Tag Archives: Adorno

Adorno: A Reading List

So, this happened a few days ago….

adorno-reading-list

In the multiple choice poll that Jeet Heer posted, Adorno came a distant second to Hannah Arendt (but ahead of Walter Benjamin and Carl Schmitt). I’ve taught texts by all four of them (a post that is partly about teaching Arendt’s The Human Condition is here). They all have their virtues. And if you only have 5 minutes, read the two-page Epilogue to Benjamin’s “The Work of Art in an Age of Mechanical Reproduction.”

But if you have more time, then Adorno. I’ve taught a seminar on Critical Political Theory eight (ulp!) times now. Adorno has always been there to some extent, although he has been looming larger as the course has evolved. The first few times, I just assigned the “culture industry” chapter from Dialectic of Enlightenment (co-authored with Max Horkheimer). Then a few years ago, for a variety of reasons, the course underwent a major re-boot, with a more sustained focus on Frankfurt School thinkers (including Adorno). Now we read all of Dialectic of Enlightenment, which takes close to half of the course, and the last couple of times through, I have also started the course with a shorter essay of Adorno’s (more on those, below).

First warning: if you are looking for a quick solution to the Trump problem, Adorno is not your guy. For Adorno, the search for solutions (and especially quick and easy ones) is exactly what gets us into the kinds of problems that we are currently facing.

Second warning: one of the problems with proposing an Adorno reading list is that, as Adorno says in “Essay as Form”: “It is impossible to always begin at the beginning.” I warn my students that Adorno is a difficult writer, and no matter where you start, you are likely to feel like you are not just dropped into the deep end, but adrift on a vast ocean. Occasionally, you will spot an island of meaning rising above the waves (“hey, I get that reference!”) Keep paddling, and you will increasingly (eventually) be able to put your feet down.

A few places to start:

  • “Society.” This is where we start my Critical Political Theory course. It is a short (10 pp) piece that is something like an encyclopedia entry. It gives a sense both of what Adorno thinks “society” is or means, and of what a “critical theory” is supposed to look like.
  • “Education after Auschwitz.” This was suggested by @FoptimusSublime in response to Heer’s poll. It is from a 1966 radio lecture, so the form makes it more accessible than some of his written work. And if this exercise is inspired by the fear that we are veering towards fascism, then it is on-point.
  • “The Idea of Natural History.” I mean, if you actually want to start at the beginning… this is one of Adorno’s earliest published works. I think it is really helpful for thinking about contemporary environmental issues, particularly in the Anthropocene, but that may be another story.

Now, if you want the “really essential readings” (s/o to folks who were in the grad school Comparative Politics core course, where that phrase was regularly used to describe the tranche of ~500 pages of weekly assigned readings, just below the equally big “required” tranche).

  • Minima Moralia. A collection of 100+ – what do we call them, mini-essays? “hot takes” avant la lettre? The aphoristic format – the vast majority of the sections are no more than a page or two – means you don’t need a big block of time to devote to it. Adorno is a master aphorist, and a lot of the best ones are here.
  • Dialectic of Enlightenment. This is the text that is probably best known, though not necessarily most read. The entire field of cultural studies more or less begins as a reaction to the perceived elitism of the chapter on the “culture industry.” (It is the first chapter in Simon During’s edited collection The Cultural Studies Reader.) As mentioned above, I used to assign that chapter alone, as I think it still provides a sharp diagnosis of much of contemporary pop culture (I don’t think it or Adorno more generally is as elitist as cultural studies scholars have tended to assume). It is the second-last chapter of the book, and when I initially shifted to assigning the whole book, I worried that the last full chapter, and the fragmentary “Notes and Sketches” that follow it, would be somewhat anti-climactic. This year, that changed. Reading the last chapter (“Elements of Anti-Semitism”) in mid-October 2016 was an amazing experience. If you can set aside the dated Freudian view of sexuality, Horkheimer & Adorno’s fixation on the “half-educated” and “paranoiac” as a political-psychological problem, seems an uncannily prescient view of contemporary politics.
  • “Anti-Semitism and Fascist Propaganda.” Another short piece, based on the work done for the large Research Project on Anti-Semitism, that produced The Authoritarian Personality. This essay can be found in The Stars Down to Earth and Other Essays on the Irrational in Culture, which also includes Adorno’s (significantly longer) analysis of the LA Times Astrology column.
  • “Commitment.” A later (1962) essay on political art.

And then… Adorno’s two biggest and most challenging works.

