Elon Musk's promises about the future of artificial intelligence derive much of their appeal from offering a single answer to a range of human problems: poverty, arduous work, the cost of living and limited access to services. Smarter machines will produce more, costs will fall, humans will be freed from the necessity of work, and money will eventually lose its importance.   Yet this vision links technological possibilities, economic outcomes, and judgements about what constitutes a good life, presenting them as successive stages along a single path. Here lies the essence of the digital utopia: the assumption that advances in machine capabilities will almost inevitably bring comparable advances in social justice and human freedom. The speed of technological progress alone is not enough to prove such a relationship.   At the US-Saudi Investment Forum on 19 November 2025, Musk predicted that within ten to twenty years, work would become optional, something people might choose to do much as they play sports or grow vegetables at home even when they could simply buy them. He went further, arguing that artificial intelligence and robotics would eliminate poverty and offer a path to making everyone wealthy.   His comments on money, however, were more conditional. If advances in artificial intelligence and robotics continue, he argued, money will eventually lose its relevance, although he gave no timeframe for when this might happen. This distinction matters: predicting that money will become less relevant goes well beyond a change in payment methods, but it is not a time-bound declaration that currencies will be abolished.   His predictions extended into other areas. In an episode of "Moonshots" released on 6 January 2026, Musk predicted that artificial general intelligence (AGI) would be achieved within the year and that, by 2030, AI would surpass the combined intelligence of all humans. He also predicted that, within roughly three to four years, "Optimus" robots would outperform the world's best surgeons. He further linked the prospect of a future of abundance to retirement savings becoming irrelevant. Yet in the same conversation, he acknowledged that the transition would be bumpy and that he did not have all the answers. The point of criticism, therefore, lies in the breadth of the outcomes he promises relative to the evidence he offers for them, while taking his own qualifications into account.   This vision rests on three transitions, each of which requires evidence of its own: from improvements in system performance to the ability to perform the full range of human work; from expanding productive capacity to ensuring prosperity for all; and from freedom from economic necessity to achieving a more fulfilling life. Significant progress may occur at one level while the others falter. The economy may become more productive and some people wealthier, while others lose their income or their ability to influence the conditions of their lives. Grouping these possibilities under the banner of abundance obscures the questions that ultimately determine how its benefits are distributed.   Scientific evidence provides a solid basis for optimism about productivity, but it also points to its limits. A 2025 paper published in The Quarterly Journal of Economics examined the use of a generative AI assistant by 5,172 customer-support employees and found an average 15% increase in issues resolved per hour, with larger gains among less experienced workers. This is an important finding: it shows how technology can disseminate expertise and improve performance. Yet it measures the impact of a specific tool in a particular professional setting. It does not demonstrate that workers can be dispensed with across the economy as a whole, nor that productivity gains will automatically translate into higher incomes for them.   The importance of distinguishing between tasks and jobs is also evident in the International Labour Organization's 2025 estimates, which indicated that around a quarter of workers worldwide are employed in occupations exposed to generative AI to varying degrees. Yet the report suggests that jobs are more likely to be transformed than fully replaced by technology, given the continuing need for human input across many tasks.   This assessment cannot rule out the potential of future technologies that have yet to emerge. It does, however, illustrate the gap between what the current evidence allows us to conclude and claims that the need for work is ending. Exposure to automation is not synonymous with the disappearance of a job, and the disappearance of a job does not mean that the person who held it can afford to live without the income it provided.   A further gap remains between digital achievement and the economy's physical transformation. Reducing the cost of producing text or software is not, on its own, enough to build housing, power grids, hospitals or transport systems. These require investment, materials, infrastructure, maintenance and time to build. Musk himself acknowledged in Davos in January 2026 that electricity constrains expansion and that chip production could outpace the capacity to power those chips. This acknowledgement introduces a material constraint into the promise of abundance: the pace of progress in artificial intelligence does not, by itself, determine the pace at which the world it operates in can be transformed.   Similarly, the prediction that robots will outperform surgeons requires more than extrapolating from the rapid improvement of AI models. Demonstrating clinical superiority requires comparable outcomes, safety across a range of cases, the ability to manage complications, and clear accountability arrangements. The US Food and Drug Administration explains that the robotically assisted surgical systems covered by its guidance operate under the surgeon's control. The existence of robotic surgery does not, therefore, show that comprehensive surgical autonomy is close at hand. The claim that AI will "surpass the combined intelligence of all humans" raises a different problem. It first requires defining what exactly to measure and how to aggregate those measurements, and then establishing the connection between superiority on that measure and the ability to manage economic and social complexity.   