Slavoj Žižek’s recent provocation in The Philosophical Salon, “Why a Communist Must Assume that Life is Hell,” introduces a subtle but profoundly unsettling reimagining of the political and existential stakes of revolutionary thought. In this essay, Žižek re-engages with Marxism in a way that most of its contemporary proponents would find uncomfortably abrasive—challenging the core assumptions of both traditional Marxist optimism and the widespread, almost sacrosanct, idealisation of human emancipation. As we continue to be compelled to encounter endless cycles of oppression, exploitation, and alienation, Žižek insists that revolution must not merely be seen as a hope for salvation or the establishment of a utopian society. Instead, he argues, revolution must be grounded in the harsh, existential reality that life is indeed a hell—a world of suffering and strife that cannot be escaped through idealistic thinking or metaphysical transcendence.

In Žižek’s view, this is not a nihilistic stance but a deeply dialectical approach to the struggles of human existence. The revolution, he contends, is not the cessation of suffering but a confrontation with it—a refusal to be blinded by illusions of an easy, perfect future. Žižek’s Marxism, then, is radically different from the traditional utopianism that has often characterised leftist thought. Rather than seeking a linear progression to an ideal society, Žižek sees the revolutionary process as one that must grapple with the inherent limitations of human nature and the inevitability of suffering. I would argue that Žižek’s reading of Mainländer’s pessimism offers a more profound and necessary critique of Marxism than many contemporary Marxists are willing to admit, yet it calls for a more refined vision of Marxism—one that transcends hollow optimism and blindfolded pleasure, which often obscure the harsh realities on the ground.

Žižek’s critique of contemporary Marxist thought is not a dismissal of revolutionary potential but a challenge to the ways in which revolution is often idealised and oversimplified. The core of Žižek’s argument lies in his re-engagement with the writings of Philipp Mainländer, a 19th-century German philosopher whose radical pessimism offers a startlingly clear-eyed view of the human condition. Mainländer posited that life, in all its forms, is defined by suffering, and he suggested that the ultimate goal of human existence is not to transcend suffering but to confront it head-on. Žižek, in his essay, draws on Mainländer’s ideas to accentuate a crucial point: any attempt to build a revolutionary movement that ignores the reality of suffering is doomed to failure. Mainländer’s pessimism is not a call for resignation but a recognition that suffering is an inescapable aspect of human life that must be reckoned with rather than avoided.

Žižek’s use of Mainländer is, however, controversial. For many Marxists, the notion of pessimism, especially in relation to revolutionary politics, can feel alienating. Marxism has long been associated with an optimism about the future, a belief that human history is moving towards a more just and egalitarian society. This optimism, however, has often led to disastrous outcomes. Revolutions have historically been followed not by the flourishing of justice but by new forms of tyranny and oppression. Žižek’s critique, therefore, serves as a powerful reminder of the limits of idealism. In his reading, Mainländer’s pessimism offers a necessary corrective to the naïve optimism that has dominated much of Marxist thought since its inception. Žižek suggests that, in rejecting the false promises of a perfect future, Marxism must instead confront the enduring reality of suffering that defines the human condition.

Yet, while Žižek’s critique is profound, it has not gone unchallenged. Tunç Türel, a Marxist historian and writer, responded to Žižek’s article with an impassioned call for optimism. In his critique, Türel rejects Žižek’s pessimistic reading of Mainländer, arguing that Marxism must remain rooted in the belief that human emancipation is possible, even if it requires tremendous effort and struggle. Türel’s response is, in many ways, a direct counterpoint to Žižek’s position. He insists that, without a vision of hope and human potential, any revolutionary project will inevitably degenerate into a hollow exercise in nihilism. For Türel, the project of Marxism must be one of liberation, not just from material conditions but from the existential despair that Žižek’s pessimism threatens to reinforce.

While Türel’s optimism is understandable, it risks neglecting the fundamental lessons that Žižek’s critique offers. Žižek’s Marxism is not a rejection of revolution but a call for a far more honest engagement with the conditions of human existence. Revolution, Žižek suggests, must not be seen as a utopian fantasy that will deliver us from suffering but as a process that recognises suffering as its starting point. This is not to say that Žižek is advocating for despair or resignation but, rather, that revolution must be grounded in the recognition that suffering is an inescapable part of human life. By confronting this reality, Žižek believes, we can build a more genuine form of liberation, one that does not promise an end to suffering but a transformation of our relationship to it.

The key issue with Türel’s response is that it superintends the structures of human suffering that Žižek’s Marxism seeks to address. Türel’s critique, with its emphasis on optimism and hope, tends to idealise the notion of revolution and human emancipation. In doing so, it risks glossing over the deep contradictions and complexities of the human condition. Revolution, as Žižek reminds us, is not an automatic process that will inevitably lead to a better world. It is a struggle that requires us to engage with the darkest aspects of our reality, not just our hopes for a better future.

One of the most fascinating aspects of Žižek’s article is his rotation of Western interpretations of Buddhism, including the one by Mainländer. Buddhism, particularly in its contemporary Western form, has often been appropriated as a philosophy of individual transcendence, a path to personal liberation from the suffering of life. This individualistic interpretation of Buddhism overlooks the social and collective dimensions of suffering. The problem with Western Buddhism is that it tends to focus on personal escape from suffering rather than the collective struggle to address the conditions that produce suffering in the first place. Mainländer’s pessimism, though he oversimplified Buddhism’s broader aspects which go beyond individualistic emancipation, offers a radical challenge to this view. Rather than seeking to transcend suffering, we must engage with it directly, recognising its inescapable presence in all aspects of life. This radical immanence, Žižek suggests, is the foundation for true revolutionary thought.

Here, Žižek’s critique of Buddhism intersects with his broader critique of Marxism’s tendency towards idealism. Just as Western Buddhism often becomes a retreat from the harsh realities of life, so too does idealist Marxism tend to overlook the complexities of human suffering in its pursuit of a utopian vision. By focusing too much on the ideal of human emancipation, both Western Buddhism and Marxist utopianism risk overlooking the fundamental reality of human existence—namely, that life is, to some degree, always hell. Suffering is not something to be transcended or escaped; it is something that must be confronted head-on if we are to create a truly transformative revolution.

Žižek’s Marxism, then, is a call to recognise the limitations of human existence and to build a revolution that is grounded in these limitations. It is not a revolution that promises a utopian future free from suffering but one that transforms our relationship to suffering. In this sense, Türel’s optimism is not a dismissal of hope but a more profound recognition of the reality of human life. Revolution, in Žižek’s view, must not be an escape from suffering but a confrontation with it. Only by facing the darkness of human existence can we hope to create a true and lasting form of liberation.

Therefore, Žižek’s provocation forces us to reconsider the very nature of revolution and to find our real selves by taking off our masks. While counter-arguments based on optimism are admirable, they fail to grasp the depth of suffering that Žižek insists must be the starting point for any genuine revolutionary project. In my view, this is certainly not an expression of megalomaniacal thought, but the product of authentic intellectual awakening. True leadership will emerge through social revolutions, not through the creation of killing machines in the name of revolution, as history has painfully shown, from the Bolshevik USSR to Pol Pot’s Cambodia.