just listened to an interview Doug Henwood did with Max Blumenthal about the rise of the Christian Right within the Republican Party and I’m really confused why people still think that analyzing social movements in terms of individual and transhistorical psychological motivations (e.g. “some people just can’t deal with freedom”) is still like a good way of analyzing things. not that I don’t generally like Blumenthal but it just does not suffice as analysis for a long list of reasons. part of the funny thing about the interview is that Henwood at one point kind of goads Blumenthal into saying that his thesis is, in fact, the same thesis that the Bush administration gave about al-Qaeda, viz. “they hate our freedoms.” and then people get bogged down in whether that’s true or not, missing the larger point which is that, even if it were true, it’s not a sufficient explanation because conservative religious traditions have prevailed throughout human history and yet also risen, fallen, had more or less appeal, and those things have to be explained in their historical specificity and that can’t involve some kind of general stipulations about “human nature.”
Dialectic of Enlightenment never treats the seminal political
thinkers. There is hardly a word about John Locke, Gotthold
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Lessing, Voltaire, Benjamin Franklin, or Tom Paine. The book’s
authors looked farther. Their concern was with the Marquis de
Sade, Schopenhauer, Bergson, and Nietzsche. Not one of them
identifi ed either with Enlightenment political principles or the
organizations dedicated to realizing them. They were anti-liberal,
anti-socialist, anti-democratic and anti-egalitarian, anti-rationalist
and anti-historical.
Horkheimer and Adorno’s critique of scientifi c rationality is also
politically misleading. Fascists were never infatuated with
scientifi c rationality or universal categories. They instead made
ideological use of notions like “Jewish physics” or “Italian
mathematics.” Most positivist and neo-positivist exponents of
scientifi c rationality in the twentieth century were liberals like
Karl Popper; some were social democrats like Rudolf Carnap; and
a few like Hans Reichenbach were even once members of the
ultra-Left. Norberto Bobbio, the great socialist thinker and
activist, was surely correct when he noted that contempt for
positivism (not its embrace) was a hallmark of fascism.
None of this, apparently, was relevant. Horkheimer and Adorno
were more interested in the dialectical process that works behind
the conscious intentions of individuals and groups. But their
dialectic lacked historical specifi cation. They never inquired into
the moments of political decision that produced the new
barbarism. Dialectic of Enlightenment has nothing to say about
the Dreyfus Affair, the Russian Revolution, the fascist March on
Rome, or the Nazi triumph. The organizational and ideological
confl icts remain as invisible as the personalities involved. The
connection between totalitarianism and modernity—with the
Enlightenment as its source and instrumental rationality as its
medium—simply doesn’t wash.
It remains unclear why the most advanced capitalist nations like
the United States and England never experienced a genuine
fascist threat while far less advanced nations, like Italy and
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Romania, succumbed to the forces of reaction. It is also unclear
why Japan never experienced the Enlightenment. Nor is there a
discussion of totalitarianism from the Left. What occurred in the
Soviet Union was a product not of modernity but the lack of it:
Gramsci actually considered the Bolshevik revolution “a
revolution against Das Kapital ” while Leon Trotsky and Lenin
maintained that the communist triumph was possible only
because Imperial Russia was “the weakest link in the capitalist
chain.”
Orthodox Marxists among the social democratic leadership—not
surprisingly—were clearer about all this than the far more
philosophically sophisticated members of the Frankfurt School.
Karl Kautsky and Rosa Luxemburg not only predicted the
emergence of a terror apparatus in the Soviet Union as early as
1918, but analyzed it as the product of economic underdevelopment.
Other scholars would note that in Germany the bourgeoisie had not
yet ideologically come to terms with feudalism when fear of the
proletariat led to its alignment with the reaction.
European fascism was not the product of some prefabricated
philosophical dialectic but rather the self-conscious ideological
response to liberalism and social democracy. Its mass base
everywhere lay primarily in pre-capitalist classes—the peasantry,
the underclass, and the petite-bourgeoisie—whose existential and
material interests seemed threatened by the capitalist production
process and its two dominant classes: the bourgeoisie and the
proletariat. Classes identifi ed with modernity mostly supported
political parties embracing a continental form of liberalism or a
social democratic party still formally embracing orthodox Marxism
and its communist rival. All these parties except the communists
were supporters of the Weimar Republic, and all were enemies of
the Nazis who made war on them in word and deed.
Dialectic of Enlightenment casts these real historical confl icts into
a metaphysical fog. Its famous interpretation of Odysseus, whose
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denial of his identity becomes the only way for him to survive his
exile, offers a case in point. “The sacrifi ce of consciousness is
carried out according to its own categories, rationally.” There is no
turning back. Instrumental reason is necessary to survive and the
forms in which we survive generate our destruction.
Enlightenment is the story of a dynamic whose reifying effects
culminate in the number tattooed on the arm of a concentration
camp inmate. There is an extraordinary sweep to this provocative
argument. But it is predicated on false concreteness and
misplaced causality. Instrumental reason did not bring about
Nazism or even destroy the ability of individuals to make
normative judgments. The Nazi victory was rather the product of
a clash between real movements whose members were quite
capable of making diverse judgments concerning both their
interests and their values.
Fascism was never a foregone conclusion just as it was never
simply a function of modernity. Real movements and real
organizations, real traditions and real ideas, were in confl ict. To
ignore them is to embrace the reifi cation of thinking that the
Frankfurt School nominally sought to oppose. What emerges
from Dialectic of Enlightenment is an unyielding process that
excludes more than it illuminates—precisely because it is neither
determinate in its historical claims nor precise in its political
judgments. The desire to unify qualitatively different phenomena
under a single rubric could only produce historical disorientation
and political confusion. Given his own association with
Stalinism, Lukács may not have been one to point fi ngers.
Nevertheless, there is something legitimate about his quip that
the Frankfurt School watched the descent into barbarism from
its “grand hotel abyss.”