Schoolman, Morton (1980) - The Imaginary Witness. The Critical Theory of Herbert Marcuse

TH E IMAGINARY W ITNESS
T H E CRITICALTHEORYOF
HERBERT MARCUSE
MORTON SCHOOLMAN
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The
Imaginary W itness
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The
Imaginary Witness
The Critical Theory of
Herbert Marcuse
Morton/Schoolman
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Schoolman, Morton.
The imaginary witness.
Bibliography: p.
Includes index.
I. Marcuse, Herbert, 1898-1979. 2. Social sciences
—Philosophy. 3. Political science. 4. Civilization,
Modern. 5. Marcuse, Herbert, 1898-1979. —Biography.
I. Title.
H61.M4234S36 300’. 1 80-640
ISBN 0-02-928040-0 *
CAN1S1US COLLEGE LIBRARY

^ ^ w
For Maureen
and
Ethan and Rachel
Contents
Preface xi
________________ One___________________
Early Writings, Early Hopes 1
L ordship and B ondage 3
H eidegger and Historicity 3
Hegel and Historicity 13
Marx and Historicity 22
The Historical Tasks o f Philosophy 28
____________________Two___________________
Fascism, Rationalism,
and the
Abandonment of the Individual 42
A uthoritarian State 44
A uthoritarian S ociety 48
T he T heoretical R esponse to A uthoritarianism 67
Three
The Second Dimension 89
B asic Elements of the Interpretation of Freud 90
R epression and Sublimation 97
Vll
Vlll
C ontents
T he S econd D imension 108

S ublimation , S ubjectivity , and
the F oundation of C ritical T heory 117
T he A esthetic D imension 123
__________Four _____________ _______

Civilization W ithout Discontents I:
Domination—Political or Technological? 131
F ormative Influences on the
T heory of T echnological D om ination 134
B asic E lements of T echnological R ationality 140
S oviet T otalitarianism as T echnological D om ination 150
A M ind N ot to B e C hanged by P lace or T ime 162
Social Science as Technical Reason 162
Ordinary Language as Technical Reason 165
Language Analysis as Technical Reason 167
The Adm inistration o f Work as Technical Reason 168
The Welfare State as Rationalized A dm inistration 169
Politics Within the Limits o f Reason 171
Neo-Freudian Technocrats 172
Marx as Technocratic Humanist 174
The Technical M anipulation o f Death
as the Technical M anipulation o f Life 176
O n e -dimensional S ociety 176
T he T heory of O n e -dimensional S ociety as a O n e -dim ensional
T heory , or the L imits to D omination 178
The Approach o f Critical A nalysis 178
Weber fo r and against Marcuse 179
One-dimensional Assumptions 183
Marx against Mareuse 186
Operationalism in Social Science 190
O rdina ry La nguage 198
Linguistic Analysis 206
The Adm inistration o f Work 208
Politics 212
Soviet Marxism 216
* Summation 219
Contents IX
Five
Civilization Without Discontents II:
The Regime W ithin and the Regime Without 229
T he Psychological U nderpinnings of O ne -dimensionality 231
T oward a R econstruction of the S ubject 247
R ationalism , D eterminism , and the
P reinterpretation of Freud 257
________________________Six_______________________
Civilization Without Discontents III:
The Foundations of Critical Theory
and the New Science 261
T he P hilosophical F oundation 265
T he A nthropological Foundation and the N ew S cience 282
___________________ Seven ________________ _

Revolutionary Subject, Revolutionary Class 289
M arcuses M oral T urn 290
R edefining R evolution 296
Factors in the Social Composition o f Revolution 296
Organization and Strategy 300
T he N ew S ensibility 311
L iberal Politics : T he R oad to R eunifying
T heory and P ractice 314
Eight
The Aesthetic Dimension and the Second Dimension 324
A rt for the S ake of T heory 326
C ritical and U ncritical E lements of A rt 329
A rt for the S ake of A uthoritarianism 332
For the Sake o f Fascism 332
For the Sake o f Soviet Marxism 333
For the Sake o f Advanced Industrial Society 335
A rt for the S ake of F reedom 340
B ourgeois A rt as the F inal R efuge for C riticism 343
X C ontents
*
____ Concluding Remarks____
The Imaginary Witness 350
Bibliography 359
W orks by H erbert M arcuse
■» 359
S econdary W orks on H erbert M arcuse 374
Index 394
Preface
Few figures in contemporary social theory have been as contro

versial as Herbert Marcuse. While he lived, his thought most of
ten was celebrated and attacked, embraced and dismissed with a
passion blinding adequate and reasoned consideration. Marcuse
was constantly on the defensive against his accusers and support
ers, who both frequently attributed views to him that he did not
hold. Seldom was criticism forthcoming.
Certainly prejudice can be held responsible, though not exclu
sively, for the misinterpretations of Marcuse’s social thought.
The explosive era in which he became highly visible and the na
ture of Marcuse’s work are implicated as well. Rooted in the Ger
manic tradition extending from Hegel through Marx, Dilthey,
Weber, Husserl, Heidegger, Lukacs, Freud, and the Frankfurt
School, and at all times creatively assimilating the ideas of these
and other members of that tradition, Marcuse’s work is difficult
and, as has been alleged, sometimes painfully so. Beyond the ob
vious problems, such difficulty in style as well as in substance has
antagonized many readers while beguiling others and hence has
led to the greatest misunderstandings. Also, Marcuse was never
shy about engaging in polemics. In fact, he looked upon the po
lemic as an indispensable tool for social theory, all the more so,
he believed, the greater the extent to which the critical perspec
tives of theory appeared to be disarmed by the powers of ideol
ogy. Consequently, Marcuse’s argument often was hidden behind
his ostensible argument, a discursive tactic adapted to a political
cause but unfortunately sacrificing clarity of meaning and actu
ally harming the cause that ultimately depended upon argu
ments clearly presented. And by virtue of his polemics, on few
XI
Xll
P reface
occasions his positions encouraged discussion and debate of the

sort that allowed the issues with which he was feverishly occupied
to be advanced to another and perhaps more promising level of
discussion. His arguments, and particularly those on the most
pressing matters, often shut down debate. Moreover, character
istic of Marcuse’s polemical style was an unwavering confidence
that encouraged his readers to pass over problematic areas and
perplexing questions and to take sides —to become, in effect, dis
ciples or opponents. Refusing to do so, from either side one nev
ertheless seemed to be allied with the other. Not least important,
the turbulent period of the 1960s, in which Marcuse’s social the
ory first became widely known, and the political events with
which it became associated help to explain why criticism lagged
far behind extreme reactions to his work.
None of these factors now pose obstacles to comprehending
the richness, complexity, and significance of Marcuse’s thought.
During the past decade there has been a groundswell of interest
in the Frankfurt School, its history and heritage, and in those
who have developed critical theory by overcoming its formative
isolation in the Germanic tradition through an appropriation of
other traditions of thought, particularly British analytic philoso
phy, once narrowly considered to be hostile to critical theory.
Publications, formal meetings, and informal discussions in the
academic community, additions to graduate and undergraduate
curriculums in colleges and universities, and changing perspec
tives in many disciplines within the sofcial sciences and human
ities are indications that critical theory and its tradition are be
coming increasingly accessible and ever more influential. As a
result, the intellectual climate is favorable to a renewed consid
eration of Marcuse’s social theory. And not only the intellectual
but the political climate, too, has altered. For the present, at
least, Marcuse’s arguments, especially those shrouded in polem
ics, can be evaluated properly in an atmosphere perhaps no less
politicized, but certainly less polarized, than that of the last
decade.
In the short time since his death there has been a flourish of
activity marking the beginnings of ^ reconsideration of Mar
cuse s social theory. One of the two primary aims of The Imagi
nary Witness is to facilitate such investigations by providing the
first systematic and comprehensive exposition and interpretation
Preface xiii
of Marcuse’s entire life’s work. Its second objective is a critical
analysis internal to Marcuse’s social theory in the sense that it
attempts to discover the conceptual limits of his theoretical
framework, to account for the origins of these limits, and to
demonstrate how his arguments are shaped within and by this
framework and what highly important considerations it neces
sarily excludes. But the critical analysis has been made sympa
thetically. The account that I offer for what I contend to be his
errors implicitly serves to extricate Marcuse from the harsh in
dictments that have been leveled in the past. It is my wish that
the critique be received in this spirit.
There is one phase of Marcuse’s work to which I am particu
larly sympathetic. Criticism is focused largely upon Marcuse’s
thought as it took shape after 1933. But before the nightmarish
shock of that year produced a dramatic turn in Marcuse’s think
ing, his early work had constituted a significant project that
ought to be pursued by contemporary social theory, though not
necessarily in the same manner in which it was first conceived
by Marcuse. Although there is not a single aspect of Marcuse’s
thought that has not been of fascination to me, perhaps more
than anything else the ambitions and humanism of his early writ
ings provided inspiration for this study.
For two reasons I have not attempted to analyze extensively
the development of Marcuse’s social theory in relation to that of
Max Horkheimer, Theodor Adorno, and the other members of
the Frankfurt School. To the extent to which this task is neces
sary and, I believe, possible, it has been accomplished ably and
admirably by Martin Jay in The Dialectical Imagination: A His
tory of the Frankfurt School and the Institute for Social
Research, 1923-1950 (Boston: Little, Brown, 1973). Second,
Marcuse’s thought now seems to me to be distinctive in so many
respects that drawing attention to views similarly held by his
Frankfurt School colleagues would obscure his originality. I am
aware that this last point requires demonstration. But the com
parative and historical investigation such an effort entails would
lead far beyond the limits of this study and the powers of its au
thor—both exhausted by the task of comprehensively and criti
cally examining Marcuse’s life work.
Although this study was in part inspired by the need not only
for a comprehensive evaluation of Marcuse’s social thought but
XIV
P reface
also for a reevaluation of the majority of his arguments already

