The Right to Remain F*ed: A User’s Guide for Waiting for the Apocalypse
Welcome to the grand theatre of modern civilisation—a dazzling spectacle where capitalism pirouettes in all its decadent glory, flinging morality and common sense out the window like a paper straw in a plastic cup. In this essay, I examine the absurdities and contradictions of our era, highlighting how unchecked capitalism undermines ethical foundations and distorts collective reason. By tracing the historical development of these conditions and exploring critical voices from the Romantic era back to Copernicus, I aim to elucidate both the origins and the consequences of our current predicament.
Capitalism, once the engine of progress, has evolved into a magnificent beast of excess, a voracious consumer of meaning. Morality? An outdated relic, bad for quarterly projections. Common sense? A quaint joke told by poor people. Nature? Just a billboard waiting for a luxury condo ad. What was once the guardian of societal well-being has become a carnival ringmaster, juggling the collapse of all things decent while picking your pocket with a smile.
The moral compass hasn’t just broken; it has dissolved like sugar in an ocean of indifference. Why bother with ethics when you can outsource your conscience to a PR firm? Why cling to fairness when tax havens offer such thrilling tax-free vistas? The collective wisdom that once guided communities has been replaced by algorithms designed to maximise outrage. Common sense, that last bastion of sanity, has been rebranded as “alternative facts,” sold to the highest bidder like limited-edition sneakers.
Meanwhile, Earth is receiving a masterclass in “tender loving neglect.” Forests turned to ash, oceans acidified, skies choked—all collateral damage in the holy crusade for shareholder dividends. The Doomsday Clock ticks menacingly toward midnight, but fear not! We have carbon offsets to buy and Netflix documentaries to binge-watch while the glaciers stage their final, quiet retreat.
The tragedy, of course, lies in the comedy. We are a civilisation adept at manufacturing smart fridges but hopelessly inept at preserving the conditions for life itself. The system treats planetary collapse as a mere inconvenient plot twist. If Shakespeare were here, he wouldn’t write a tragedy; he’d write a farce titled The Merchant of Moral Void.
But how did we get here?
Rome wasn’t burned in a day, and neither was this dumpster fire.
Our current predicament took root in the post-war social contract. Capitalism, humbled by depression and war, offered a new bargain: corporations would provide prosperity in return for stability. This was the era of the suburban dream—a boom concealing a dark truth. As we celebrated climbing wages, the “externalities”—pollution, waste, resource depletion—were discreetly brushed aside. The planet footed the bill, while payment was postponed to a future everyone preferred to ignore.
Then came the 1980s. The Reagans and Thatchers of the world tore up the contract and introduced a new gospel: Neoliberalism. The market, they insisted, must be “unleashed” from the pesky constraints of human empathy.
They sold us the charming fiction of “trickle-down” economics—the idea that if we fed the rich enough caviar, the crumbs falling from their mouths would eventually feed the poor. In reality, it was a masterclass in rebranding greed as a public service. It wasn’t a “trickle-down”; it was a “siphon-up,” a vacuum cleaner attached to the pockets of the working class and the resources of the earth.
And don’t tell me we weren’t warned.
The alarms were ringing two centuries ago. Before the smog even settled, a chorus of voices screamed that the machine would eventually eat its creator.
These were the first witnesses to the crime—the poets, artists, and radicals who saw the industrial smoke not as progress, but as a shroud. They chafed against the dehumanising rush of the machine, urging a return to nature, emotion, and the unseen wisdom that anchors life.
They were dismissed as dreamers. Paradoxically, they were the only ones wide awake.
With this context established, I now turn to the Romantics, whose voices provide critical insight into the origins and ramifications of our predicament. Welcome to The Unravelling.
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