Why Trump’s America no longer seeks to set an example

The United States has not always met expectations in its role as a defender of democracy, having at times exceeded its legitimate authority, for example during the war on terror. However, the wish to act as a role model influenced American foreign policy. This was evident in Woodrow Wilson’s decision in 1917 to join the First World War to make the world “safe for democracy”, and also in the Marshall Plan and Harry S. Truman’s commitment to rebuilding Europe after the Second World War.

One of the main changes during Donald Trump’s second term has been giving up the concept of democratic exemplarity. The United States is no longer seen as having to use its power as an example for other countries. In Trump’s opinion, the duties associated with that role are burdens which competitors can disregard. America aims to secure its own advantage, and success is judged by what it achieves.

How nostalgia changes America’s democratic promise

Commentators have noted that the slogan “Make America Great Again” reflects a shift toward nostalgia. The idea of renewal is now framed as a return to a perceived lost greatness. Whereas America was previously seen as embodying a vision of the future, it now looks to its own past to define its trajectory. The emphasis has moved from serving as an example for others to focusing on national restoration.

This development challenges European democracy. Throughout modern history, democracy has often been supported by examples of societies that demonstrated what could be achieved, even if their practices were imperfect. Currently, it is increasingly difficult to identify a society with this level of confidence. Although democracy retains support, it struggles to articulate a persuasive vision for the future.

Why democratic rituals cannot replace political alternatives

This has led to a paradox in international politics. Authoritarian states like Russia copy democratic practices by holding elections and staging televised forums where the president answers citizens’ questions. Even though these governments take on the external features of democracy, they reject its basic uncertainty—the real possibility that those in power might be ousted.

Meanwhile, European democracies increasingly lack convincing examples of what they might become. The prevailing outlook anticipates declining prosperity, security, and global influence. In the absence of examples that make alternative futures seem attainable, political strategies focus on managing decline and preserving existing achievements.

Why an open future still demands decisive action

The concept of an open future does not justify inaction. Climate change shows that some decisions have irreversible consequences, and the effects of political choices can persist across generations. Democratic responsibility therefore reaches beyond the electoral cycle: tackling climate change or building lasting security means making commitments whose results may only become visible across generations. The challenge is to sustain those commitments while still allowing their objectives, costs and consequences to be questioned and revised.

Democracy today also has to protect the time that collective judgment needs. When politics turns into a string of immediate responses, societies lose the ability to tell urgent events from lasting change. Parliaments, schools and the media must sustain spaces for reflection, disagreement and learning. The capacity to act must be accompanied by the capacity to pause and judge.

How historical understanding helps democracy imagine change

This is why history matters for democracy. Historical reflection asks societies to face their own failures and exclusions, and to admit that inherited institutions came out of choices whose outcomes were never guaranteed. The past helps us imagine change exactly because it could have gone differently.

Defending democracy therefore takes more than preserving the arrangements we already know. People need time to judge, the means to act together and a credible chance of changing their common world. Democracy depends on the confidence that losing today does not rule out the possibility of changing things tomorrow.

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