examined in the secondary literature, many of the critical essays
on Marcuse are clearly excellent. Because my study has assumed
a course quite different from any taken by earlier investigations,
to avoid the awkwardness of frequently interrupting discussions
to summarize and entertain criticisms by others of particular
aspects of Marcuse’s work, I have chosen to respond to critical
arguments at an implicit level of analysis. For the readers con
sideration I have appended my bibliography of nearly all the
critical literature on Marcuse published in several languages up
to 1979.
Whenever possible I have used English translations of Mar
cuse’s works. On those occasions when translations were not satis
factory I have not hesitated to introduce necessary changes. Each
such case has been indicated. In my translations I have rendered
the German texts as literally as possible without primary regard
for stylistic considerations.
During the three years spent writing this book and the prior
years devoted to its conception, I have accumulated substantial
intellectual debts, which, though I can never begin to repay, I
am very happy and eager to acknowledge.
My indebtedness is heaviest to William Connolly and Martin
Jay. Both provided sound advice, invaluable criticism, and the
kindness and friendship that gave me much needed support and
encouragement during all stages of this manuscript. They have
established the highest standards for their own work, which I
have tried to adopt as a model of excellence.
Susan Buck-Morss and Paul Piccone read earlier drafts of cer
tain chapters and offered comments that proved extremely use
ful. Ted Norton devoted long hours to discussing Marcuse’s work
with me; his understanding of complex issues and keen insights
improved this book considerably. Jean Elshtain drew my atten
tion to significant aspects of psychoanalytic theory, which gave
depth to my critical analysis of Marcuse’s interpretation of
Freud. Although brief, discussions with William Leiss, C. B.
Macpherson, and Stanley Aronowitz left a deep impression on
me that is reflected in arguments in the text. Over the years there
has never been a moment when my friends Jeff Tullis and George
Alkalay were not willing to extend a helping hand and to give of
their time and energy to offer suggestions. For their generosity
Preface XV
and thoughtfulness I am very grateful. Guy Dodge, Duncan

Smith, Dan Brock, Eric Nordlinger, Helen Feldstein, and Susan
Marsh were valued teachers during my years as a doctoral candi*
date at Brown University; each in a different and important way
contributed to my examination of various problems. Knut Tar-
nowski’s translations of many of the darker passages of Marcuse’s
early writings, to which I have deferred in the text on several
occasions, and his knowledge of German philosophy have im-
proved my understanding as well as my own translations of Mar
cuse’s early work. I am grateful to the senior members of the De
partment of Government, the Mellon-Fellowship Committee,
and, in particular, Dean Alfred Fuchs for professional assistance
and financial support during my years teaching at Bowdoin Col
lege. Several graduate students at the University of Massachu
setts, particularly Bradley Klein, Joe Martin, Terry Aladjem,
Judy Epstein, Christine DiStefano, and Preston Smith, either
read and commented extensively on various chapters or offered
their views on points of mutual interest. Their comments were
always challenging and forced me to present my ideas with
greater clarity. My thanks to Thomas Cornell for investing his
highly prized artistic talents in the jacket cover for The Imagi
nary Witness. Once again his work has proved that there are
some ideas that can be expressed only through art.
To Colin Jones, senior editor of The Free Press, I want to ex
press my gratitude for the great care he has exercised with this
project, for his professional counsel, for his patience and under
standing, and for his judicious refusal to spare the rod when it
would have spoiled the child.
To Deborah Broder I am grateful for a flawless preparation of
the final two drafts of this entire manuscript. For her remarkable
industry, initiative, tolerance of long hours spent at the type
writer and in libraries doing research and checking and recheck
ing references, and thoughtful criticisms of content as well as
form, she is deserving of a sense of pride equal only to the pride
of authorship.
Last, and most important, to my wife, Maureen, I am truly in
debted for the many sacrifices she has made on behalf of this
work and for the love and understanding that allayed my intel
lectual doubts and anxieties and restored my confidence on the
many occasions it failed.
*
*
ONE
Early W ritings, Early Hopes

We can no more reduce dialectics to reification than
we can reduce it to any other isolated category, how
ever polemical. The cause of human suffering, mean
while, will be glossed over rather than denounced in
the lament about reification.
Theodor W. Adorno, Negative Dialectics
M ore th an a half century stands between our time and that of

Herbert Marcuse’s first published essay in 1928. Yet it and the
works produced at an almost furious pace during the next five
years are extremely significant for contemporary social theory
and politics. This is a strong claim, all the more so because Mar
cuse’s early writings are not well known. How is it that a substan
tial and quite important body of literature by such a controver
sial figure has received negligible interest in comparison to the
critical attention shown his later works? Several reasons can be
offered in explanation.
First, the “project,” as I shall refer to it, that so intensely occu
pied Marcuse during this early period nevertheless was short
lived, lasting from 1928 to 1933. Without ever being executed —
and I use the term “executed” because the finished project was to
include a practical as well as a theoretical dimension —it ends
abruptly, dramatically, and prematurely in the wake of fascism.
Throughout the early writings the project consistently appears in
outline, as is even suggested by the words “contribution,” “foun
dation,” “on the problem,” and “problematic,” used in the titles
of many of Marcuse’s early essays. Such words indicate theoreti
cal beginnings and serve to qualify the objectives of Marcuse’s
1
2 T he I maginary W itness
undertakings. From time to time the project is given depth, but

it seems clear that Marcuse is always aiming at depth, as thoug
the real work would follow once the outline had been completed.
The skeletal nature of the project may make it difficult to grasp
its essential purpose.
Next, the arguments of these first published works, particular
ly those written between 1928 and 1931, are saturated with the
most complex terminology and appear to be repetitive, confus
ing, and obscure. As such, they are readily open to misunder
standing and are easy targets for criticism.
Third, the essays of this period implicate Marcuse in ontology,
a mode of philosophical inquiry that close examination of the ar
guments indicates was characteristic only of the earliest writings,
once again those published from 1928 to 1931. The conservative
features of the ontological view, which appears to be shared by
the works of this entire period, may have prompted many of
those who otherwise would have been interested in Marcuse’s
early project hastily to pass it by.
Last, against their neglect any critical attempt to rehabilitate
the project of these essays must contend with Marcuse’s aban
donment of his early work. And while it is also true that Marcuse
looked back upon his early period as characterized by a painful
mistake he believed he later rectified —the attention he had
given to Heidegger’s philosophy —it would be a more serious er
ror to explain the fate of his project and to evaluate all the works
belonging to it according to Marcuse’s judgment of its specifical
ly Heideggerian elements.1 Marcuse did not abandon his project
because it contained flaws that derived from his studies with Hei
degger. Indeed, as will be shown, there are quite promising
works of this early period that fall within the framework of his
project but break completely with its Heideggerian dimensions.
Once the terrible pressures of fascism are brought to the surface
and related to the development of Marcuse’s thought, as they
will be in the following chapter, it will become evident that with
out first hesitating to reflect upon and salvage its most promising
and progressive aspects, Marcuse moved too hurriedly to discard
the entire project of his early period.
While the task of this chapter is tb explore Marcuse’s early
writings, the purpose is not merely to describe youthful concerns
that he shortly abandoned. Although these concerns are ex-
tremely interesting in themselves and must be included in any se
rious study of Marcuse’s critical theory, they are examined in the
belief that from the standpoint of our own time the early period
is the most important in Marcuse’s life work. The grounds for
this conviction will be indicated at the chapter’s close, though
they will become apparent much earlier, and the reasoning be
hind it informs the arguments of each of the following chapters.
In the concluding remarks of this study I will suggest why Mar
cuse’s early writings and early hopes may be important to an era
more than a half century older.
Lordship and Bondage