The strongest objection to the promise that work will no longer be necessary, however, remains economic and political, even if we assume that automation succeeds on a large scale. The capacity to produce goods is not the same as having the right to access them. If a limited number of companies or investors own machines and platforms, their reduced need for workers may increase profits while weakening the primary source of income for other segments of society. Society as a whole may become wealthier without every individual becoming more secure. Eliminating poverty requires addressing deprivation of access to resources, something that the sheer quantity of resources produced cannot resolve on its own.   Economic research reinforces the need to maintain this distinction. In an IMF working paper published in April 2025, researchers used household-level data and an economic model to examine AI adoption. The findings showed that some effects could reduce wage inequality, while returns to capital and adoption patterns could increase wealth inequality. These findings depend on the model's assumptions and do not represent an inevitable account of the future. Their implication, however, is clear: economic efficiency can improve even as wealth becomes more concentrated. The promise of making everyone wealthy therefore requires a separate explanation of how ownership and returns will be distributed.   To be fair, Musk has proposed a distribution mechanism. In a post dated 17 April 2026, he proposed a high income for everyone, delivered through cheques issued by the federal government to address unemployment caused by AI. He added that the expansion in the production of goods and services would outpace the increase in the money supply, and that inflation would therefore not occur. But proposing transfers does not settle questions of their size, funding or sustainability, nor does it explain how the returns generated by automated companies would be converted into a stable entitlement for citizens. Once this task is assigned to government, abundance becomes contingent not only on technological progress, but also on fiscal decisions, legislation and the balance of political power.   The prediction that money will lose its importance, however, goes beyond what can be inferred from a reduced need for work. Money performs functions that extend well beyond paying wages: it serves as a medium of exchange, a unit of account and a store of value. Reducing the cost of labour involved in producing a good does not eliminate the need to settle transactions, compare alternative uses of resources or organise obligations over time. It is entirely possible to envisage an economy in which working hours decline and basic services are guaranteed, while money continues to perform these functions.   Similarly, abundance in some areas does not mean the end of scarcity in all others. The cost of digital services may fall dramatically, while housing in desirable locations or access to limited environmental resources remains subject to competition. Even if necessities were provided free of charge, decisions would still have to be made about how to allocate what cannot be made equally available to everyone.   In theory, such decisions could be made through non-monetary means, but they would still require institutions, rules and an authority to adjudicate between competing claims. The disappearance of money, then, if it can be envisaged at all, would require a transformation in the system for allocating resources and determining rights of access to them. It does not follow directly from the advent of more intelligent machines.   The claim that inflation would not occur faces a similar problem. Overall production may increase while certain sectors cannot respond to higher spending. The prices of digital services may fall even as the costs of housing, energy or other goods and services rise. European Central Bank analyses of supply bottlenecks have highlighted the importance of mismatches between demand and productive capacity in explaining price pressures. The possibility that higher productivity could help contain inflation is therefore different from a guarantee that inflation will not occur simply because high incomes are distributed.   There is no necessary contradiction between proposing cash payments during a transitional period and envisaging a future in which money becomes less important. What remains missing, however, is an explanation of the transition between the two stages: how do monetary incomes translate into guaranteed access to resources? What would lead owners to stop pricing their assets? And how would resources that remain scarce be managed? Calling the final stage "abundance" does not answer these questions.   The promise becomes more fragile when extended to humanity as a whole. An increase in global output does not, by itself, reveal how much of it will accrue to each country or group. Even if a wealthy country succeeds in financing a high income for its citizens, this does not explain how a country with limited resources could do the same, particularly if it imports the technology and pays foreign providers for its use. The International Telecommunication Union estimated that around 2.2 billion people remained offline in 2025. This does not prove that AI's benefits cannot reach them in the future. Still, it does illustrate the scale of the conditions assumed by the idea of a common future for all: infrastructure, the ability to pay, education, institutions, and the capacity to negotiate the terms on which the technology can be accessed and used.   This is where the flaw in the generalisation lies: it concludes every individual from a prediction about aggregate productive capacity. The problem is not resolved simply by increasing the scale of the gains. What must be explained is the mechanism by which those gains would reach people who differ in wealth, geography, rights and influence. A cheque issued by a national government does not, in itself, constitute a global system for distributing the returns from AI. Then comes the deeper question: is it enough for the economy to no longer need human labour for people to have reached an optimal state of life? Precision here requires distinguishing paid work from human endeavour in its broader sense. When Musk says that work will become optional, it does not follow that people will stop learning, creating or caring for others.   