This is an essay I wrote for my Critical Theory class. We had to respond to a passage from Marcuse (below). It’s a bit hurried towards the end and a bit messy in its organisation, but I’m generally fairly happy with the argument I make here. The extract:

6. The Happy Consciousness – the belief that the real is rational and that the system delivers the goods – reflects the new conformism which is a facet of technological rationality translated into social behaviour. It is new because it is rational to an unprecedented degree. It sustains a society which has reduced – and in its most advanced areas eliminated – the more primitive irrationality of the preceding stages, which prolongs and improves life more regularly than before. The war of annihilation has not yet occurred; the Nazi extermination camps have been abolished. The Happy Consciousness repels the connection. Torture has been reintroduced as a normal affair, but in a colonial war which takes place at the margins of the civilized world. And there it is practiced with good conscience for war is war. And this war, too, is at the margins – it ravages only the “underdeveloped” countries. Otherwise peace reigns. (p. 84)

Who is the Marcuse of One Dimensional Man? That is: who is the subject that can pose, as critique of society, the proposition that society now forecloses all possibility of radical critique? It is my contention that this Marcuse is impossible: that one cannot coherently speak from the subject-position Marcuse claims for himself; that the mere fact of posing such a critique performatively contradicts its substance. (Or, at the very least, to claim such a position contradicts the materialist presuppositions of Marcuse’s critique, and instead takes us into the magical-idealist realms of a Great Man theory of philosophical knowledge.) And yet, in a certain sense, leaving historical details aside, Marcuse’s account of the closure of discourse, of thought, seems strangely apposite to the post-industrial, post-crisis, neoliberal context in which we read him today. Today “[i]t’s easier to imagine the end of the world than the end of capitalism” (Fisher, 2009, p.1). Our time is characterised by the seeming impossibility of conceiving of an alternative to the world of capital and by “the morose conviction that nothing new can ever happen” (Ibid., p.3) to which only a pathological consumerist indulgence – a “depressive hedonia” (Ibid., p.21) – appears as a possible response. Today, it would seem that the total identification of the real, the rational, the good and the possible identified by Marcuse (2002, pp.87-8) or, somewhat equivalently, the domination of the social by an unquestionable spectacular reality in which “[w]hat appears is good [and] what is good appears” (Debord, 2004, pp.9-10) is more complete than ever. If Marcuse is on unstable epistemological ground, it appears he is nonetheless capable of expressing a truth. We are left with the question: how can one lament the disappearance of a possibility of which one holds oneself to be incapable of conceiving? How can one desire an escape from that which sets the very limits of the desirable? This, I claim, is the paradox of Marcuse’s Happy Consciousness, which will serve as the central problematic of this essay. My contention is that Marcuse offers a unitary conception of the fetisished forms of late-capitalist social relations, which fails to grasp the fundamentally unstable and contradictory mode of existence of these forms, leaving Marcuse trapped in the pessimism of the world of surface appearances, and that the resolution of this paradox is to be found in the apprehension of the dual character of these fetish forms.

For Marcuse, the transition to the consumerist phase of capitalism has brought about a great enclosure of thought and a massive expansion and development of the forms of administration and control – what he calls the “administered society” (2002, p.243) – and with it, the recession of the possibility of the revolutionary transformation of society. Capital has achieved what he calls “the conquest of the Unhappy Consciousness” or “repressive desublimation” (Ibid., p.59), that is to say, capital has effectively abolished the ability of culture to express an authentic protest against or critique of existing society by “the flattening out of the antagonism between culture and social reality through the obliteration of the oppositional, alien, and transcendent elements in the higher culture by virtue of which it constituted another dimension of reality.” (Ibid, p.60) Capital no longer operates primarily through repression, but rather has incorporated desire into the process of accumulation by offering the fulfillment of human needs that it simultaneously produces. (Ibid., p.78) As a result, culture is no longer capable of articulating a need that capital cannot meet, so even apparent rebellions are recuperated into the univocal valourisation (in both senses) of the existing society: “reality surpasses its culture. Man today can do more than the culture heros and half-gods; he has solved many insoluble problems.” (Ibid., p.60) The gap between cultural and social reality, which in previous stages of development was a source of antagonism, collapses to a single dimension, and in the process destroys the dimension of alienation in art. (Ibid., p.73) Language too is impoverished, robbed of its immanent spaces and tensions, and therefore left unable to differentiate between “reason and fact, truth and established truth, essence and existence, the thing and its function”. (Ibid., p.89) The result is “The Happy Consciousness — the belief that the real is rational and that the system delivers the goods” (Ibid, p.87) – a new conformist subjectivity that is unable to conceive of its own alienation. Put simply: the proletarian subject, seduced by material abundance, is now trapped in the recuperative circuit of her own desire, robbing her of the possibility of developing a critical political subjectivity.

As a hermeneutical point, it may be useful here to reflect on emphasis Marcuse places on vertical relations throughout his elucidation of this thesis. For Marcuse, it was precisely the transcendent elements in higher culture (Ibid., p.60) which in previous phases of development gave art its revolutionary significance. Moreover, critical theory too, for Marcuse, must aim at adopting a relation of transcendence vis a vis social reality, albeit of a “rigorously historical” rather than “metaphysical” character. (Ibid., pp.xli-ii) This, to me, is indicative of a continuity with classical Marxism in thinking about class consciousness – e.g. Lenin’s claim that the proletariat is on its own capable only of a trade union consciousness and requires the Party to bring it to a revolutionary consciousness (Lenin, 1902), Lukacs claim that the Party is required to disclose the “appropriate and rational reactions ‘imputed’ to a particular class situation” to a proletariat trapped in the world of reification (Lukacs, 1972, p.51) – that is, the proletariat is constructed as an external object by the theorist (who is somehow able to stand above society and apprehend objectively its relations) and it is deduced, in one way or another that it is incapable of achieving the correct form of consciousness, which therefore requires correct class consciousness to drop as a blessing from above (albeit, in this case, it is the artist or philosopher rather than the Party which takes the role of transcendent agent). Marcuse fails to grasp that the revolutionary discovery of the Enlightenment was precisely that of the “plane of immanence”, which placed the question of the direction of human society squarely in the hands of the multitude, to which dominant classes opposed a transcendental apparatus of capture. (Hardt & Negri, 2000, pp.70-83) What would it mean for Marcuse’s critical theory to take seriously the revolutionary potential of immanence and to conceive of the political subjectivity of the multitude not in terms of a vertical relationship between theory and practice (or rather, theorists and practicers), but rhizomatically, that is, in terms of connective, communicative, and immanent relations between a non-ordered multiplicity of heterogeneous singularities that form a collective assemblage? (Deleuze & Guattari, 2013, pp.5-8) We will return to this question.