H eidegger and H istoricity
Several years before his death in July 1979, Marcuse reported in

an interview that he had returned to the University of Freiburg
“to work” with Martin Heidegger after reading Being and Time
in 1927, the year of its publication.2 Beyond this interesting
though ultimately insignificant biographical detail, Marcuse
tells us little about the precise impact of Heidegger’s philosophy
on his own thinking and certainly nothing about his personal re
lationship with Heidegger as it may have developed during the
next five or six years. Nor does Marcuse discuss these matters
elsewhere. After studying the early essays, which in any event is
the correct approach to weighing the impact of Heidegger’s
thought on Marcuse, it will become clear that Marcuse’s bare de
scription of the attraction held by Heidegger’s philosophy accu
rately portrays the extent of the Heideggerian influence.I
I m ust say frankly that during this tim e, let’s say from 1928 to 1932,
there were relatively few reservations and relatively few criticisms on
my part. I would rather say on our part, because H eidegger at that
tim e was not a personal problem , not even philosophically, but a
problem o f a large part o f the generation that studied in Germany
after the First W orld W ar. W e saw in H eidegger what we had first
seen in Husserl, a new beginning, the first radical attem pt to put
philosophy on really concrete foundations —philosophy concerned
with the hum an existence, the hum an condition, and not with
m erely abstract ideas and principles . . . I was very m uch interested
in [the social aspect o f H eidegger’s philosophy, its im plications for
4 T he Imaginary W itness
political and social life and action] du rin g that stage, at the sam e
tim e I wrote articles o f Marxist analysis for the then theoretical o r
gan o f the German Socialists, Die Gesellschaft. So I certainly was in
terested, and I first, like all the others, believed there could be som e
com bination between existentialism and M arxism , precisely b e
cause o f their insistence on concrete analysis o f the actual hu m an
existence, hum an beings and their w orld .3
Marcuse’s recollection provides an insight into the nature of

his relationship to Heidegger during this early period. It suggests
that it was not the principles of Heidegger’s thought per se that
drew him to Freiburg, but that Heidegger’s philosophy ad
dressed a particular problem and Filled a void that, as we shall
see, was created by Marxism. From the outset, Heidegger was to
be received favorably only to the degree that he contributed to
solving that problem and eliminating the void, in effect, to the
degree that his philosophy made a definite contribution to Marx
ist theory and practice. Consequently, "working” with Heidegger
does not necessarily imply either that Marcuse invested his intel
lectual energies in the same issues for the same purposes or that
he had become a disciple of Heidegger’s or even had adopted
without qualification a few of his ideas, categories, and so forth.
And if Marcuse expressed few reservations and made few criti
cisms of Heidegger’s thought during this period, it is not difficult
to understand why. From Marcuse’s early writings it can be seen
that he borrowed little from Heidegger —in fact, no more than
an inspiration and a general focus. Pro’of of this claim lies in the
swiftness with which Marcuse cast off the Heideggerian truss. It
took but a single event to persuade Marcuse of what the first es
says of this early period occasionally indicate he had known all
along; namely, that what existentialism offered Marxism was al
ready implicit in Marxist theory. When, in 1932, Marcuse turns
to an examination of the newly published Economic and Philo
sophic Manuscripts,4 we find him developing the same theoret
ical project through Marx’s thought that he had elaborated
through Heidegger’s. This time, however, Heidegger is no longer
present because he is no longer needed to contribute what had
been there from the beginning. s
But in 1928 the publication of Marx’s Paris Manuscripts is sev
eral years away, and before that event will occur and introduce a
new coherence to Marcuse’s project, Heidegger’s existentialism
suffices as a timely theoretical support for the problem with
which Marcuse is concerned. Marcuse’s problem, and one that in

some form is as central to all versions of neo-Marxism as it had
been to Marx and Engels since the midpoint of the nineteenth
century, is the division between Marxist theory and practice pre
cipitated by the increasing extent to which the social relations of
capitalism have become “reified.” During this period Marcuse
defines the problem primarily according to the terms of Georg
Lukacs’s History and Class Consciousness, although Lukacs is
not referred to specifically. Marcuse’s solution to this problem,
however, or rather the direction that he proposes should be
taken toward discovering a solution, departs from Lukacs in a
decisive way. And it is only in this context of a possible solution
to the schism between theory and practice that Marcuse defines
his position explicitly in opposition to Lukacs.
Marxism’s fundamental commitment, Marcuse stresses, is to
radical action, to the revolutionary transformation of the mate
rial conditions of human existence as they are present under cap
italism. Its historical goal is a socialist society, a “new reality”
that establishes the possibility for the “total man.” The agents
charged with the task of revolutionary change are historically
conscious individuals bound together in their needs and interests
through their class association.5
Marxism, however, finds itself in a predicament because the
practical, revolutionary function attributed to the proletariat by
Marxist theory has been obstructed by the complete assimilation
of each individual’s thought and action to the requirements of
capitalist productivity. Consciousness, Marxism claims, is wholly
absorbed by the norms and rules governing the day-to-day oper
ations of a commodity producing system and is not sufficiently
free to take that first step toward a consideration of what are
essential human values, much less free to aspire to those more
complex insights into the social, economic, and political struc
ture of capitalism that could possibly mature into a distinctively
socialist consciousness. This is not Marcuse’s position, however,
as will begin to become clear in his description of the process of
“reification” in these terms.
T h e historical situation in which “today’s” existence stands . . . is
determ ined in its structure by the structure o f capitalist society in
the stage o f high capitalism , i.e ., organized capitalism a n d .im p eri
alism . T hese concepts [high cap italism , i.e ., organized capitalism
and im perialism ], which outline the situation , in this case not only
6
T he Imaginary W itness
refer to political or econom ic states o f affairs but focus on the e x is

tential determ inations {existenzielie Bestim m lheiten) o f c o n tem p o
rary hum an existence {Daseins). A form o f existen ce has b ecom e a
reality that is definitely and uniquely capitalist. T h e econ om ic sys
tem has drawn all areas into the process o f “reification ” {Verdingli-
chung) . . . T h e m odes o f "being with others” {Miteinander-seins)
are em ptied o f all essential content and are ruled from outsid e by
“alien" laws. Fellow m en are prim arily econ om ic subjects or e c o
nom ic objects, professional colleagues, citizens, m em bers o f the
sam e “society.” T h e essential relationships o f friendship, love, o f
every authentic com m unity o f persons, are con fin ed to the sm all
circle o f life which rem ains left over from busy-ness {GeschUf-
tigkeit ).6
T hose things which are encountered in this world are from th e b e
ginning referred to as “goods," as things that one m ust use not in or
der to fulfill necessities o f hum an existence ( Daseins ) b u t rather to
keep busy or to occupy an otherwise idle ( leerlaufende ) existen ce, to
the extent that they actually do becom e “necessities.” T h u s, ever
m ore m odes o f existence are used up only in order to support “in
dustriousness” (“Betrieb ”) .7
Instead o f having a suitable m ode o f existin g in term s o f m an agin g

their affairs, m en becom e econ om ic “subjects and objects” and
function in the service o f the com m odity econ om y, w hich has b e
com e an autonom ous “affair” . . . T h ey stand in the service o f their
tools and m ore and m ore forms o f existence are b eing used up for
the purpose o f m aintaining the "functioning” o f these to o ls.8
These passages are outstanding for two important reasons.

First, they constitute most of Marcuse’s consideration of the reifi
cation of social relations during his early period. The fact that
Marcuse’s other discussions do not extend this analysis and, as
can be seen, his presentation of reification is obviously elemen
tary already defines both the nature of the problem confronting
Marxism and its seriousness as he understands them at this time.
Certainly, one could not help but be struck by the extremely
brief attention paid to reification in these early essays in contrast
to the all-encompassing place given to its advanced formulation,
technological rationality,” in Marcuse’s later writings. It would
be an exaggeration, in other words, to infer from Marcuse’s
straightforward analysis of social relations as commodity rela
tions that he views capitalism as having attained much more
than a higher stage of development. “High capitalism,” though a

substantially more durable structure than capitalism during its
previous stages, is not a qualitatively “new form of control,” an
essentially altered social structure. It is not, to put it simply, a
“one-dimensional society,” a society without opposition.
Second, these passages are instructive about Marcuse’s rela
tionship to Heidegger’s philosophy. While it is apparent that the
theoretical summary of reification is based upon Lukacs’s work,9
the conceptual framework is extended to include Heideggerian
terms such as “human existence” (Dasein), “existential determi
nations” (existenzielle Bestimmtheiten), and modes of "being
with others” (Miteinander-seins). Behind Marcuse’s idiomatic
mixtures, so to speak, I believe there is a definite purpose.
Through Heidegger Marcuse is softening the meaning assigned
to reification by Lukacs. Instead of referring to an impenetrable
and ironlike ideological veil that prevents the individual from
ever discerning the social, or class, dimensions of exchange rela
tions, reification now connotes a somewhat less harsh form of
domination —one that is an orderly, rhythmic, habituating exis
tence that occupies the individual’s intellectual and physical
powers. Without interruption, Marcuse is arguing, consciousness
is persistently distracted by everyday routines and incidental con
cerns that surround the individual. Occupation has become pre
occupation.
But this “forfeiture,” as Heidegger called it, of the individual’s
creative abilities through surrender to mundane affairs is still
submission to the organized, rationalized, alien affairs of capital
ism. To express this point differently, what is given an ontologi
cal status by Heidegger is interpreted by Marcuse in materialist
terms through Lukacs’s framework. With the aid of Heidegger’s
concepts, however, Marcuse has begun very gently to pry the in
dividual loose from the tightly secured ideological moorings
erected by Lukacs’s theory of reification. Although capital in
vades and subjects to its rule the social forms of human exis
tence, the existential inclination or fundamental human striving
toward these forms endures because it is an essential attribute of
each individual. Basic dispositions toward love, friendship, and
community are increasingly denied and limited as their areas of
expression are annexed by a commodity economy. Yet, as these
inclinations constitute the individual, it not only remains possi
ble but also is necessary to speak of an individual living apart
from and against the reified world of affairs, even though this in
dividual now views this world in fetishized terms. Within the ex
tended framework the individual is understood to be constrained
to view the world ideologically but not determined to do so. And
constraints can be shattered. ^
On both of these accounts a conclusion can be drawn, albeit
quite tentatively at this stage. In Marcuse s estimation reification
is not the crucial issue for theoretical inquiry. What is to be deci
sive in the historical situation that Marcuse is investigating are
not the factors that inhibit radical action and a critical perspec
tive of the society.
What, then, are the decisive factors? Marcuse does not pose
this question explicitly. But by way of calling attention to partic
ular inadequacies in Marxist theory, Marcuse asks, “does the
theoretical basis from which Marxism derives its truth, i.e., the
necessity for the historical [revolutionary] activity that it ad
dresses and comprehends, come from a full grasp of the phe
nomenon of historicity?”10 “Historicity” —there is, perhaps, no
more important concept in Marcuse’s first writings. It expresses
the inspiration and incorporates the general focus provided by
Heidegger, both of which were noted earlier. By identifying fac
tors that dispose the individual to action, the conception of histo
ricity begins to chart progress toward the formation of a socialist
consciousness. In spite of social relations of domination, the the
ory of historicity maintains, the enslaved individual, the “bonds
man” in Hegel’s terms, possesses attitudes toward existence that
potentially undermine the perpetuation of domination as much
as they actually support it. Historicity thus offers the possibility
of envisioning an end to the Marxist dilemma. The individual
may be heavily burdened by the mystifications of ideology, but
at a deeper level of existence he is simultaneously disposed to a
radically different and unfettered social experience. Before dis
cussing specific existential characteristics that historicity makes
visible, precisely what does Marcuse mean by historicity and why
is there a question as to whether Marxism grasps this phenom
enon completely?
The clearest definition of historicity to be found in Marcuse’s
early essays sharply outlines its conceptual properties. “All deter
minations of radical action,” Marcuse explains, “join together in
their basic determination [of radical action] as historicity” (flies-
sen zusammen in ihrer Grundbestimmtheit als Geschichtlich-