  • Negative Dialectics. If anything can be described as Adorno’s philosophical magnum opus, this is it. He might have rejected the “philosophical” descriptor, but it certainly is a big work. The lecture course that preceded its publication, where he works out many of the ideas in the text, is now available (Lectures on Negative Dialectics). Full disclosure: I haven’t read the Lectures, although I did have a student who did for her MA thesis, and she said it made ND itself easier.
  • Aesthetic Theory. Published posthumously as it wasn’t finished in Adorno’s lifetime. In the first paragraph of Robert Hullot-Kentor’s translator’s introduction, he describes “starkly unbeckoning sheer sides of type, uninterrupted by chapter titles or typographic markers, that have severed and jettisoned every approach and patched over most every apparent handhold.” You’ve been warned.

I generally don’t recommend secondary literature to my students, as I would rather they struggle with the texts themselves, even if they get some of the ideas “wrong,” than learn someone else’s interpretation. I also haven’t kept up with the secondary literature on Adorno in the last decade-plus. So, caveat emptor.

  • ¬† If you are interested in the historical/biographical background, Martin Jay’s Dialectical Imagination is a classic, and provides at least as much time to explaining Frankfurt School ideas as to covering historical events. Thomas Wheatland’s The Frankfurt School in Exile is more historically focused, on their time in the USA. Rolf Wiggershaus, The Frankfurt School, embarrassingly, sits on my to-read pile. I know I should.
  • In the same vein but much shorter is the “Introduction” to David Held’s Introduction to Critical Theory. I assign this along with Adorno’s “Society” in the first week of the Critical Theory course, so that there isn’t a mass exodus from the course.
  • It’s been a while, but I remember Simon Jarvis, Adorno: A Critical Introduction being helpful as I worked my way through the Adorno chapter of my PhD dissertation. Slightly more recent is Jay Bernstein, Adorno: Disenchantment and Ethics. And then Robert Hullot-Kentor, Things Beyond Resemblance.
  • Finally, to circle back to where this, in a way, really started: like a lot of people, over the last year and a half I have read a lot of essays, thinkpieces, hot-takes, op-eds, and Twitter threads about Trump. Peter Gordon’s essay, “The Authoritarian Personality Revisited: Reading Adorno in the Age of Trump,” from last summer, remains, I still think, the single best one I have read.

 

Anger Management, or, Politics after Trump

Although there have been a number of false endings before, it may be that the last few days’ combination of bad recent poll results, even worse fundraising, and the firing of his campaign manager, signal the beginning of the end of the Trump campaign. There are a number of ways this could play out, including a general election loss in November (with or without a third party “spoiler”), a convention coup that denies him the nomination in July, or even the prospect that Trump might be bought out.

Jeet Heer has argued against a convention coup (and presumably the buy-out, as well), on the grounds that the best way to move past Trump is to defeat him through existing democratic institutions. The argument against this view is that, politics being what it is, if Trump has the Republican nomination, then virtually by definition he has a chance of being elected in November. If a Trump presidency is the worst conceivable outcome, then better he is out-maneuvered or bought out earlier. On the other hand, Heer is certainly right that how Trump loses matters for the post-Trump world. And for a while, I’ve been thinking that a more plausible Trump victory would not involve getting 270 electoral college votes in the election night count in November, but rather (and more frighteningly) convincing a sufficient number of people that the election was “stolen” from him. The constant references to Clinton as “crooked Hillary” seem to be a piece of this strategy. And in a strange way his lack of fundraising success and alienation from some of the GOP establishment, and even the seemingly strange campaign decisions not to focus on swing states, supports it as well.

Both preventing the above (unlikely but not impossible) scenario, and dealing constructively with the post-Trump political landscape, require mitigating the anger that is at the heart of trump’s campaign.

From the start, a lot has been made of Trump’s success in connecting with voters characterized as “angry.” In particular, commenters have focused on white male working-class voters who have seen various forms of racial and gender privilege eroded along with the economic security afforded by the long post-war boom. Racial divisions aside, Rob Ford tapped into the same set of grievances. And while a Trump flame-out is unlikely to take the same form as Ford’s, Trump has the potential to engage in behaviour that is just about as spectacularly unhinged.

We can think of Trumpism as a politics of anger that is different and bigger than Trump himself, and could be intensified in a reaction against a thoroughly “hinged” candidate¬† – someone like Jeb Bush, Mitt Romney, or Hillary Clinton. If Trumpism can survive the demise of Trump, then that anger will need to be dealt with. Plenty has been written about its social and economic root causes: particularly the hollowing out of the American manufacturing economy and the loss of self-worth and optimism about the future that comes with it. Trump’s success, it is said, lies in his uncanny ability to “tap into” or “channel” this anger, even more effectively (or “authentically”) than the dog-whistle politics that has characterized the Republican party for decades.

But this language of “tapping” or “channeling” doesn’t adequately capture what is going on, insofar as it presents that anger as a pre-existing substance, whose quantity is effectively fixed: there are always angry people out there, but until Trump came along, they were disengaged from the political process. To be sure, Trump didn’t invent white American male rage, and there is probably some truth to the idea that his directness engages some people who weren’t engaged by previous, more coded versions of similar messages. But two political theoretical tools can help us to think about that anger as curated, rather than naturally occurring.