Additionally, Marcuse inherits from Freud a problematically essentialist theory of desire which underpins his historical thesis. In his History of Sexuality: Volume 1, Foucault (1990) offers a devastating critique of the “repressive hypothesis”, which holds that previous historical periods were characterised by an overall repression of sexual desire, from which we are now beginning to emerge. Rather, Foucault demonstrates how sexuality has in different periods been actively produced through the incitement to discourse (from the confessional, to sexology, to psychoanalysis) and through the effects of disciplinary power which involved “refusal, blockage and invalidation, but also incitement and intensification”. (p.11) If we admit this discovery, it renders impossible any distinction between one’s “true” desire and that which is constructed by consumer capitalism – desire can only be understood as a contingent social product of a particular historical conjuncture. “Need”, which has a somewhat ambiguous relation to desire in Marcuse, must also be understood as a properly historical product. The “manipulation of needs by vested interests” (Marcuse, 2002, p.5) is not a peculiar feature of late capitalism, but is in fact precisely what occurred in the “deterritorialization of the socius” that enabled the encounter of “decoded flows of production in the form of money-capital, and the decoded flows of labor in the form of the the ‘free worker’” which birthed the capitalist mode of production. (Deleuze & Guattari, 1983, p.33). Simply: in order to “destroy the possibilities that had emerged from the anti-feudal struggle” (Fedirici, 2004, p.11), a process of violent dispossession was unleashed by the ruling class, producing particular relations of need (essentially, workers with no means of support other than to sell their labour) which produced the conditions for the ascendance of the bourgeois class and of the capitalist mode of production. The above problematises the historical rupture detected by Marcuse: if the relations of “need” and “desire” were always already contingent on the development of class struggle then this cannot be a new innovation of capitalist domination particular to late-capitalism. Since its inception, capital has manipulated need and desire to diffuse class struggle and to ensure the continuation of the accumulation of capital. If this is the case, to source the impetus for revolutionary struggle in the supposed “authenticity” of pre-social need is wholly ahistorical. The question then presents itself: whence the impetus for class struggle?

It is crucial to understand the fundamentally contradictory and unstable nature of capitalist social relations. What may appear as a unitary edifice of domination is founded on an ontological division which capital is necessarily unable to resolve. Capital is the product of the fracturing of the social flow of labour, which is necessarily also the fracturing of the subject (Holloway, 2010, pp.28-31), the becoming-alien of a portion of our subjectivity that becomes objectified as a commodity (it is of no significance here whether the commodity is a material or immaterial product of social production). The constituted forms of capitalist social relations, including fetishised forms of thought, therefore, are never merely established facts, but are dependent on the continuous reproduction of this division, the continued reiteration of a subjective violence. (Ibid., pp.88-91; Holloway, 2011) What Marcuse presents, therefore, is only one face of a duality: the apparatus of reterritorialisation that reincorporates our lines of flight into the logic of capitalism, but not the movements of deterritorialisation that challenge and disrupt the prevailing codes, which characterises the schizophrenic dynamic of struggle in capitalist society. (Guattari, 2009, p.52) It is hardly surprising that for Marcuse “[t]he critical theory of society… remains negative” (Marcuse, 2002, p.261) when it is predicated on a monist ontology that sees only the uninterrupted history of domination that progressively entraps the subject, but not the agency of the subject that pushes back against its cage – the occlusion of the “transcendental” representation of alienation in culture, but not the immanent division of the social and the subject itself that renders the spectacular “pseudo-justification for a counterfeit life” (Debord, 2004 ,p.23) always minimally unsatisfying. It is not the didactic pedagogy of art or philosophy that in the end pushes us into antagonistic relations to capital, but the frustration of our own potencies and desires which capital cannot avoid, which is then, perhaps, represented or communicated through art or philosophy.

Reading Marcuse in the light of the conditions of contemporary capitalism, it is clear that Marcuse’s pessimism suits the dominant affective composition of society, and the paradox of Marcuse’s critique is also that of much contemporary critical theory. In the age of real subsumption and the social factory we live in greater intimacy than ever with capital, and its destructive and constrictive impact on our consciousness is certainly similar to that described so vividly by Marcuse. But paradoxically, this situation also increases the potential for liberation (Hardt & Negri, 2000, pp.43-44), as the colonisation of social life means that resistances that were once marginal now strike at the omnipresent centre. (Ibid., p.26) “[I]f the capital relation is now reproduced everywhere, then capital is contested everywhere” albeit in “low intensity conflicts” rather than dramatic confrontations. (Free Association, 2001) In assessing Marcuse, then, one might say that Marcuse has only interpreted the conditions of late-capitalist ideology, but the point is to disrupt them.

Bibliography

Debord, G. (2004) The Society of the Spectacle. UK: Rebel Press.

Deleuze, G. & Guattari, F. (1983) Anti-Oedipus. US: University Of Minnesota Press.

Deleuze, G. & Guattari, F. (2013) A Thousand Plateaus. UK: Bloomsbury.

Fedirici, S. (2004) Caliban and the Witch. US: Autonomedia.

Fisher, M. (2009) Capitalist Realism. UK: Zero Books.

Foucault, M. (1990) The History of Sexuality, Volume 1: An Introduction. London : Penguin.

Free Association (2001) ‘Anti-capitalist movements’. Available at: http://freelyassociating.org/anti-capitalist-movements/ (Accessed: 1 April 2014)

Guattari, F. (2009) Chaosophy: Texts and Interviews, Lotringer, S. ed. US: Semiotext(e).

Hardt, M. and Negri, A. (2000) Empire. US: Harvard University Press.

Holloway, J. (2010) Change The World Without Taking Power. UK: Pluto Press.

Holloway, J. (2011) ‘Class and Classification’. Available at:

http://www.johnholloway.com.mx/2011/07/30/class-and-classification/ (Accessed: 1 April 2014)

Lenin, V.I., (1902) What Is To Be Done. Available at: http://www.marxists.org/archive/lenin/works/1901/witbd/ (Accessed: 1 April 2014)

Marcuse, H. (2002) One Dimensional Man. US: Routledge.

