Swedish newspapers on sale in Stockholm a day after the general elections; September 15, 2014. Photograph by Jonathan Nackstrand / / AFP / Getty

In the imagination of European progressives, Sweden is a mythical place with a stable government, a vibrant economy, and a generous welfare state. When the egalitarian philosopher G. A. Cohen sought a byword for a perfect government, in 2008, he settled on “Swedeland.” The real country, he knew, did not always live up to its ideal—but it usually came close.

Swedeland is no more. In the last elections, the Sweden Democrats—a far-right party with deep roots in the neo-Nazi movement—took thirteen per cent of the vote. Neither the Moderates, who had led a center-right coalition that governed the country for the past eight years, nor the center-left Social Democrats, who had been in charge for most of the previous century, could muster a majority in the Riksdag.

Stefan Löfven, the leader of the Social Democrats, faced a difficult choice. He could attempt to form a grand coalition with his party’s historical rivals on the center-right or he could try to lead a “minority government,” which would have to cobble together a majority on each vote. Löfven chose instability over ideological incoherence, and lost badly. His minority government collapsed after only two months in office, after proving unable to pass a budget. For the first time in half a century, Sweden faces early elections. When the new parliament convenes, next year, the outcome that Löfven was so keen to avoid will likely become inescapable: if the country is to have a government at all, it may have to be a grand coalition.

Sweden, no longer exceptional, now has the same problem as almost every other European country. As populists gain electoral support, traditional center-left or center-right governments have lost their majorities. These parties, which have historically alternated in government, and have long seen each other as ideological rivals, have had to join forces to remain in power. Formal coalitions between the two biggest parties now rule in Germany, Austria, the Netherlands, Finland, and Ireland, among other countries. Some form of grand centrist bargain also props up the reforms pursued by Matteo Renzi, in Italy; assures the current majority in the European Parliament; and helped persuade the Scots to vote against independence.

If populists across the continent can hold on to their current levels of support, even more countries may soon have to resort to grand coalitions. According to recent polls, Marine Le Pen, the leader of the far-right Front National party, in France, is likely to win the first round of the French Presidential elections in 2017. If this comes to pass, the establishment parties will have to unite around her opponent—and that may only be the beginning of their coöperation. When, a few weeks later, France votes for a new parliament, the Front National is likely to win an unprecedented number of seats. An informal coalition that keeps Le Pen out of the Élysee Palace may prove to be a prelude to a formal grand coalition in the Assemblée Nationale.

These grand coalitions need not be less successful than center-left or center-right governments. In the short run, they may be more effective, since their early large majorities make it easier to pass necessary but unpopular reforms, like raising the retirement age. As George Packer noted in his Profile of Angela Merkel, Germany’s grand coalition government—its second in less than a decade—has eighty per cent of the seats in the Bundestag, and “new laws pour forth from parliament while meaningful debate has almost disappeared.”

The grand coalitions have their advantages, but few governments remain popular forever, and when they run out of ideas or are beset by scandal, few competent opposition parties stand ready to replace them. The Austrian case is instructive. Throughout most of the postwar era, the political establishment relied on a grand coalition between Christian Democrats and Social Democrats to form stable governments. When Austrians finally wanted to rid themselves of the coalition, they turned to Jörg Haider’s far-right Freedom Party of Austria in the nineties—perhaps the first big indication of Europe’s populist turn.

The success of the populists thus raises the prospect of an increasingly dangerous cycle. Their rise leaves establishment parties with little choice but to form a grand coalition. Once that coalition falls out of favor, however, even more voters flock to the populists. Democratic politics increasingly resembles a Manichean struggle between a monolithic establishment block and an assortment of extremists who all claim the mantle of the resistance. If support for the establishment falls far enough, nobody is left to form a government.

This cycle has been playing out in Greece for the past five years. The cumulative vote share of PASOK, the major party of the center-left, and New Democracy, the major party of the center-right, fell from eighty per cent in 2007 to forty-two per cent in June of 2012. With the support of the much smaller Democratic Left, the two parties retain just enough seats to maintain a coalition government. But all polls indicate that their support has continued to dwindle since 2012. If new elections were held today, the Greek parliament likely would be split into three mutually hostile blocks: the neo-Fascists of the Golden Dawn party, the economic populists of Syriza, and the sorry remnants of the political establishment. Greece would be ungovernable.

It’s possible that the long-term consequences of the current convulsions will not be as dramatic as they appear today. Perhaps some of the grand coalitions will find unexpected success in combatting the economic crisis, restoring the popularity of their members. Perhaps establishment parties will be able to bring populists into government, taming their radicalism. Or perhaps populists will manage to take over governments and somehow turn their utopian visions into reality.

But all of these fixes lie far off in an uncertain future. In the meanwhile, the populists’ rise is likely to bring about more discontent—even for those who sympathize with them. Pablo Iglesias, the leader of Spain’s insurgent Podemos movement, likes to inveigh against la casta, the corrupt political caste he says rules the continent in its own interests. But when Iglesias’ supporters flock to the polls to voice their anger next year, they are unlikely to command their own majority—instead, the immediate outcome is likely to be the formation of yet another all-caste government.