keit).11 Marcuse is quite certain, then, about the properties of
historicity. Historicity pertains to factors that determine radical
action. This point brings us directly to the thrust of Marcuse’s
theory of historicity. There is one factor, one determination of
radical action especially, that has prompted Marcuse to ask
whether Marxism fully comprehends the phenomenon of histo
ricity. At one and the same moment, Marcuse departs from Lu-
kacs and shifts the focus of Marxism from theoretical to existen
tial, abstract to concrete determinations of action. Expressing
his agreement with the theorist Siegfried Marck, Marcuse argues
that “the weak point in Lukacs’s dialectic” is “the concept of
‘correct class consciousness.’ ”12
T his notion is (as the concep tion o f class consciousness has been on
the w hole) a violation o f the dim ension o f historicity, a fixation
“outsid e” o f what happens from w hence an artificially abstract c o n
nection with history must be p ro d u ced .13
The importance of Marcuse’s statement cannot be overem

phasized. If “correct class consciousness” is the measure of radi
cal opposition, then those who have not achieved this level of
political and theoretical knowledge, who do not understand the
social system from the “class standpoint,” are necessarily judged
to be disinclined to radical politics. To put this point more suc
cinctly, those who are not class conscious are victims of a “men
dacious,” or false, consciousness and accordingly support the
social order without the least qualification. Class consciousness
allows no conceptual space for consideration of individuals
whose thought, language, and behavior reveal a tendency toward
radical political activity. Insofar as class is strictly defined as the
sole determinant of radical action, tendencies, dispositions, or
inclinations to radical practice are excluded from the outset.
Marxism’s theoretical basis, therefore, does not permit an ade
quate grasp of the phenomenon of historicity. By narrowing the
determinants of radical activity to the factor of class, it reduces
radicalism to an abstraction. Theory must then fail to discover a
solution to the problem of reification because the problem is ap
proached from an initial misconception. Marxist theory, in other
words, cannot solve the dilemma of how a totally alienated sub
ject, an individual, who views the society exclusively from the
perspective of ideological principles in which he is believed to be

immersed, can come to know of his objective, class function.
Marcuse, on the other hand, insists upon apprehending the sub
ject not from the theoretical position of class but from the exis
tential situation of the living, concrete individual.
T h e m eaning o f philosophizing, though not com p leted in the “in d i
vidual person” (Einzelnen ), can be fulfilled only through each in d i
vidual person and thus has its basis in the existence o f each in divid
ual person. T h e concreteness o f philosophy, in the existence o f each
individual person, must never be relegated to an abstract subject, to
a “o n e ,” for this would m ean relegating decisive responsibility to
som e arbitrary universality.14
And by focusing on the concretely existing individual, Marcuse

has not simply indicated a way to crash through the barriers of
ideology, to move toward a solution to the problem of reifica
tion. In effect, he has redefined the problem of reification and
shown it to be a false problem as Marxism conceives it. For if the
individual is at all disposed to radical activity, then he is not the
pillar of support for society that the concept of correct class con
sciousness implies that he is.
Marcuse has neither jettisoned Marx’s theory of revolution nor
abandoned the proletariat as the agent of historical transforma
tion. What he has done is to break open the rich terrain lying
between the radical individual whose action springs from a con
scious identification with his class and the individual who ap
pears antagonistic to such radical action only because his behav
ior is not informed by his class interest. In one sense Marcuse has
radicalized Marxism. Although Marcuse’s ordinary working-class
individuals are less radical than they must become to fulfill their
historical task, they are also more radical in their everyday con
duct than Marxist theory recognizes. Hence we can understand
why Marcuse’s new radicalism is based upon Heidegger’s philoso
phy. It is through emphasis on the individual in his “public, dai
ly existence”15 that Heidegger’s thought opens the way to a new,
concrete science. In another sense, of course, Marcuse’s unortho
dox approach does not radicalize Marxist theory but returns to
the original intentions of Marx’s method. In support of his proj
ect, Marcuse at ojie point recalls the suppositions Marx set forth
in the first pages of The German Ideology.
The premises from which we begin are not arbitrary ones, not dog
mas, but real premises from which abstraction can be made only in
the imagination. They are the real individuals, their activity and
the material conditions under which they live, both those which
they find already existing and those produced by their activity.16
In keeping with Marx, Marcuse argues that “every genuine
method permits its approach to be guided by the manner in
which its object is given.”17
“Concrete philosophy” is the form of investigation that emerges
from Marcuse’s theory of historicity. It is distinguished from all
other aspects of Marx’s theory and from subsequent versions of
Marxism, such as Lukacs’s, that have encouraged a disregard of
the individual. For Marcuse, the premises of concrete philosophy
are identical to those of historical materialism. These premises
are simply ordinary people, the “objects” that are to provide the
guidelines for any theoretical discussion of political practice.
Now, what are the determinants of action for each individual?
Action, First of all, has an “existential” basis. It is determined
“existentially.” Existential action, Marcuse appears to be saying
in his early essays, is action that arises from existence and that
has existence as its goal. For example, in The German Ideology,
Marcuse suggests, Marx interpreted the activities of material
production and reproduction as categories of existential action.
To be precise, both are types of existential, “practical” action —
practical in the sense that they insure survival and arise in re
sponse to the problem of satisfying basic needs; existential in the
sense that they are rooted essentially in the very structure of exis
tence because man must always produce to meet human needs
and reproduce the means of production.
Yet it is not existential action that intends mere existence as its
goal that is of primary interest to Marcuse. He is searching for
modes of existential action that project definite forms of exis
tence. It is here that Heidegger’s philosophy becomes especially
pertinent. For the average individual, Marcuse explains, life’s
possibilities and the decisions about which possibilities are to be
seized and made reality are preordained. The great majority of
people submit unreflectively to the values and aspirations of the
public consensus. At all times and in all his purposes the individ
ual bends under the weight of social pressures. But the plight of
the ordinary individual, which stands out in the typical features
of commonplace existence, covers over the deeper layers of hu