I

The Left is not an organism, it is an ecosystem. An organism can operate intentionally and in unison only inasmuch as it is under the dominion of a subject. The Left is not composed in this way, and could not be without an overarching disciplinary apparatus – that is, without mirroring the control mechanisms of bourgeois society.

II

Recognising that the Left is an ecosystem calls for an ecological approach to understanding tactical questions. The starting point of such an approach must be the recognition that the Left is composed of heterogeneous elements, none of which hold any kind of privileged position over one-another. There is no centre against which a periphery can be defined, only a diversity of subjects in ever-shifting relations to one-another, traversed by communicative and affective flows encountering a pathway here, a blockage there, within a complex landscape.

III

Function is an emergent property of the system, which is not reducible to the individual or collective intentions, wishes, or actions of the elements, or any particular grouping of elements. What the Left does, what effect it has on its world, and the role various elements have in producing that effect is not within the control of any particular component of the Left, but emerges from the relations between the elements as they interact with and transform their environment, and themselves in turn.

IV

Diversity is a sign of the health of an ecosystem. It allows for a greater range of functions and a greater adaptability to change. It is necessary to work towards a maximally productive arrangement of diversity – never a monoculture.

V

This does not mean adopting a laissez-faire attitude to tactical questions. Debate and disagreement, even sometimes conflict, are the necessary correlates of diversity. Rather, what is required is an approach to disagreement that recognises that the extinction of the other harms the system as a whole. The purpose of debate should be the deepening of insight and the removal of blockages to our potentialities, and never the domination or conquest of difference.

VI

Binarisations place us in oppositional relations to one another, producing unproductive disgareement that harms us all. Perhaps the most significant is that of “peaceful” vs. “violent” protest. What is crucial is to recognise that there is no possibility for peace within capitalist society, only varying degrees of complicity and resistance to the systemic violence intrinsic to capital. All forms of protest and non-protest embody the dialectical tension between complicity and resistance. As an ethical designation, “peaceful protest” is utopian junk, while the fetishisation of violence is its microfascistic mirror image. The issue is always that of the strategic deployment of violence and non-violence, remaining aware that our resistances are never pure escapes, but are always thwarted to some extent, always contradictory. Put simply: someone always gets hurt. The aspiration to peace, if it is to be more than an aesthetic element of ideology, means grappling with the reality that we are always-already soaked in violence, so long as material reality of domination remains.

Youth culture is constantly constructed as an object of contemplation and interpretation. There is a certain kind of journalist for whom youth culture provides a wellspring of material to be broken apart, reassembled, framed and offered up as a kind of diagnostic of the condition of society, always for a particular audience. This production of “knowledge” is always an exercise of power: youth are spoken about, interpreted, fretted over, represented, but rarely if ever included in the production of the discourse about them.

For the Right – the tabloids and the stuffier broadsheets – the archetypal narrative form is the moral panic. Youth appears always as the crisis of a liberal society gone too far: a destructive whirlwind of jouissance tearing apart all that remains orderly and good. Of course, the “youth media” – that is media produced by businesses and marketed at youth – is pretty much entirely a marketing apparatus, manipulating and producing youth cultures as revenue streams for various industries (music, fashion, etc.). In these cases, the operation of power is more or less transparent (at least, if viewed from sufficient distance).

But there is a certain type of left/liberal writing about youth culture – by trendy twenty-something journalists, for trendy twenty-somethings, both mutually invested in sustaining the delusion that they’re still part of the adolescent avant-garde – where the operations of power/knowledge are all the more insidious precisely because they represent themselves as sympathetic, and as occupying an “our man in the Orient” position simultaneously within and outside the culture they report on.*

* My own speaking-position on this subject is somewhat suspect also, as a 23-year-old who has never been in any way cool, and who mostly sits in his flat eating ready-meals and arguing about political theory on facebook.

A common feature of this kind of writing is a peculiar kind of historicism around the appearance of youth subcultures and countercultures. At every moment of history, Youth is expected to embody a spirit of rebellion against society, which I am calling the Punkgeist. The Punkgeist is the essence and historical mission of Youth: rebellion against the aesthetic/cultural establishment, the liberation of desire through the construction of a countercultural avante garde and new oppositional collective identities. Rock, punk, goth, rave, et al, are to be understood as particular manifestations of this eternal essence of Youth, which proceeds through a dialectical process: each generation produces its own countercultural forms, which over time are incorporated into the mainstream, becoming stale, clichéd, boring, repressive, only to be overturned by the aesthetic radicalism of the next generation. Thesis, antithesis, synthesis – Hegel reborn as a music journalist.

The puzzle then for those who assemble nostalgic misrepresentations of the youth movements of the past into a dialectic of history is why are the youth of today so docile, conservative, apolitical? Why are their trends not as cool and important as those that came before? This is the question that NekNominations (basically a viral drinking game) posed to one Vice writer, prompting him to write an article titled ‘NekNominations are what this generation has instead of punk or rave’.

The thesis put forward by the article is essentially this: the youth of today exist in a world where a technologically-enabled individuated eclecticism has replaced counterculture, and every rebellion is monetised and reincorporated into capitalism before it can even begin. But “there’s no way to monetise drinking a pint full of grasshoppers or getting your mates to pepper spray you in the face. They remain one of the last things in our society that are essentially unmarketable. Very few brands are going to encourage you to drink engine oil any time soon – they don’t want a shout out at your funeral, they want your money. NekNominate doesn’t, and it remains nihilistically enticing for that.”  The old is dying and the new cannot be born, so all that is left to teenagers is to drink, vomit and post the results on facebook.

I didn’t know quite what to make of the piece at first (hence why I’ve ended up writing a whole long thing about it). On the one hand, I’m sympathetic to the Capitalist Realism-esque argument: culture is dead, authentic innovation and rebellion within art is now impossible, and all that remains is a depressive hedonism. (Although Adorno said much the same, and then the 60s happened.) But on the other hand, there’s something that feels really forced about the politicisation/intellectualisation of what seems to be a wholly apolitical and anti-intellectual gesture: the imposition of an interpretive framework that at the same moment patronises and gives far too much credit. “You might think you’re downing a pint of cider,” it seems to say, “but I know it’s really a desperate and nihilistic rebellion against postindustrial capitalism.” In any case, drinking games weren’t invented by teenagers in 2014, so I’m not sure why this one needs a special explanation, just because it happened virally on the Internet. (Seriously have none of the people writing the acres of columns on this topic ever necked a pint in their lives?)