Indeed, freedom from compulsory or arduous work could create more space for such activities. But an employer no longer needing a worker does not automatically give that worker freedom of choice. Choice requires a guaranteed income, genuine capabilities, opportunities to participate, and rights that protect individual autonomy.   To regard a life free from effort as an ideal, however, is a value judgement, not a conclusion that can be derived from equations of productivity. Technology cannot determine what makes a human life worth living. Learning, caring, achievement and participation retain a value that goes beyond obtaining the end product. They are practices through which people develop their capabilities, relationships and sense of self.   A machine may perform a task more efficiently without diminishing the value of a person performing it. Judging the worth of human activity solely by its ability to compete with a machine reduces human beings to the very standard of performance that technology is supposed to serve.   Research on motivation supports this argument without settling the larger question of life's ultimate purpose. Self-determination theory, developed by Richard Ryan and Edward Deci through a programme of empirical research, links motivation and well-being to the satisfaction of three basic psychological needs: autonomy, competence, and relatedness. These needs can be fulfilled both within and outside work.   The implication is that securing the means of consumption does not exhaust the conditions for human flourishing. Designing a future in which work is less necessary also requires institutions and opportunities that enable people to exercise their capabilities and feel that their participation has value.   The evidence also cautions against assuming that unconditional income will inevitably lead to inactivity. In Finland's 2017–2018 experiment, 2,000 unemployed people received €560 a month without being required to look for work. Survey respondents who received the income reported greater life satisfaction and lower psychological distress, although methodological limitations prevent conclusively attributing these differences to the income alone.   The experiment had only limited effects on employment. These findings provide a basis for serious consideration of the benefits of material security. Still, they do not test what would happen in a society that had dispensed with work altogether, nor do they demonstrate that financial transfers alone would be sufficient to build such a society.   Accordingly, the human question at the heart of an automated future concerns the kind of freedom that people will actually have. A guaranteed income may enable them to refuse degrading work and devote time to learning or caring for others. Under a different institutional arrangement, however, automation could instead be accompanied by growing dependence on a small number of entities that control income, services and platforms. The promise of liberation therefore requires guarantees of participation, the right to challenge decisions, and autonomy, alongside guarantees of material provision. Having enough to live on does not, by itself, determine how much control people have over their own lives.   History also shows the role institutions play in translating productivity gains into time and rights. The British Factory Act of 1847 limited the working hours of women and young people following a political campaign, and later legislation was needed to address loopholes exploited by factory owners. This episode shows that reducing the burden of work required intervention to change the terms of the relationship between employers and workers. The same mechanism remains relevant in the age of AI: technological gains create possibilities, while rules and institutions determine how their benefits are realised.   The transitional phase, which Musk himself acknowledges will be turbulent, matters more than simply waiting for abundance to arrive. People may lose their jobs before compensation systems are fully in place, pathways for gaining experience may erode before stable alternatives emerge, and countries may differ in their capacity to manage the transition. Even if a better future materialises decades from now, that does not erase the losses borne by those who paid the price of getting there. This is why tying long-term life decisions, such as preparing for retirement, to a conditional prediction of abundance gives the optimistic scenario practical weight beyond the certainty currently attached to it.   The problem with Musk's digital utopia is that it posits a desirable destination before fully establishing the path that leads to it. It assumes broad-scale technological success, sufficient expansion of material production, a fair distribution of returns, institutions capable of guaranteeing rights, and, finally, a form of human adaptation that gives abundance meaning. Some of these conditions may be realised, but their convergence is not an automatic consequence of advances in artificial intelligence.   A more appropriate standard for guiding such progress is how much it reduces compulsion, expands people's capacity to act, and protects human dignity and autonomy. A future in which production no longer needs humans becomes an ideal future only if humans can still determine its purposes and the conditions on which it operates.

On 1 August, Trump Media & Technology Group launched a premium subscription service, Truth API, offering financial institutions and high-frequency trading firms early access to President Donald Trump's posts on Truth Social before they become available to the general public. Priced at up to US$100,000 per month, the service covers the platform's ten most influential accounts, provides an archive dating back to 2022, and promises subscribers millisecond-level advance access to posts deemed most likely to move financial markets.   This is far more than a technical innovation or a new commercial offering. It offers a revealing window into a structural transformation in the relationship between political communication, markets, and information. More fundamentally, it signals a redefinition of who gains the right to know first and, by extension, who acquires the first-mover advantage to act.