The first is William Connolly’s idea of the evangelical capitalist resonance machine. The idea here is that (some of) the sensibilities of evangelical Christianity and capitalist free-market ideology (“cowboy capitalism”) resonate with each other, and through various cultural forms and communication media (Hollis Phelps also discusses Trump in the context of the evangelical capitalist resonance machine here). It is similar to the idea that narrowcasted media outlets have created an “echo chamber,” where we are increasingly only presented with ideas and perspectives that conform with our pre-existing ideological convictions and political preferences. The “echo chamber” metaphor generally presumes that what echoes are ideas. For Connolly, what resonates are “affinities of sensibility,” and in particular in the evangelical capitalist resonance machine, feelings of resentment. Contemporary media experience is an affective amplifier.

Romand Coles’s new book builds on this idea, in particular by noting the ways in which the communication and amplification of these affective messages happen at what he calls a “cellular” level. Coles draws on recent developments in the science of mirror neurons to highlight (quoting neuroscientist Marco Iacoboni) “the fundamentally intersubjective nature of our own brains,” and thus the ways in which (Coles): “We are born, formed, carried along in, and transformed by waves of intercorporeal resonance that precede all recognition.” (p42) We are created by resonances, starting with babies whose smiling intensifies in response (resonance) to their parents’ smiling at their smile, and right up to putatively rational-deliberative settings, from political meetings to seminar rooms, where “deliberation” is deeply affected by the ways in which we carry our bodies and set our facial expressions.

This “intercorporeal resonance” – the affective amplifier – occurs before and beneath the level of discourse and rationality. The resonance machine is not so much (or not only) about the repetition of particular talking points or memes, or even about the use of particular rhetorical tropes to whip up emotional reactions. Rather it is about particular bodily dispositions that precognitively set us to receive messages in particular ways. Fox News, for example, provides a

“continuous audiovisual resonance of loud voices, angry faces, mad gestures…. The pulsating fury of these audiovisual performances appeared to be shutting down human capacities for paying attention, receptivity, and curiosity and tarrying with the complexities of different people’s lives.” (p33)

Trump’s speeches can be unscripted, because the content that really matters is not the words, but the affective disposition that he projects and generates.

The second idea has to do with the susceptibility to the kinds of affective resonances that the Trump campaign taps into and produces. Back in January, Matthew MacWilliams wrote about Trump’s appeal among people who could be classified as having an “authoritarian personality.” The “authoritarian personality” (the “F-scale”) draws on mid-20th century research, done by Frankfurt School theorist Theodor Adorno, in collaboration with a group of more empirically-minded American psychologists. Peter E. Gordon has an excellent article that contextualizes Adorno’s relationship with that research, and how it helps us to understand the phenomenon. The article is really worth reading in full, but at least part of the upshot is that according to Adorno, it is wrong think of “personality types” (including the authoritarian personality) as static or ahistorical categories. Rather, specific personality types (and even the possibility of categorizable “personality types” itself) are produced by historical forces and circumstances. So it isn’t the case that there are always going to be a certain proportion of people in a society who have authoritarian (or other kinds of) personalities. Instead, different kinds of societies are more or less likely to produce authoritarian personalities.

Gordon cites Adorno’s unpublished remarks on the authoritarian personality study: “People are inevitably as irrational as the world in which they live.” Like many of Adorno’s aphorisms, this cuts both ways. On the one hand, authoritarian personalities are produced out of what Adorno called “totally administered society,” which included not only fascist societies, but also Soviet Communist, and advanced capitalist ones. The dominant forms of society in the mid-twentieth century tended to produce people who craved authoritarian relations. In Coles’ and Connolly’s more contemporary terms, in the evangelical capitalist resonance machine, the anger-tariat on Fox News and elsewhere, effectively short-circuits our capacity for democratic (non-authoritarian) engagement at an affective, cellular level. But on the other hand, it is those who are most well-adjusted to the world as it is – the perfectly “hinged” political candidates who represent the establishment, for example – who can be characterized as irrational. Opposing Trump is not enough, if that opposition is conceived in terms of a return to the status quo ante, the conditions that generated Trumpism in the first place.

For Coles, the project is to cultivate “radical receptivity” – one can think of it as the polar opposite of the disposition cultivated by Fox News in the quotation above – as a response to this situation.

“In a rapidly changing world on the brink of collapse, where people of different traditions, new movements, and emergent experiences are tossed together in order to address problems, it is difficult to think of a more important ethical and political art.” (p34)

I find it hard to disagree with this. In part I take it to mean pivoting from #NeverTrump – an absolute demand that has authoritarian overtones of its own – to cultivating a more genuinely democratic, and thus less angry, politics.