Perhaps the problem is this: the Punkgeist doesn’t exist. Perhaps rebellion is not the telos of youth. Perhaps there was always far more involved in counterculture than just teenage hormones. Perhaps punk was not just a generation acting out because they were young, but a far more conscious and political project, and perhaps this generation hasn’t come up with the new punk because punk was a deliberate intervention in particular historical circumstances that no longer exist. In any case, the pop-Hegelianism of the common-currency Punkgeist explanation for countercultural movements has tended to strip away everything authentically dangerous about them, reframing them as purely aesthetic rebellions, and as merely epiphenomena of the maturation of a generation: something to talk about at dinner parties (or in newspaper columns) when you inevitably grow up and get a proper job.

And maybe NekNomination is just a drinking game, not the spirit of punk returning in pathological form.

Alan Shatter must resign. Obviously. The Garda Commissioner too, whatever his name is. Everyone knows what’s happened here: the cops bugged the Ombudsman and Fine Gael are doing whatever they can to muddy the waters, playing absurd language games with standards of proof and meanings of evidences.

But is there not something utterly boring about how explosive all this is? Are we not here every single week watching some controversy or other blossom into an absurdist melodrama? The Minister Who Put A Hospital In His Back Garden, or The Banker Who Gets A 100k Bonus For No Discernible Reason, or some bullshit, all inducing the same back-and-forth conversation between press and PR consultants played out for our viewing pleasure. Each mundane obscenity producing a rich symphony of scandal – but each utterly structurally identical in its predictable effects.

We’re always angry, because there’s always someone taking the piss. But we’re always angry in precisely the same impotent and individuated way: someone is obviously corrupt or malevolent and yet for some reason gets to keep their job or their money or to avoid prison or whatever. The ‘free press’ makes limp efforts at ‘holding them to account’, but there’s a palpable sense that we’re all going through the motions that permeates the entire public sphere. The Dads of Ireland shout at the news, taxi drivers make cynical comments, and all the cool kids do more or less the same thing, but with hashtags. Voila: public discourse.

I try to avoid the news as much as I can. The kind of anger it produces – an anger that cannot possibly materialise the desire for which it stands – is ultimately just a corrosive, melting away whatever hope one has for the world. The position I take is one of informed apathy: I know what sort of thing is likely to happen, I can do without the details. Of course the cops break the law, they’re a gang of thugs hired by the State to keep order. What do you expect? Of course politicians lie and CEOs line their pockets while impoverishing society. That’s what they do. And if you cut one down, there’s ten more to take their place. And, of course, the discussion in the ‘free press’ circles round and round the absent signifier of structural causation – like those little horses on a merry-go-round – individualising blame, producing and directing anger towards those who – whatever the ethics of their personal choices – are ultimately only carriers for their social function. If this particular pseudo-controversy manages to depose the Garda Commissioner he’ll be replaced by another fucking cop. You can skim a layer of shit off the top of the tank, but there’s always more lurking in the depths waiting to float to the top. Some victory.

What should be obvious, but somehow isn’t, is that ‘popular anger’ is not some primordial force entering politics from the outside: it’s actively produced by the political conjuncture. We’re invoked to be angry here and not there, in this way and not that, at this individual and not this structure, and to consume our own anger through the mediation of the press in ways that are never allowed to amount to a meaningful collective challenge to power. It turns out that this is a pretty effective circuit for diffusing anger, all the while producing the sense that society is corrupt beyond rescue, but without allowing us to locate that corruption in anything concrete and therefore potentially changeable: a metaphysical corruption, for all practical purposes identical to collective possession by evil spirits.

It’s not at all clear to me how to short out this particular circuit of containment. But one thing that is clear is that the traumatic irruption of the Real within this world of spectacular representations will have nothing at all to do with the various organs of public opinion, or the relations of passive consumption they produce. Either we, as a first step, have better conversations that implicate structures and ultimately aim at posing a meaningful challenge to power, or we’ll remain trapped in pantomime anger: shouting at TVs and swapping cynical quips with taxi drivers ad mortem.

 I

The genie will not go back into the bottle. The recent Cambrian explosion of critiques of the Left – deploying the concepts of intersectionality and privilege – is not a reversible process. The old and comforting unities that have been disaggregated by these critiques cannot be reassembled – or at least not in the same way. Whether one is happy about this or not, intersectionality is now an active element of the Left, and the pre-intersectional Left cannot be recovered, even if one wished to.

 II

Those who insist upon rejecting intersectionality in toto – whether due to nostalgia for previous compositions of the Left from previous phases of struggle, or to utopian visions of what the Left could be – have retreated into idealism. They construct transcendental standards of what the Left must become (once again) against which the Left is compared and inevitably found wanting. Such an approach cannot succeed. The immanent self-development of the Left can only be a process of self-transformation reckoning with and utilising the material of the actually-existing Left.

 III

“From my youth I recall the old Maoist distinction between the contradictions within the people to be resolved through democratic debate, and the contradictions between the people and the enemies of the people to be resolved through merciless struggle…” (Slavoj Zizek, Notes on a Debate “From Within the People”)

Intersectionality is not a ruling class conspiracy to destroy the Left. It is a critique of the Left from within the Left. Or, as Foucault would perhaps put it, an “insurrection of subjugated knowledges” within the Left. (Society Must Be Defended) It is the collective discursive assemblage deployed by minorised subjects within the Left to combat their marginalisation – a cutting tool to break through the ossified exclusions of Left theory and practice. Those who respond by waging a rhetorical war of annihilation against intersectionality and privilege have, as Mao might say, clearly gone wrong.

IV

There are no purely creative or productive transformations. Creation always entails a measure of destruction. The Left must continuously be destroyed in order to be produced anew. “The passion for destruction is a creative passion, too!” (Mikhail Bakunin, The Reaction in Germany)

This does not, however, mean that all destruction is also creation. There exist negations that are not dialectical. An atomic bomb does not produce a resurrection after it destroys.

V

If intersectionality is to be a force of revitalisation of the Left, how could it proceed but through negation? If the collective assemblages of the Left are ineffectual, stultifying, exclusionary, they must be broken apart – and parts thrown away, perhaps – before they can be assembled differently. The expectation that the intersectional transformation of the Left proceed only through pure positivity is in effect the demand that it not proceed at all.