man need. It is these deeper layers that Marcuse reclaims for so-
cial theory.
At the very bottom o f existence there rem ains, how ever obscure, an
understanding o f its uniqueness. Existence is always con cern ed for
its own being, and this existentially conceived concern is regarded
as the true being o f existence ( eigentliche Sein des Daseins). In spite
o f all thrownness and forfeiture, in this concern [for existen ce] lies
the possibility to com prehend true being ( das eigene Sein zu ergrei-
fen ) and to break forth from untrue to true existen ce (aus der unei-
gentlichen in die eigentliche Existenz durchzudringen).1*
Marcuse is arguing that no way of life, regardless of its uniform
ity, can totally suppress an awareness on the individual’s part
of the singular character of his personal existence, of the mani
fold though intensely private recognitions of his difference from
others. Marcuse is alluding to that uncomfortable awareness of
not belonging, of feeling alien in one’s surroundings without
knowing why or without knowing of alternatives to them. And in
the individual’s anxious insights into his detachment from the
existence apparently acceptable to others is embedded a care for
one’s own existence, a concern expressed through fears about the
possible sacrifice of life implied in purely privatized discontents.
Within this care and concern lies an as yet unarticulated desire
to make public that which is private, to create space for the un
named but no less real human potentialities. Within the deeper
layers of human existence is contained the need and, most im
portant, the secret ambition to change the world. The disposi
tion to radical action, to change, reshape, and freely to create
existence, surfaces as an existential attitude. Or, as Marcuse ex
presses it precisely, this disposition, this “concern,” is part of the
“true being of human existence” (eigentliche Sein des Daseins) .19
As part of man’s very being, Marcuse’s existential inclinations to
definite sorts of action are reduced to an ontological foundation.
As a priori elements of an experience defined as concern, they
precede this experience and make it possible. We shall soon see,
however, that Heidegger’s ontological foundation for a radical
disposition is later discarded when Marcuse further develops his
theory of historicity through an interpretation of Hegel and
Marx.
Marcuse’s analysis thus expands the conceptual boundaries of
historicity. In so doing it adds not only philosophical but also po
litical dimensions to Marxist theory. From the Marxist notion of
historicity the conclusion is reached that the non-class conscious
individual is allied with the status quo, whereas Marcuse’s in
quiry discerns in the same individual vague attitudes of a gener
alized disaffection —generalized in the sense that the individual
is no more disaffected from one society than he would be from
another but is equally disaffected from all forms of existence. Of
course, such a radically disposed individual is not a radical indi
vidual. Rather, one who has deeper inclinations to radical activ
ity is an individual who has become uneasy about principles he
has long held to be true, skeptical about the validity of popular
beliefs, uncertain about the legitimacy of established political
norms. This is an unstable individual whose hazy insights must
be developed from an implicit to an explicit level of understand
ing. And a well-defined political position can supersede a vague
existential disposition only if the individual is engaged in polit
ical discourse. Consequently, Marcuse’s focus on the existential
determinations of radical action seems to suppose or entail liber
al practices because he embraces radical politics —not the prac
tices of liberalism, in other words, that seek some intermediate
point between a simple preservation of the social order in its pre
vailing form and its radical transformation, but a liberal politics
that serves as a stepping-stone toward radical action. This obvi
ously controversial point will be returned to in the final section of
this chapter.
The foregoing analysis considered the central arguments Mar
cuse presented in three early essays: “Contributions to a Phe
nomenology of Historical Materialism’’ (1928), “Concrete Philos
ophy” (1929), and "On the Problem of the Dialectic” (1930,
1931). Taken together, these essays constitute his most concen
trated effort during the first four years of this early period to de
fine a new project that compensates for the inadequacies of
Marxist theory. As it stands, the project is clearly in outline
form. While Marcuse’s criticisms of Marxism are persuasive, he
has provided little in the way of systematic analysis of existential
characteristics that could become candidates for determinations
of radical action. But the elaborate design of the project perhaps
excuses Marcuse’s lack of rigor during these years. And if these
essays appear confused and repetitious, such difficulties arise be
cause Marcuse’s discursive style reflects his newly proposed ana
lytical method. Frequently returning to the same arguments,
concepts, and themes', Marcuse is attempting to draw out their

deeper meanings and implications in a fashion resembling that
of his probing of the individual’s experience to discover attitudes
not visible at first.
By way of brief review, a few points in particular should be
stressed. While Marcuse’s project adopts Heideggers concrete
approach, Marcuse does not want the existential dimensions of
social life to be embraced at the expense of a decisive aspect of
Marxist theory. Existential analysis must recognize the ideologi
cal constraints on thought and action. It must not forget that the
individual’s dispositions to radical action are precarious because
they are deeply buried beneath the weight of ideological pres
sures that can prevent their entering conscious awareness, much
less their being acted upon. Concrete philosophy must compre
hend these dispositions as they could develop in relation to the
dynamics of organized social structures, in order to push beyond
dispositions to radical action to radical action itself. At the same
time Marxism must become concrete. It must cease to view the
world through theoretical categories that suppress knowledge of
the broad range of characteristics that prove the individual to be
active, concerned, intentional, and reflective, that is, in embryo
the subject that the truth of Marxist theory rests upon. These
points are summarized in Marcuse’s own concise proposal for a
new theoretical project.
Thus, on the one hand, we demand that Heidegger’s phenomenolo

gy of human existence be driven to dialetical concreteness so that it
can be fulfilled in a phenomenology of concrete existence and of the
historically concrete act demanded of it. And, on the other hand,
the dialectical method of knowing must go the other way and be
come phenomenological so to incorporate concreteness in a com
plete account of its object. In the analysis of the given, it must not
simply locate it historically, or indicate its roots in a historical situ
ation of human existence. It must also ask whether the given is
thereby exhausted, or whether it contains an authentic meaning
which, although not ahistorical, it endures through all historicity.
Although this question may seem superfluous in relation to actual
historical action, it becomes unavoidable if [action] is to actually
arise out of knowledge. Only a unification of both methods, a dia
lectical phenomenology as a method of continuous and radical con
creteness, can do justice to the historicity of human existence.20
It is important to be clear about the developmental lines of

Marcuse’s early writings. The three essays mentioned above and
which span the years 1928 to 1931 not only launch Marcuse’s
project and outline its basic features but also complete the proj
ect’s outline insofar as it is to be understood as a theoretical
framework integrating Marx and Heidegger. Several additional
essays published during these four years incorporate the theoreti
cal standpoint of Marcuse’s project as it has been described. The
problems considered in these essays shall be examined in this
chapter’s closing section. The first step was to present Marcuse’s
project as he outlined it. With this task accomplished, the discus
sion can turn now to works after 1931 that conform to the estab
lished outline of the project but also mark a shift away from its
explicitly Heideggerian dimensions.
H egel and H istoricity
Hegel’s Ontology and the Foundation of a Theory o f Historicity,
appearing in 1932, is Marcuse’s first published book and the first
indication that he is distancing his thought from Heidegger’s .21
But a reader of this text will search in vain for the usual signs of
an author’s breaking with his past views. At no time, for exam
ple, does Marcuse express dissatisfaction with Heidegger’s philos
ophy, nor does he explicitly pose any problem that is then shown
to be artfully managed by Hegel rather than Heidegger, and so
on. In fact, Marcuse’s study of Hegel continues to bear the im
print of Heidegger, though superficially, in two ways. Appended
to the introduction is a generous acknowledgment in which Mar
cuse expresses his indebtedness to Heidegger’s philosophy for any
contribution that Hegel’s Ontology may have made to clarifying
and developing the issues examined.22 Second, Marcuse’s ^nns
are frequently Heideggerian and Hegel is occasionally sa»v- to
have addressed questions that are recognizably those raised by
Heidegger. To illustrate, at one point Marcuse remarks in pass
ing that a particular conception of Hegel’s “stands under the
question as to the meaning of being (der Frage nach dem Sein),
ultimately under the question as to the true meaning of the being
of existence” (nach dem eigentlichsten Sein des Seienden).23
If Marcuse is dissociating his thought from Heidegger’s and is
about to pursue an independent direction, how are these connec
tions to be explained? Why the acknowledgment, the similarities
in terminology, and'the assimilation of Hegel’s concepts to Hei-

degger’s investigations? As the title of Marcuse’s book indicates,
historicity is to be a focal point of theoretical inquiry. So Mar
cuse is continuing to explore territory mapped by Heidegger.
Yet, this broadly based continuity in Marcuse’s work should not
obscure the possibility that through his return to the philosophi
cal origins of the concept of historicity in Hegel’s system, Mar
cuse may be rethinking and revising its meaning. Actually, we
will find that this is exactly the case in Hegel's Ontology. Here
the shift away from Heidegger’s conception of historicity is grad
ual though quite noticeable nevertheless. For this reason it is un
derstandable that the trappings of Heidegger’s philosophy would
be carried over from the earlier essays into Marcuse’s new work.
After Hegel’s Ontology Marcuse’s essays on Marx make explicit
what was implicit within the former study. A break with Heideg
ger anticipated by the shift characterizing Marcuse’s first study
on Hegel crystallizes in the subsequent writings on the Economic
and Philosophic Manuscripts.
Marcuse’s study is divided into two parts. An analysis of He
gel’s Logic forms the content of the first, though other works, par
ticularly Faith and Knowledge and Difference between Fichte's
and Schelling's System of Philosophy, are considered briefly and
to the extent that they contribute to Marcuse’s exposition of the
Logic. The second section briefly examines Hegel’s Early Theo
logical Writings and theJena Logic, proceeds to an extensive dis
cussion of the Phenomenology of Mind, and is completed with a
short chapter on the relationship between Hegel and Dilthey.
The internal structure and complexity of Hegel’s Ontology
makes it impossible to trace the finely detailed steps in the devel
opment of its argument. And such an approach would be neces
sary largely for the purpose of evaluating the correctness of Mar
cuse’s interpretation of Hegel’s philosophy. Within the present
context a description of the decisive claims made in Hegel's On
tology in relation to Marcuse’s early essays must suffice. Mar
cuse’s extremely short chapter on Dilthey shows how the latter’s
philosophy is rooted in that of Hegel. It adds nothing to an un
derstanding of Marcuse’s early work that is not already acquired
from an exposition of the major arguments of Hegel’s Ontology.
For this reason it will be passed over. In the next section, how
ever, there will be an opportunity briefly to consider the signifi-
cance of a particular feature of Dilthey’s philosophy for Mar