Some ghosts rule from behind the curtain, and there are leaders whose names become little more than signatures affixed to decisions whose true authors remain unknown. That is precisely what the Iranian political landscape has become since the assassination of Supreme Leader Ali Khamenei on 28 February 2026 during the US-Israeli strikes on Tehran, followed by the installation of his son, Mojtaba Khamenei, as his successor just one week later.   From the moment he assumed office until today, Mojtaba Khamenei has not appeared even once in an independently verifiable audio-visual broadcast. Instead, he has confined himself to a series of written statements read out on his behalf or attributed to him.   This absence, now stretching beyond four full months, is not merely a matter of protocol. It is a symptom of a far deeper malaise affecting the very structure of the Iranian state. The question this article poses is not simply, "Is he alive or dead?" Such a binary question is misleading in its simplicity. Rather, it asks a broader one: who, in practice, holds the authority to speak on Iran's behalf today? And why has the crisis surrounding a single individual exposed the fragility of an entire political system? As will become clear, the answer lies not in a single definitive image or a conclusive leak, but in the accumulation of indirect indicators that, when considered together, point more convincingly in one direction than any other.   The situation became still more inflammatory when US President Donald Trump stated on 13 July 2026 that he believed there was a "90% chance" that Mojtaba Khamenei had been killed. The claim was unsupported by a single piece of evidence and came amid renewed military escalation and US threats to seize control of the Strait of Hormuz. Yet, as I will discuss later, this statement should not be read as a fact but as a political position that requires scrutiny rather than unquestioning acceptance.

The time has come for approaches to analysing Israel's current situation to shift from examining and anticipating the "limits of expansion" to analysing the "indicators of decline". It is no exaggeration to suggest that Israel has activated a process of "self-destruction", with the gravest threat to its continued existence now emerging from within. Yet not every state confronted with an existential crisis necessarily collapses.   Nor does the possession of power necessarily guarantee the ability to endure. History shows that some states begin to erode while still possessing a superior military, a resilient economy, and allies willing to provide support. The decisive turning point comes when the very sources of strength that once underpinned their superiority begin instead to perform the opposite function. Against this backdrop, this analysis does not seek to predict Israel's fate, nor does it proceed from the assumption that its end has become inevitable. Rather, it poses a different question: Have the very foundations that ensured Israel's survival for decades begun to lose their capacity to fulfil the role for which they were originally intended?   Since its establishment, Israel has relied on a set of pillars that formed the foundation of its strategic advantage: international support that afforded it an unprecedented degree of political cover, military superiority that reinforced its deterrent capability, an economy capable of attracting investment and talent, and a society that maintained a minimum level of cohesion despite its internal contradictions. The current landscape, however, suggests that these pillars are no longer moving in the same direction. Instead, they have come under simultaneous pressure that has redefined both their role and the limits of their effectiveness. Deterrence is gradually giving way to attrition; international legitimacy is no longer as robust as it once was; internal divisions are extending beyond political disagreement to encompass questions of identity and the future of the project itself; and the cost of supporting Israel for its allies is rising in ways that were not evident in earlier periods.   This does not mean that Israel stands on the brink of collapse tomorrow. It does, however, raise a question worthy of careful consideration: What happens when the very factors that once generated strength begin instead to produce weakness? And do the current transformations represent a passing crisis, or do they reflect a transition to a new phase in which the very sources of Israel's advantage have themselves become part of the equation of attrition?   To address this question, the analysis does not examine developments as isolated events. Rather, it seeks to explore the interplay between military, political, social, and economic transformations, and how their interaction may reshape the environment that has sustained Israel's continuity over the past decades.

Absolute honesty and complete transparency have rarely been regarded as core political virtues in the history of human governance. From the earliest moments in which the concept of the state began to take shape, the architecture of governance, the construction of power, and the management of public opinion repeatedly and intensively relied on the strategic and deliberate use of deception, the concealment of information, and the fabrication of political myths. The enduring objective of these practices has been to secure survival in power, preserve social cohesion, and outmanoeuvre rivals on both the domestic and international fronts. Political leaders and decision-makers have long understood that unvarnished truth can often be destabilising, and that governing the public successfully requires carefully calibrated doses of illusion and direction. In this sense, lying has become a central political instrument, no less important than economic influence or military power in the arsenal of any ruling authority.   Yet the contemporary political landscape is undergoing a profound and unprecedented transformation in the nature, speed, and reach of political lying. With the rapid expansion of mass communication technologies and digital platforms, the rise of sharp partisan polarisation, and the steady erosion of the very notion of “shared facts” within society, political lying has moved far beyond the traditional practice of concealing state secrets from adversaries. It has become an active, overt, and institutionalised enterprise aimed at constructing an alternative reality and replacing the real one. The objective is no longer simply to conceal the truth, but to shape citizens’ perceptions and steer their political and electoral behaviour in ways that serve the ambitions of ruling elites and secure their hold on power.   This complex shift requires a deeper understanding that goes beyond merely identifying false statements in official rhetoric. It demands closer attention to the strategic motives and institutional environments that nurture and produce such deception. Lying is no longer a mere political slip or a temporary defensive tactic to contain public anger. It has become a broader system of deceptive practices, ranging from outright falsehoods to more sophisticated methods such as strategic ambiguity, twisted justification, deliberate concealment, and semantic manipulation. All of this is deployed within political and media environments that shape the success or failure of deception. To grasp this dangerous evolution, it is necessary to unpack the philosophical and theoretical foundations that have long justified and described political lying, and then apply them to contemporary leadership models to understand how such deception is used to secure strategic gains, and how political systems respond to it, whether through strict punishment or complete impunity.