VI

If one is working on an old house, one is likely to uncover elements of toxicity and decay – asbestos, mould, rats, damp, cracked walls, rotting beams, even shaky foundations. While it might seem as though the problems uncovered have appeared as a result of the work undertaken, the truth is they were there already. The Left is an old house.

Intersectionality as a process has uncovered relations within the Left that are toxic. These are often unpleasant to deal with. But putting the carpet back down does not stop the floorboards rotting.

VII

Fixing the Left is not an end-in-itself. It is not enough to get all of our internal relations in perfect balance. We are building a war machine, not an ornament.

VIII

The Left has always been angry. The Left has always been animated by the anger of the oppressed and exploited, as well as our hopes, desires, loves and aspirations. A Left that is not angry has succumbed to centrist capitulation, bureaucratic drudgery or hippy escapism.

The Left has never been unified. There has always been conflict and disagreement, sometimes bitter, because our divisions matter. A Left that has done away with all internal conflict is a Left that has given up all serious ambitions of transforming society and retreated into pantomime.

Why then has the presence of anger and conflict within the Left suddenly become intolerable?

IX

Anger is political. It is gendered and racialised. The question of when, how and by whom anger is to be expressed is a matter of political contestation. One might reasonably be troubled at the intensity of anger within a discourse, but any remedy to the problem must not involve resubmerging the anger of the oppressed beneath a cold ocean of silence.

X

Anger is more than a mere feeling: it is an energy, a potential. It is a creative moment of an individual. It is not enough for that anger to find expression and recognition – that is a circuit of containment – it must be allowed to flow – to produce, transform and overthrow according to its own immanent truth – and not merely diffuse. It is a matter for the individual to develop such an ethical relationship to their anger, and not for any external apparatus of policing or mediation.

XI

“Nobody in the world, nobody in history, has ever gotten their freedom by appealing to the moral sense of the people who were oppressing them.” (Assata Shakur)

Moralism is not the same as ethics. The former is based in what Nietzsche calls ressentiment, a resentment of the powerful that accepts the inevitability of one’s own powerlessness, and aims only at constraining the actions of the powerful, while valorising the condition of powerlessness. Moralism operates by setting up transcendental standards of good and evil which by the force of their ethical rightness are expected to determine the behaviour of individuals. In this sense it is an ineffectual idealist approach to ethics that can challenge power only in the abstract, rather than transforming the material conditions that enable that power.

For those struggling to make justice a material reality, moralism is a condition to be escaped or warded off. This does not, however, entail an abandonment of ethics, or a rejection of micropolitics. Any social movement that aims at being transformative must produce and practice a counterethics that aims at displacing and abolishing the dominant ethics by sweeping away the material mechanisms of the dominant ethics on all levels (individual, intersubjective, and social). Rejecting moralism in no way implies that we must compromise on our ethics, but rather that we develop a materialist and transformative approach to ethics – a counterethics conceived of as a component of a revolutionary machine.

This is a response to the piece Exiting the Vampire Castleby Mark Fisher.

I don’t know anything about Mark Fisher. He wrote a book, called Capitalist Realism that a lot of people seem to like, but I have no idea what’s in it or if I should care. But I do know Mark is afraid of me. He is afraid of me, because I am an anarchist, because I engage with “identity politics”, because I think the Labour Party is a load of bourgeois shit, because I believe that influential figures should be held to account for oppressive speech-acts, and because I (occasionally) go to university. Moreover, he is afraid of me because I am destroying something precious to him, something to which he has attributed meaning and invested desire – the Left; a figure, an image and a real assemblage, which produces intense affects in those who believe in its necessity and potential, and whose evident failure to intervene decisively at this moment of capitalist crisis has induced flows of despondancy across the entire social body.

How does one deal with such intense negative affect, with frustrated desire, with a pronounced, emasculating political impotence, which threaten to overwhelm the subject? What happens to the revolutionary breaks and flows of the communist machine when there seems to be precisely no way to productively intervene in the political situation? One possible line of flight is to retreat into nostalgia, pining for a workers movement of yesteryear, which was powerful and decisive and unified, while conveniently forgetting that it was this same workers movement whose failure allowed neoliberalism to claw its way into every last nook and cranny of social existence. Another is to project one’s negativity onto a scapegoat, a monstrous vampiric Other, which can be blamed for sucking the vitality and hope out of the Left.

It is, I think, no coincidence that Mark Fisher chose this historic moment of deficit (the opposite of a “moment of excess”) to dust off an old and conservative discourse, give it a new psychoanalytical gloss, and to use it to rhetorically storm the “Vampire’s Castle” he’s built in his head. Its resonances, both positive and negative, across the left seem to me to be symptomatic of the current (de)composition of the Left as a social force, where old antagonisms along identarian lines have been invested with a new urgency by the collapse of organised resistance to the present capitalist assault. It is the confluence, I think, of a number of affects specific to this period of crisis, some, perhaps, understandable and forgivable, others thoroughly unpleasant and reactionary, which produce the libidinal underpinnings of this discourse, which, following Judith Butler, I shall call “neoconservative Marxism”, namely:

  1. feelings of uncertainty, hopelessness, and directionlessness, that result from witnessing one’s organising efforts come to nothing

  2. a sense of an urgent need for unity to compensate for the evident weakness of the Left as it stands

  3. a sense of the urgency of class struggle at this particular moment, combined with a sense of competition with non-class struggles for increasingly scarce resources

  4. a felt need for robust, “no bullshit” discourse, which also has the side effect of producing a masculine affect

  5. a need to participate in the psychodrama of conflict at a time when there seems to be no way to hit your enemies where it hurts

  6. concomitant feelings of discomfort around the difficult and patient work of rebuilding, rethinking and re-orienting left resistance, and

  7. a jealousy towards the relative vitality and vibrancy displayed by intersectional/feminist discourses

One might recognise oneself in this characterisation, or one might strongly resist such psychological speculation. My purpose here was to demonstrate that the neoconservatism evinced by Fisher could also be analysed as a “libidinal-discursive formation”. But it also, I think, demonstrates why Fisher’s decision to position himself as analyst and to interpellate numerous comrades, as analysand, is both rather presumptuous, and a piss poor form of argumentation. It allows the author to negate the subjectivity of his opponent, and whatever arguments they might marshall in support of their position, and instead indulge in a patronising performance of “I understand why you think the way you do” faux-insight.

Perhaps it would be better to interrogate the substance of the argument.