cuse’s social theory.
In Hegel’s Ontology Marcuse is concerned with three essential
aspects of Hegel’s philosophy: the concept of life (der Begriff des
Lebens) and its ontological status (der Seinsbegriff des Lebens),
the conception of motion, or movement (Bewegung; Bewegtheit),
as an ontological dimension of all existence (Sein als Bewegtheit),
and their bearing on the theory of historicity. According to Mar
cuse’s interpretation, although Hegel intended none of these
aspects to be more fundamental than any other, there is a tend
ency in his philosophy away from an ontological characterization
of human existence toward a strictly historical conceptualiza
tion. Marcuse never denies that Hegel ultimately subsumed his
tory under ontology. On the contrary, Marcuse clearly considers
ontology to be the organizing principle of Hegel’s view of histo
ry. By drawing out and upon this tendency, however, Marcuse
wants to express a tension between ontology and history inherent
in Hegel’s philosophy and finally to separate the two —but with
out losing the advantages offered by an ontological foundation.
Everything that exists is in motion, meaning that all things are
in the process of becoming something else. That which is true or
essential about any particular thing is not its apparent form of
existence but its movement toward another state. Being, by na
ture, is endless movement, and the structural dynamics of this
process, the essential properties of being, are represented by the
categories of Hegel’s Logic. These categories are also categories
of thought. Hence, movement is not random and directionless
but assumes a necessary course prescribed by the activity of
thought as it reflects on the states it achieves. Developing
through the various contradictions peculiar to each stage of exis
tence, thought comprehends its basic characteristic as motion,
that is, as movement indistinguishable from reflection. Mar
cuse’s purpose is to establish that the author of existence is an ac
tive and dynamic subject, a reflective subject, that reflection is
continual movement from one stage to another, and that each
stage, though originally authored by the subject, places limita
tions upon the subsequent stage to which the subject can aspire.
Marcuse’s explication, however, is not a demonstration of this
process as purely ontological but in fact opposes all such inter
pretations of the Logic. Marcuse insists that this process is consti
j8 T he Imaginary W itness
tuted by the relations of living individuals (lebendigen Individ-

uums). It is living human existence (lebendiges Dasein), first and
foremost a living process (Lebensprozess). Precisely this point,
Marcuse argues, is established by Hegel s concept of life. Life is
basically the struggle of the individual with his world to insure
self-subsistence. Accordingly, all of the individual’s capacities
and activities, together with everything that lies outside the indi
vidual, enter into and define this struggle. The significance of
this concept for Marcuse begins to. become clear. The concept of
life focuses attention directly on the subject, and as it does so all
that is known about life becomes unified, that is, becomes an in
tegral part of a coherent concept of the individual. From the
standpoint of life, absolutely nothing about or around the sub
ject can be excluded from its concept. Life, which is not merely
the life of the subject but is the subject, possesses a diversity from
which arises the essential characteristic of movement. Life, sub
jectivity, and movement are assimilated.
Through Hegel’s concept of life Marcuse finds a more satisfac
tory vehicle for a theory of the active and dynamic subject than a
strictly ontological conception of subjectivity would yield. By
rooting the dialectic of the individual’s development in the proc
ess of life, the subject is no longer moved from the outside, as is
the case when movement is given a purely ontological founda
tion, that is, one independent of human existence. As life the
subject is movement. The process of movement ceases to be
ahistorical with history its manifestation. Movement, or action,
is as much historical as ontological. Or, if movement is ontologi
cal it is so precisely because of the constitution of life.
In this transition from a purely ontological to an ontological-
historical conceptualization of movement, ontology is not cast
off. Because it pertains to the entirety of existence, to being, the
process of life (history) remains an ontological process. Conse
quently, although he recognizes that it was Hegel’s intention to
abolish the distinction between ontology and history, and that
for this reason the Logic must be defended against the accusa
tion that it is simply a transcendental system, Marcuse’s point is
that ontology and history cannot be drawn together without sus
taining a tension between the two dimensions. Ontology cannot
provide a universal and objective foundation for the characteris
tics of subjectivity without in some sense turning the subject into
a result of something prior to it. Although life (history) is sup

posed to affirm the autonomy of the individual, the subject is
dissipated in the objectivity of life’s absolute structure. As long as
movement, or action, necessarily unfolds in the context of a life
(history) of struggle, the concept of life restricts freedom to par
ticular forms of action. History cannot be a true realm of free
dom. Compromised by an essential structure of life as struggle,
history (as freedom) exists in tension with ontology (the concept
of life that reduces history to freedom within the limits of strug
gle). If the freedom of the individual is to be preserved, theory
must go further than a shift from ontology to an ontological-his
torical position. Interpreted in light of Hegel’s attempt to abolish
the distinction between ontology and history, to establish in un
qualified terms the freedom of the individual and freedom as an
absolute fact of existence, the tension sustained by this position
yields a tendency toward a new historical conception of the sub
ject—the theory of historicity. Marcuse draws out this tendency,
severs the tie between history and ontology, and emphasizes the
former to the exclusion of the latter but without sacrificing the
certain guarantees of an active and dynamic subject provided by
an ontology. How does he manage this?
Marcuse now turns to consider Hegel’s Jena Logic, the Early
Theological Writings, and the Phenomenology of Mind. Written
after these works, the Logic distills and formalizes their argu
ments, he argues, particularly those of the latter two. A richer,
more explicitly historical conception is therefore to be found in
the Logic’s philosophical predecessors. Of the earlier texts, the
Phenomenology is the most significant for it is Marcuse’s inter
pretation of the master and slave relation that charts the greatest
progress toward eliminating the need for an ontological founda
tion for the theory of historicity.
Marcuse’s analysis of the master and slave relation reproduces
its basic features as they are laid out in the Phenomenology of
Mind.2* In the context of Marcuse’s broader argument, however,
a few of these features receive emphasis. The first is that the slave
initially accepts the relationship of domination as legitimate. Be
cause there are no other norms available to the servant to spur a
different understanding, the relation is understood strictly in
terms of its regulative principles. The authority of the master is
believed to be valid by the slave and his function of servitude is
20
T he Imaginary W itness
thought to be proper'. Mastery and servitude become the univer

sal principles shaping all attitudes and practices of each of the
participants. But no sooner does the slave actually begin to serve
the master than his labor causes him to reflect upon his previous
ly unquestioned attitude of deference. Through labor, the ser
vant learns, a mastery over the world is achieved that is denied to
the lord, who lives off the labor of others. The second feature
that is stressed, therefore, is that by the very fact of forced labor
the slave acquires an insight that challenges the validity of the
principles that define his position 'df subordination. It is the ser
vant who is truly independent and upon whom the master is real
ly dependent. And the independence of the slave established by
means of his labor can be developed further only by going be
yond the relation of domination.
With the introduction of the relation of lordship and bond
age, instead of life in general, as in the Logic, the issue is now a
specific way of life, life with a definite structure. By virtue of the
dynamics arising from the structure of this relation, life as a
blind struggle for self-subsistence comes to an end. An awareness
is bred that struggle is not a brute fact of existence, that much of
it results from the coercive structure of life, and that there can be
freedom from struggle and coercion if the structural relation is
altered. In other words, what has occurred is a disposition to rad
ical activity. Furthermore, the disposition, that is, the slave’s in
sight into his independence and its limits within the relation of
domination, is a theoretical activity —self-consciousness —that
springs from a practical activity —labor. Knowledge of the essen
tial character of social relations has a historical content. It oc
curs only but —and here is the crucial point —necessarily, inevi
tably, through the dynamics of organized social structures.
Marcuse’s analysis of lordship and bondage is designed to show
that a theory of an active, developing subject, of a subject in mo
tion, can dispense with ontology. A concept of a reflective sub
ject need not be rooted in an ontological foundation, whether it
be transcendental or ontological-historical. Rather, an individ
ual becomes capable of a radical sort of knowing, of a reflection
that aims at transcending historical conditions, as the practices
of social life in which he is engaged unfold. Marcuse acknowl
edges, of course, that Hegel compromises the notion of a subject
developing through practical activity with the Phenomenology’s
concept of “absolute knowledge.” According to Marcuse, in the
Phenomenology Hegel is thus left with a double or dichotomous

foundation for a theory of the subject, which he later attempts to
resolve into a single foundation in the Logic by abolishing the
distinction between ontology and history. As we have seen,
though, Marcuse proves Hegel’s resolution to be fragile by dem
onstrating through an examination of the Logic's concept of life
that a tension is sustained between history and ontology. Mar
cuse has presented an argument of great importance. Whereas
in the Logic the historical dimensions of subjectivity never quite
escape an ontological casing, in the Phenomenology the develop
ment of the subject is grounded securely in history before it is dis
solved into ontology.
Marcuse’s argument has another, albeit implicit, goal besides
the analysis and appropriation of the historical dimension of
Hegel’s theory of subjectivity. With his interpretation of lordship
and bondage historicity has been given a new basis, one that cor
rects Heidegger’s theory of historicity. With Heidegger, the de
terminations of radical action are existential givens, the a priori
elements of experience that precede the individual’s activity and
make it possible. With Hegel, on the other hand, dispositions to
radical action do not precede but are created through and for
that reason alone are embedded in the practices of the subject.
In Hegel’s philosophy the theory of historicity achieves a level of
concreteness that Heidegger fails to achieve. Important implica
tions follow from this basic difference. Hegel’s subject is freer.
Characteristics of the subject involved in shaping the world in
which the individual lives and his relation to that world are con
stantly changing, or evolving. Individuals author not only their
existence but also the subjective and objective determinants of
that existence. Furthermore, Heidegger’s existential determina
tions of activity are too generalized or abstract to be meaningful
ly related to the structural dynamics of the practices that express
the existential determinants. Hegel’s subject, however, can en
gage in no practical activity without a corresponding level of the
oretical self-consciousness, a knowledge intimately tied to the
structure of those practices and the structure of social life of
which they are a part. Hegel integrates theoretical and practical
activity to a far greater extent than does Heidegger.
The significance of this last point, to be revisited shortly, can
not be overemphasized. Only when the integration of theoretical
and practical activity —praxis —is given its due place in Mar-
cuse’s writings can his position on the relationship between ontol

ogy and history, his dissociation from Heidegger, and his theory
of historicity be fully understood. And it is not difficult to decide
about its place. With the interpretation of Hegel’s relation of
lordship and bondage, Marcuse implicitly has made praxis the
theoretical centerpiece of his project. If there could be any doubt
that lordship and bondage constitute the turning point in the de
velopment of Marcuse’s theory of historicity, it should be re
moved by the two essays that soon followed Hegel’s Ontology.
* >
M arx and H istoricity