Almost overnight, the British Broadcasting Corporation (BBC), long regarded as one of the world’s most credible and enduring news institutions, found itself under heavy fire. Its reputation for impartiality has been shaken by a media scandal whose reverberations extend far beyond the organisation itself. The network now stands accused of the “deliberate distortion of a speech by then former U.S. President Donald Trump.” Even with the resignations of Director-General Tim Davie and Head of News Deborah Turness on Nov. 9 2025, the crisis is far from over. The controversy has erupted at an extraordinarily sensitive moment, as critical questions are being raised about the limits of media responsibility and the mechanisms by which credibility can still be assured.   Traditional news organisations, long considered the guardians of truth, now face fierce competition and unprecedented challenges from AI and the limitless evolution of digital platforms and media tools. Indeed, crises of credibility striking such established outlets as the BBC have a compounded effect precisely because they have long served as relatively safe havens for audiences seeking professionally curated and verified information, in stark contrast to the chaotic flood of unverified content circulating across social media.   This latest scandal and its implications will be explored in the following sections and present a striking illustration of the transformation underway in Western media. The press is no longer merely a monitor or transmitter of information; it has increasingly become an active participant in the battles of power and influence. Today, media institutions stand at a decisive crossroads: confronted by audiences who question everything they encounter and are fully aware that anything can be fabricated. In such a volatile environment, the key question is whether these institutions can ever regain public trust and respect. The erosion of journalistic ethics, perhaps a by-product of the overwhelming deluge of news and content on social networks, combined with technological developments that have far outpaced human oversight, has left the field teetering on the brink of losing control altogether.

Abstract The post-World War II arrangements generated several decisions that granted the victorious countries certain powers, most notably The Declaration of the Four Nations on General Security, the Four Power Declaration, and Articles 106 and 107 of the United Nations Charter. Questions have recently been raised about the possibility of exploiting these powers to legitimize Russian intervention in Ukraine. However, given the nature and background of these articles and decisions, it turns out that they were part of the arrangements for a transitional period, followed by the transfer of these powers and tasks to the United Nations, and the subsequent new arrangements, most notably the collapse of the Soviet Union and the emergence of the Russian Federation, which arranged for a new legal situation. This does not contradict the rule of inheriting international treaties as one of the principles of international law but takes into account the change in the new legal status of states. Therefore, the countries that were under the guise of the Soviet Union have become independent members in the United Nations General Assembly, and by reviewing the contents of the documented sessions of the United Nations since the outbreak of the Russian-Ukrainian crisis, it turns out that the defenses and arguments presented by the Russian delegate to legitimize the Russian intervention in Ukraine were based on two main arguments, which were repeated in most of the Russian President’s speeches. For the Russian Federation, especially the speech of the declaration of invasion, which was based on Article 51 of the Charter of the United Nations, which guarantees the right of states to defend themselves against threats, and Article 1 of the International Covenant on Civil and Political Rights that all peoples have the right to self-determination, meaning that any Russian ethnic minority in Ukraine has the right to determine its political status and to pursue its economic, social and cultural development.   Since Putin announced his intention to invade Ukraine militarily, numerous analyses came up that the legal arguments Russia depend on to justify the invasion, and the talk about the arrangements made after World War II that gave the powers to the victorious nations that could be exploited by the Russian side has increased recently. There is even a rumor that claims that the Russian president talked to the secretary-general of the United Nations about the article contained in the United Nations charter and these arguments depended on two articles; 106 and 107 in the United Nations charter, that gives the right to the victorious countries and nations to take any needed decision against the countries that fought against them in World War II to avoid revising the results of World War II. In these decisions, it is specially allowed to utilize military power against these countries.