The Worker and the Vampire as Gothic horror

Exiting the Vampire Castle is ostensibly an attack on the essentialising tendencies of something called “identity politics”, a style of argument that has been rehearsed often enough to constitute a genre in and of itself. This time, however, the usual genre tropes are given a distinct Gothic twist. The hero, as usual, is the ordinary British (i.e. white) working class man, this time played, somewhat incongrously by Russell Brand. The worker, trapped in a castle made out of political correctness gone mad, is stalked and preyed upon by vampires: bourgeois liberal academics posing as leftists, who hide in the shadows waiting for the worker to say something mildly sexist so they can sink their fangs of guilt and shame into the worker’s lovely neck. Once bitten, the worker is subjected to a horrific fate: he is essentialised as a sexist. The vampires may claim that they are interested in things like liberation, justice, solidarity and collectivity, but their bloodlust, it is revealed to our horror, is motivated by something much darker: petty bourgeois class interest. It is only by re-asserting the primacy of class that the vampires can be slayed and the worker can finally escape the castle and carry out his historic mission of abolishing capitalist society.

As is often the case, poorly-conceived horror morphs into camp comedy. Russell Brand, with his millions of pounds and his habit of subjecting women to public and sexualised humiliation, is hardly convincing as the hapless victim. Indeed, what else is there to do but laugh at a class analysis in which a working class person can be a multimillionaire comedian and film star and retain their working class identity, but a worker who becomes an academic and pursues an interest in Cultural Studies is inevitably possessed by a petty bourgeois essence which structures their discourse according to a subconscious desire to own a prosperous corner shop. One might also wonder in passing whether a worker might be a woman, or queer, or not white, which might recast our tragic male hero in a more ethically ambiguous light, spoiling the dramatic effect.

Neoconservative Marxism as identity politics

There are rather obvious contradictions at the heart of Fisher’s argument: How can one rail against essentialism, while essentialising (and therefore dismissing) a whole family of left discourses as petty bourgeois, and academic? How can one oppose identity politics by valourising a working class identity that is apparently independent of one’s material situation? How can one oppose the supposed suppression of class struggle on the left, while putting forward a view of class as essentially a cultural attitude abstracted from actual material struggle?

These contradictions resolve themselves if one considers Fisher’s intervention not as an opposition to identity politics per se, but as a territorial dispute over which identity politics should have primary status on the Left. For Neoconservative Marxists, the real problem with ‘intersectionality’ and such ‘identity-politics’ discourses is that they are seen as introducing division into the left, fracturing the a priori unity of the working class. Political struggle is seen as a zero-sum game: there can only be one historical Subject, and it must be the worker. Since the worker is now positioned as the sole political subject, aspects of feminism, anti-racism, and queer struggles which cannot be assimilated into an analysis of economic struggles must be something else: ethics, not politics. Therefore, those women, people of colour and queers who refuse to play their allotted role in the class struggle are infecting the workers movement with a debilitating moralism, rather than participating in a (sometimes tense and difficult) negotiation towards a recomposition of “the real movement that abolishes the present state of things”.

Perhaps the most useful lesson to take from Fisher’s piece is that, while it’s relatively easy to produce a critique of identity politics, it is far harder to transcend in practice. It might be accurate to say that intersectional discourses work with reified identity categories (although that too would be an oversimplification), but to understand that reification as merely an illusory effect of intersectionality or identity politics, rather than a material reality, is idealist in the extreme. One does not transcend identity categories by performative critique. Unity pursued through the repression of difference, is only ever purchased through the exclusion, marginalisation and domestication of gendered and racialised minorities within the left. Truly democratic unity, which in any case is never perfect and is always merely a productive conjuncture of difference, is always the effect of a successful prior coming-together on the basis of respect and mutual recognition. The revolutionary force that finally sweeps away this oppressive system is only going to be materialised in a tense coalition of heterogenous political subjectivities: workers, environmentalists, feminists, queers, people of colour, punks, anarchists, socialists, communists, liberals (even). The most prudent form of intervention on this question, then, is not to insist on collective identities that flatten out differences, but to work to build coalitions that honour and respect difference, which become unified through a collective project or vision for social transformation. Interventions like Fisher’s only serve to accentuate divisions. It doesn’t actually advance any kind of project of recomposition.

For one of my sociology classes I had to read, and write about, Marx’s ‘Eighteenth Brumaire of Louis Napoleon’This is the essay I wrote. Due to the constraints of writing to the course subject-matter, it’s not exactly what I would produce if I was writing for this blog. For one thing, the analysis is economistic, not particularly intersectional, and somewhat constrained to sociological problematics, rather than being specifically written with social transformation in mind. It also, due to the pressure of writing to a deadline, doesn’t cohere quite as well as I would like. In particular, the section on reification feels tacked-on and underdeveloped.

‘The  Eighteenth Brumaire’, in my opinion, exhibits some of the worst of Marx – class essentialism, economic determinism, the fetishisation of the urban proletariat – and demonstrates why an exegetical reading of Marx leads to an impoverished analysis of the world. No doubt some will feel that my reading of Marx is uncharitable, or perhaps insufficiently dialectical, but I think it is true to the text, which feels to me like a rather awkward and difficult attempt at analysing a real historical event, in which real human subjectivities were at play.

Behind every political force lies a coalition of class interests.” Discuss with reference to Marx’s conception of the links between social class and political struggle as presented in The Eighteenth Brumaire of Louis Napoleon.

The concept of class is undoubtedly central to Marx’s analyses of history, social change and political economy. At the beginning of The Communist Manifesto, Marx tell us that “[t]he history of all hitherto existing society is the history of class struggles”. (Marx, 2008, p.33) In this formulation, the juxtaposition of the word “struggles” with “class” is key: Marx’s conception of class is explicitly political and indissociable from real-world political struggles. In The Eighteenth Brumaire of Louis Bonaparte, Marx applies his analysis of class struggle, and his methodology of dialectical and historical materialism, to the French coup d’etat of 1851 in which the nephew of Napoleon I, Louis Napoleon, assumed dictatorial powers, demonstrating “how the class struggle in France created circumstances and relationships that made it possible for a grotesque mediocrity to play a hero’s part.” (Marx, 1994, p.8)

This essay, taking The Eighteenth Brumaire as a point of departure, offers a critical account of Marx’s conception of the relationship between class and political struggle from a broadly Marxist perspective. I will begin by attempting to define what is meant by class, in the course of which I will question a particularly problematic concept in Marx’s writing and in The Eighteenth Brumaire specifically – that of the “lumpenproletariat”. Next, I will discuss the relationship of class to political subjectivity, through discussions on the validity of Marx’s base-superstructure model, and on the phenomenon of reification and its relationship to class consciousness.