An extensive critical exposition of Marx’s 1844 Economic and
Philosophic Manuscripts, 4‘The Foundation of Historical Materi
alism” was published in 1932, the year that saw the complete
German edition of the Paris Manuscripts. Marcuse’s argument is
that Marx’s Manuscripts force a reconsideration of the origins
and meaning of historical materialism and “scientific socialism.”
Marx’s theory is improperly understood if its basis is thought to
be economic. Marx, Marcuse is claiming, did not intend a theory
of historical or economic determinism, nor would Marx have ap
proved of any politics rooted in such a theory. Historical materi
alism is not crude historicism. It is not, in other words, a theory
that maintains that history develops according to rigid economic
laws that establish socialism as its necessary and inevitable out
come. Marx’s theory, in fact, has a philosophical foundation
that opposes all such interpretations of materialism. This foun
dation is set forth most clearly in his Manuscripts. It is also a
foundation that proves the origins of Marx’s theory to lie deep
within Hegel’s Phenomenology of Mind. Marx’s theory, like
Hegel’s philosophy, is a theory of revolutionary praxis.
Marx’s conception of labor is the philosophical foundation
that Marcuse explicates. Actually, it is within the context of an
analysis of alienated labor and private property in the Manu
scripts that Marcuse demonstrates that labor as such is the cen
tral category of Marx’s theory. While the contextual aspects of
Marcuse’s exposition are interesting, they are important primari
ly for a lucid account of Marx’s notion of alienation and are not
controversial. Without loss to this discussion they will be intro
duced only to the extent that they bear on the meaning Marcuse
attributes to the concept of labor per se.
Man’s nature —his faculties, abilities, capacities, character,
personality, needs, and wants —is literally his own “work.”
Whenever an individual labors upon something, for example,
whether this something is an idea or a material thing, the indi
vidual is shaping and developing himself, that is, increasing his
knowledge or sharpening his skills at the same time as he is shap
ing and developing the object of his labor. In a very definite
sense, through labor man takes himself as his own object, the ob
ject of the social activity of labor. His nature, therefore, is not
finished, or given before labor but is a social creation. Human
nature is always social nature. It can thus be said that through
labor man brings into reality what was previously only potential
ity. Potentiality becomes objective. Labor is the process of ob-
ject-ification. History, as the history of all forms of the social ac
tivity of labor, is nothing less than the history of man making
himself. As Marcuse explains, we “are no longer dealing with an
abstract human essence which remains equally valid at every
stage of concrete history, but with an essence which can be de
fined in history and only in history.’’25
But though human nature is historical nature, this does not
mean that what has become of man historically is his true na
ture. Historically the activity of labor has been organized into re
lations of domination. Under capitalism all aspects of the labor
process —what is to be produced, how production is to be orga
nized, and what is to be done with the fruits of human labor —
are determined by social relations based upon private property.
Labor, objectification, or the creation of man by man is in every
way unfree or alienated; the essence of man is an alienated es
sence. The ideologies of capitalism, however, conceal the unfree,
alienated character of human labor. Having come to understand
the organization of production in ideological terms, the individ
ual views the process of production and the social and political
relations of society as natural rather than as the result of a par
ticular social formation of private property. Social relations are
reified. Ideology masks the fact that it is society, its social and ec
onomic structure, that determines all aspects of the labor process
and the ultimate product of labor: man.
Once again, the question arises of whether it is possible for the
individual to penetrate the illusions fostered by ideology, or does
he forever remain the helpless victim of reification? Regardless of
the extent of reification, Marcuse answers, through his labor the

individual learns that labor is much more than the exchange of
labor power for wages, that is, more than the means to satisfy ba
sic needs. Labor, it is quickly learned, is either a satisfying expe
rience or a frustrating one, an expression of abilities or a denial
of personal resources. Labor is not a perfunctory task that can be
performed and then forgotten because as an intimate part of life
it affects every thought, action, and relation. Labor is in every
sense social, not natural. No individual can work without be
coming concerned about what factors —social, economic, and
political —influence the activity of labor. Through the activity of
labor a decisive issue is forced upon the individual: what is the
relationship between labor and the larger society? Marcuse ex
presses the dynamics of this connection in this way.
W e know that ob jectification is essentially a social activity and that
it is precisely in his objects and in his labor on them that m an r e c o g
nizes him self as a social being. T h e insight (Einsicht) in to o b je ctifi
cation, which penetrates ( durchbrechende) reification , is the in
sight (Einsicht) into society as the subject [d eterm in in g factor] o f
ob jectification .26
Marcuse thus returns us to Hegel’s relation of lordship and

bondage. Labor, as a practical activity, facilitates reflection, or
“insight,” a theoretical activity that penetrates the ideological
framework manufactured by capitalism. It is important to em
phasize that Marcuse has made no claims for this theoretical
consciousness other than calling it “insight” or “recognition”
(Einsicht; Erkenntnis), insight into (or recognition of) the fact
that society determines “how and through what man and his ob
jective world as social relations have become what they are,” and
“insight into the historical-social situation of m an .”27 And it is
not the owners of the means of production who are capable of
this insight, but the producers.
W e know that the abolition (Aufhebung) o f alien a tio n (Entfrem-
dung) (a state in which both m aster and servant fin d them selves, a l
though not in the sam e way) can be based only on the p en etration
( Durchbrechung) o f reification, i.e .„ o n the p ractical in sigh t (Er
kenntnis) into the activity o f ob jectification in its historical-social
situation. Since-it is only in labor and in the objects of his labor th at
m an can really com e to recognize (Erkenntnis) h im self, others and
the objective world in their historical-social situation, the m aster, as

nonworker, cannot com e to this insight. Since what is actually a
specific hum an activity appears to him as a m aterial and objective
state o f affairs, the worker has an (as it were) irreducible advantage
over him . H e is the real factor o f transform ation; the destruction o f
reification can be his work only. T h e m aster can com e to this p en e
trating insight (durchbrechende Erkenntnis) only if he becom es a
worker, w hich, however, would m ean abolishing (aufhebt ) his own
essen ce.28
Looking back upon Hegel’s Ontology in light of this interpre
tation of Marx’s concept of labor in “The Foundation of Histori
cal Materialism,” we see that the former work is clearly a turning
point in the development of Marcuse’s social theory. The master-
slave relation has been carried forward from the study on He
gel and now figures prominently as the conceptual apparatus
through which Marcuse analyzes relations of domination under
capitalism and uncovers a prospective means to their destruc
tion. The theoretical insights produced by the practical activity
of labor in themselves do not alter the relations of domination.
Marcuse, it must be emphasized, is not speaking in these very im
portant passages of the actual destruction or abolition of aliena
tion, reification, and the social relations from which this condi
tion arises. On the contrary, Marcuse is speaking of a cognitive
act, of an act of understanding, of the impulse upon which the
act of abolition, of social revolution, is eventually to be based.
Marcuse’s entire discussion of insight and recognition through
the activity of labor is an answer to this question that he first
posed: “To what extent can cognition (Erkenntnis), the recogni
tion of objectification as something social, become the real im
pulse for the abolition (Aufhebung) of all reification?”29 His
answer, as we have seen, is that such cognition, recognition, or
insight occurs through the practice of labor to the extent that the
individual actually penetrates reification, or pierces the veil of
ideology.
Theoretical insights are indicative of the individual’s disposi
tion to entertain alternatives to and to change the prevailing so
cial structure. Marcuse has thus presented an argument for the
existence of an insightful, reflective individual who, although in
clined to radical action, does not spontaneously or necessarily
engage in radical politics. With Marcuse’s concept of praxis
there is no automatic,' inevitable transition from one society or

stage of history to another. Marcuse’s theory of historicity guar
antees a reflective individual but offers no “scientific” guarantee
of how such a person would act. By explicating the philosophical
foundation of Marx’s theory, Marcuse has thus revealed its hos
tility to historical determinism.30
It is not difficult to understand why Marcuse began “The
Foundation of Historical Materialism” by declaring that “the
publication of the Economic and Philosophic Manuscripts writ
ten by Marx in 1844 became a criitial event in the history of
Marxist studies.” How could Marcuse have made any other judg
ment? Earlier he had argued for a synthesis of Heidegger and
Marx, phenomenology and materialism. Marcuse’s aim was a
Marxist theory more sensitive to, or more in touch with, the indi
vidual’s rich and complex dispositions to action than the notion
of correct class consciousness allowed Marxism to be. Then, with
the publication of the Paris Manuscripts, Marcuse discovered
that Heidegger’s contribution, in other words, that which he had
believed to be missing from Marxism, had always been present in
Marx’s theory and waiting to be developed. Radical action, as
remote as the radical consciousness atrophied by the ideological
paralysis of class interests, suddenly appeared potentially as near
as the ordinary individual’s thought and action.
The publication of the Manuscripts was an event not only in
Marxist studies. For Marcuse it was an event of personal signifi
cance as well. Marcuse must have recognized immediately that
with his exposition of lordship and bondage in Hegel's Ontology
he had anticipated the implications of Marx’s concept of labor in
the Manuscripts. In the study of Hegel he had moved toward a
theory of historicity that implied a break with Heidegger. What
began with Hegel was then completed with Marx. In “The Foun
dation of Historical Materialism” Marcuse went far beyond Hei
degger’s notion of the individual’s generalized concern for exis
tence, for such a diffuse awareness cannot easily be tied, if it can
be tied at all, to an understanding of specific social structures of
domination. On the other hand, the praxis of labor, its practical
and theoretical dynamics, draws together the simple fact of la
bor and the complex social structural factors that organize the
labor process. Theoretical and practical activity are tightly inte
grated. By rooting historicity in a praxis of labor rather than in a