The word “class” has, broadly speaking, two distinct meanings. The first sense is the taxonomical sense of the term: class as a system of categorisation of individuals on the basis of socio-economic inequalities, most likely distributive, whose problematic is social stratification. The taxonomical approach to class analysis is primarily concerned with discovering which classes exist in society, and only secondarily, if at all, with the relations between them. (Therborn, 1983, pp.161-7) The second sense see class as relational. This view of class is perhaps best summarised by E.P. Thompson:

I do not see class as a “structure”, nor even as a “category”, but as something which in fact happens… in human relationships… [W]e cannot have two distinct classes, each with an independent being, and then bring them into relationship with each other… [C]lass happens when some… as a result of common experiences… feel and articulate the identity of their interests as between themselves and as against other[s] whose interests are different from (and usually opposed to) theirs. (Thompson, 1966, p.9)

Moreover, this relational view of class necessarily is also a dynamic one. “If we stop history at a given point, then there are no classes but simply a multitude of individuals with a multitude of experiences.” (Ibid., p.11) In the taxonomical view, class becomes an object, a thing-in-itself, an identity category, from which necessarily follows the question of who belongs to which class and how do we decide? The latter view requires that we see class as embodied in processes in which we participate which produce our relations to ourselves, to the means of production and to one-another. Thus, “[c]lass struggle does not take place within the constituted forms of capitalist social relations: rather the constitution of those forms is itself class struggle.” (Holloway, 2011) It is precisely the centrality of these elements of time, movement and struggle which gives the relational conception of class its critical force.

It is tempting to identify the taxonomical approach with functionalists and positivists, and the relational with Marxism, as Therborn (1983, pp.162-3) does, but in reality Marx’s own writings often equivocate between the two. This is particularly true of The Eighteenth Brumaire, where classes appear here and there as discrete definite objects with fixed and determinate relations to particular material situations. To give one example, in describing the June Insurrection, Marx tells us:

On [the side of the bourgeois republic] stood the aristocracy of finance, the industrial bourgeoisie, the middle class, the petty bourgeois, the army, the lumpenproletariat organized as the Mobile Guard, the intellectual lights, the clergy and the rural population. On the side of the Paris proletariat stood none but itself. (Marx, 1994, p.23)

This account is almost laughable in its contraposition of an absurdly heterogeneous rag-bag of sub-classes on one side to the singular unity of the proletariat on the other. One cannot help but sense that Marx’s schema of classes here is motivated at least in part by the theoretical necessity that the proletariat is necessarily and uniquely the revolutionary force in any given political conflict, particularly given the rather protean role the figure of the “lumpenproletariat” plays at various locations in Marx’s oeuvre, allowing Marx to “explain away parts of the proletariat which failed to behave in a proper revolutionary fashion” (Cowling, 2002, p.230) and thus to “[fit] events to theory” (Hayes, 1988, p.448), while at the same time privileging certain forms of resistance to capital as properly revolutionary, and positioning others, such as the refusal of work, as merely lumpenproletarian, and thus external to the dialectical conflict between classes. (Denning, 2010)

While we thus have cause to question Marx’s particular taxonomy of classes, nevertheless, class antagonisms are clearly operative in situations of political conflict such as the coup of 1851. To argue otherwise would require either the endorsement of a hard separation between the spheres of political and economic conflict, or the outright denial of the reality of class struggle. We therefore encounter the problem of understanding the relationship between class and political subjectivity. In The Eighteenth Brumaire, Marx tells us that:

Upon the different forms of property, upon the social conditions of existence, rises an entire superstructure of distinct and peculiarly formed sentiments, illusions, modes of thought and views of life. The entire class creates and forms them out of its material foundations and out of the corresponding social relations. The single individual, who derives them through tradition and upbringing, may imagine that they form the real motives and the starting point of his activity… And as in private life one differentiates between what a man thinks and says of himself and what he really is and does, so in historical struggles one must distinguish still more the phrases and fancies of parties from their real organism and their real interests, their conception of themselves, from their reality. (Ibid, p.47)

Two important points should be noted here. First, Marx does not imagine that all political actors self-consciously pursue their own naked class interests; rather, class interests are embedded in ideological formations, which may render the underlying class interests mysterious to the subject herself. Second, the conception of the relationship between economic relations and subjectivity here presages Marx’s formulation of his base-superstructure model in the preface to A Contribution to the Critique of Political Economy. Here Marx tells us that:

[T]he economic structure of society [is] the real foundation, on which arises a legal and political superstructure and to which correspond definite forms of social consciousness. The mode of production of material life conditions the general process of social, political and intellectual life. It is not the consciousness of men that determines their existence, but their social existence that determines their consciousness. (Marx, 1992, p.425)

The evident economic determinism here is one of the more problematic of Marx’s claims. It would seem to suggest that, ontologically, economic relations are both in some sense separate from and prior to politics, culture and subjectivity. Moreover, there is, from the perspective of Marx’s methodological materialism a problematic conflation of the material with the economic, and a concomitant denial of the materiality of culture. However, in reality, no such distinctions can be made. Economic production is dependent on the existence of appropriate forms of culture and modes of subjectification as much as cultural forms are possible only in conjunction with economic production, and indeed the two are inseparably bound together in the activity of production itself. The appearance of the economic and the cultural as separate spheres is an effect of an operation of abstraction specific to capitalist production. (Butler, 1997 , pp.42-3) Instead the economic and the cultural must be seen as two terms of a dialectical contradiction within the social totality, which is entirely material. Put another way, rather than endorse a thoroughly undialectical model of linear causation between base and superstructure, we should instead understand that particular economic forms and cultural forms constitute the conditions of one-another’s existence, and thus both codetermine one-another. (Althusser, 1963) Marx’s over-emphasis of the economic here is perhaps explained if we understand it not merely as an attempt to understand society but as a political intervention. Much of Marx’s theoretical work exists in dialogue with the idealist philosophy of the Hegelians, for whom it was consciousness itself that moved history. Moreover, Marx makes explicit that The Eighteenth Brumaire was written in part as a riposte to those such as Victor Hugo and, to a lesser extent, Proudhon whose accounts of Louis Napoleon’s coup occluded the crucial role of economic interests in events. (Marx, 1994, p.8)

The question remains as to how class relations relate to political subjectivity. While Marx’s analysis in The Eighteenth Brumaire is compromised by economic determinism, the basic point that political actions both take impetus from and advance particular class interests remains salient. The concept of reification – i.e. that through the alienation of the worker from their activity at the point of production, “the social form of labour appears as a form of development of capital, and hence the productive forces of social labour… appear as the productive forces of capitalism” (Marx, 1976, p.1054) – is crucial in understanding class-conscious. The process of reification invests fetishised forms of social relations with “a ‘phantom objectivity’… that seems so strictly rational and all-embracing as to conceal every trace of its fundamental nature: the relation between people.” (Lukacs, 1972, p.83) The world comes to appear as a fragmented world of definite and natural things (objects, identities, etc.) separated from their social origins, thus giving the world of capitalist production a natural appearance. (Holloway, 2010, pp.62-4)

For bourgeois and proletarian alike, the world appears reified. (Lukacs, 1972, p.149) However the former “feels at ease and strengthened in this self-estrangement, it recognizes estrangement as its own powerand has in it the semblanceof a human existence” (Marx & Engels, 1845) and thus there is nothing to impel the bourgeois towards the perspective of totality, which would denaturalise its class position and reveal its transience. (Holloway, 2010, p.81) Thus, the bourgeois comes to believe that “the special conditions of its emancipation are the general conditions within the frame of which alone modern society can be saved and the class struggle avoided” (Marx, 1994, p.50) (Marx is speaking here of the petit bourgeois, but it is equally applicable, mutatis mutandis, to the bourgeois proper). Consequently, bourgeois political subjectivity may aim towards a vision of universal freedom, but it remains trapped within the reified world and thus within modes of thought which ensure the reproduction of the class system.

For the proletarian, however, her social existence “is far more powerfully affected by the dialectical character of the historical process”. (Lukacs, 1972, p.164) In the process of producing capital, the proletarian must transform herself into a commodity, an object, but yet navigates their own social reality as a subject, and thus encounters the central contradiction of capitalist society as an immediate aspect of her reality. (Ibid., pp.165-6) The proletarian is thus, unlike the bourgeois, driven beyond the reified world; her experience is “at once fethishising and de-fetishising”. (Holloway, 2010, p.81-2) While Thompson insists it is meaningless to talk of “the class-consciousness which [the working class] ought to have… if ‘it’ was properly aware of its own position and real interests” (Thompson, 1966, p.10), for Lukacs the immediate self-awareness of the proletarian is insufficient to produce a revolutionary subjectivity, and requires mediation, since “the unmediated [self-]consciousness of the commodity is… precisely an awareness of abstract isolation and of the merely abstract relationship – external to consciousness – to those factors that create it socially”. (Lukacs, 1972, p.173) Lukacs therefore introduces a distinction between the empirical psychological consciousness of the proletariat and the “appropriate and rational reactions ‘imputed’” to a particular class situation (Ibid., p.51), which therefore requires the Communist Party as a “deus ex machina” (Holloway, 2010, p.83) bearing correct class-consciousness. Holloway argues instead that no individual nor party is capable of fully transcending the reified world and fully apprehending the social totality. Rather it is the fact that proletarian consciousness may “aspire towards totality” which gives it its revolutionary potential. (Ibid., pp.83-8) I suggest it is this immanent contradiction of proletarian consciousness – the tension between fetishising and de-fetishising tendencies – together with the heterogeneity of lived experience within the social world, rather than the insufficiency of organised forms of political mediation, or the existence of the “lumpenproletariat”, which explains the contradictory roles played by sections of the proletariat in situations of political struggle.

To summarise, I have argued that Marx’s central contention – that class antagonisms underlie situations of political conflict – is essentially correct, and that moreover the class perspective is essential to a critical theory of political struggle in capitalist society. At the same time, the specific analytical framework of The Eighteenth Brumaire of Louis Bonaparte, along with several other of Marx’s theoretical claims reflect specific prejudices and blindspots in Marx’s thinking, and therefore must be treated carefully rather than merely adopted at face value. In particular, it is essential to avoid an operation of reification which would reduce the antagonism of class to constituted classes, as well as an economic determinism which would reduce political subjectivity to a merely superstructural effect of economic relations, which combined would lead us to a reductive and deterministic understanding of political struggle.

Bibliography

Althusser, L. (1963) “On the Materialist Dialectic”. Available at: http://www.marxists.org/reference/archive/althusser/1963/unevenness.htm (Accessed: 5 November 2013)

Butler, J. (1997) “Merely Cultural?”. Social Text, 52/53 pp. 265-77.

Cowling, M. (2002) “Marx’s Lumpenproletariat and Murray’s Underclass: Concepts Best Abandoned?” in Cowling, M. and Martin, J. eds. Marx’s Eighteenth Brumaire: (Post)modern Interpretations. UK: Pluto Press.

Denning, M. (2010) ‘Wageless Life’. New Left Review 66, Nov-Dec 2010. Available from: http://newleftreview.org/II/66/michael-denning-wageless-life (Accessed: 22 October 2013)

Hayes, P. (1988) “Utopia and the Lumpenproletariat: Marx’s Reasoning in ‘The Eighteenth Brumaire of Louis Bonaparte’”. The Review of Politics, Vol. 50, No. 3 (Summer), pp. 445-465.

Holloway, J. (2010) Change The World Without Taking Power. UK: Pluto Press.

Holloway, J. (2011) “Class and Classification”. Available at: http://www.johnholloway.com.mx/2011/07/30/class-and-classification/ (Accessed: 25 October 2013)

Lukacs, G. (1972) History and Class Consciousness: Studies in Marxist Dialectics. US: MIT Press.

Marx, K. (1976) Capital: Volume 1. UK: Penguin.

Marx, K. (1992) Karl Marx: Early Writings. UK: Penguin.

Marx, K. (1994) The Eighteenth Brumaire of Louis Bonaparte. US: International Publishers.

Marx, K. and Engels, F. (2008) The Communist Manifesto. UK: Pluto Press.

Marx, K. and Engels, F. (1845) “The Holy Family: Chapter IV”. Available at: http://www.marxists.org/archive/marx/works/1845/holy-family/ch04.htm (Accessed: 9 November 2013)

Therborn, G. (1983) “Problems of Class Analysis” in Matthews, B. ed. Marx – A Hundred Years On. UK: Lawrence and Wishart.

Thompson, E.P. (1966) The Making of the English Working Class. New York: Vintage

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