praxis of existential determinants of radical action, Marcuse
clearly dissociates his work from Heidegger’s existential ontol
ogy.31 Where does this theory of historicity leave Marcuse with
respect to the ontological dimensions of Hegel’s system?
One answer to this question, and the one that is the most cor
rect, is contained in “The Foundation of Historical Materi
alism,” as well as in the second of the essays written after Hegel’s
Ontology: “On the Philosophical Foundation of the Concept of
Labor in Economics,’’ published in 1933, marks the close of
Marcuse’s early period. But the central argument of the 1933
article also suggests another answer that should be considered
first because it could serve as a ground for dismissing Marcuse’s
project.
The concept of labor, Marcuse argues in this essay, must be
rescued from the science of economics. Economics defines labor
narrowly as economic activity, activity that is directly involved in
the production of material goods. Politics, art, and intellectual
effort in general do not meet this strict criterion for labor. What
ever characteristics other than material production are found to
be associated with labor cannot therefore be attributed to nonec
onomic forms of activity.
Against the specialized conception of labor in economics,
Marcuse expands the concept of labor to include all forms of hu
man activity. In that way, labor can be related to all modes of so
cial existence. Marcuse destroys the artificial economic bound
aries of labor by giving it a philosophical foundation. More than
simply economic activity, all labor has in common the property
of “doing” (tun). What Marcuse means is that all activity is labor
insofar as labor is understood as the act of objectification, as the
struggle to realize human potentialities and to impart to the
world molded by labor a distinctively human form. Through
Marcuse’s philosophical foundation an answer to our question is
provided. Embracing all activities in every form of social exis
tence, and pertaining to the very nature of “being” human, la
bor becomes an ontological category. Marcuse’s foundation ap
pears to draw him back into Hegel’s ontological framework. Man
seems fated to be forever homo faber, a being whose relation to
the world is governed by the need to transform it into an expres
sio n o f h u m a n p o te n tia lity , to view it in s tr u m e n t a l^ as th e v e h i

c le o f se lf-d e v e lo p m e n t a n d s e lf-c r e a tio n ( o b je c tific a tio n ). W o r ld
a n d n a tu r e ex ist o n ly to b e d o m in a te d .
But this interpretation of the 1933 essay stands only if the true
theoretical significance of labor as Marcuse understands it is lost
sight of. For Marcuse the emphasis is not on labor as objectifica
tion but on labor as praxis, the practical activity that gives rise to
reflective activity. This argument, made in “The Foundation of
Historical Materialism,” is retained.in “The Concept of Labor.
And now, in this second essay, with all activities conceived as
forms of labor, all activities become reflective activities. Labor —
no matter how it is organized, regardless of what it produces,
and in spite of the particular kind of practice that it is —can
never be reduced to a single end. It could never become just in
strumental activity; as reflective activity labor contains the possi
bility for changing any commitment to a definite end or goal.
When Marcuse asserts, therefore, that every “historical com
munity . . . is constituted upon the basic relation of lordship and
bondage,”32 he does not mean that all social relations are insepa
rably bound to some relation of domination by or of human la
bor, nor does he mean that progress can be made only as prog
ress in and through the domination of men and nature. On the
contrary, Marcuse is arguing that in all possible practices of all
possible societies are rooted the dynamics of praxis. Arising from
social practices are new concepts that challenge the norms by
which those activities are customarily understood. Arising from
all practical activities, in other words, are reflective activities
that can transcend all relations of domination, any so-called
givens, or any apparently natural obstacles to human growth
and development be they ideological or ontological.
The Historical Tasks of Philosophy

Durchbrechung —“penetration” or, literally, “breakthrough.” I
have selected the former translation because it more accurately
conveys the theoretical significance of labor as it is explicated by
Marcuse in his discussions of Hegel and Marx. The reflective ac
tivities, or basic insights, that he associates with labor weaken
but do not, as the term “breakthrough” may suggest, abolish the
ideological yoke that holds the individual mentally captive. The
newly acquired insight is a radical or critical perspective in the

sense that the individual has an altered view of the social system,
its goals, values, and organizational principles. The limits of
lordship and bondage have been surpassed.
But while “penetration” means that the individual can tran
scend the limits of ideology, he does not transcend the limits of
experience. Marcuse’s theory of historicity is no idealism or tran
scendental philosophy that allows the individual to become com
pletely independent of social existence, his thought and action to
be unconditioned by social factors. For the sake of clarifying the
precise character of Marcuse’s radically disposed individual, this
point should be emphasized. Within capitalist society all individ
uals share a context of meaning that can be construed broadly as
the ideology of exchange relations. Ideology shapes or mediates
each aspect of everyday experience. Consequently, the shared
ideological context of meaning is also a shared experience of
domination. At the same time, because this shared context of
meaning is structured according to class relations, the burden of
production falls predominantly upon a single class. As we have
seen, it is labor that generates the insights that transcend the
limits of domination established by the universality of exchange.
But the insights gained through labor do not displace ideological
beliefs. The norms rooted in the experience of domination medi
ated by ideology continue to influence thought and action, while
insights arising from the experience of labor challenge that influ
ence. Within the individual, ideology and critical insight com
pete. Members of the working class, therefore, view the society
dichotomously or ambiguously.
Society, in other words, cannot impose its ideology heterono-
mously, but neither is the individual autonomous. Marcuse sees
this as a position taken by Marxist theory. Marx, Marcuse ex
plains, did not understand man to be either self-determining or
determined by society but rather a “concrete historical life in a
concrete historical world. Neither man nor world is an autono
mous power that then would have to be brought into some rela
tion with each other after the fact.”33 Marcuse’s position, and
one that is implicit in Marx’s, is that with respect to the domi
nant ideology the individual is semi-autonomous. Because there
are insights obtained through labor, to some degree the individ
ual must be independent of ideological thought. By “insight,” it
should be recalled, Marcuse meant a primitive understanding

that labor has a social character,'that social factors are intimate
ly related to how the individual and society develop and have be
come what they are, and that the individual has no real control
over these factors. Insight is an understanding preliminary to
real knowledge of the structure and operation of the social sys
tem. Lacking certainty, insight is a disposition to real knowledge
and to the action based upon it but in itself is not sufficient
ground for action. As an important measure of independence
and autonomy, insight strongly suggests an individual who is
poised somewhat delicately or precariously between extremes —
between obedience to long held beliefs and their rejection, be
tween fealty to society and disaffection, between being com
pletely integrated into the ideological fabric of society and being
completely free from it. Insight connotes the formation of new
ideas and attitudes whose further development and expression
are constrained by the pressures of an ideological framework
that has been the basis of the individual’s identity within the so
cial system and that has conditioned the meaning of his every
personal and social relation. In short, the insightful individual is
also an ambivalent individual. A decisive question can now be
posed. How can a radical disposition escape the constraints of
ideology and become the standpoint from which the individual
begins to think and act? Or, put differently, how does insight be
come knowledge?
Marcuse’s response answers not only this question but also a sec
ond question that arises from a problem directly related to the
fate of the ambivalent individual. Before considering Marcuse’s
answer, it is therefore appropriate to define this problem and to
pose the question it raises.
From his interpretation of Hegel’s relation of lordship and
bondage and his examination of Marx’s concept of labor, it
seems evident that for Marcuse the ideas of all individuals within
a society originate within that social order. Certain of the ideas,
the rules laid down by the master or the ideological principles of
capitalism, are shared by all of society’s members. Other ideas,
specifically insights acquired through labor and belonging to a
particular class, are critical of these shared ideological mean
ings. Generally,* all thinking is conditioned or limited by the
meanings created within the particular social context and by its
social structure, that is, division of labor. When the issue is then
raised, on what grounds is capitalism to be judged, Marcuse’s
view is that standards of critical evaluation are to be found al
ready formed within capitalist society.
This point is decisive, of course, for it carries two very impor
tant implications. First, there is no danger that the ideological
principles of capitalism would serve as the final basis for de
termining its rationality. The rationality of capitalism would
always be challenged from within by the insights of working-class
individuals, which are inevitable expressions of the system’s
structural arrangements. Second, since critical standards of ra
tionality are internal to capitalism, there is no need to resort to
transcendental conceptions of right, the good, or other such uni
versal. In fact, since Marcuse’s theory of historicity maintains
that all meaning, including standards of truth and validity, are
formed within a historical, social context, his theory excludes a
transcendental foundation for criteria of rationality.
By maintaining that conceptual meaning, in particular, crite
ria of rationality, that is, concepts of truth and falsity or of right
and wrong, is always defined within a social context, Marcuse
has explicitly followed not only Hegel (as he is interpreted in
Hegel's Ontology) and Marx but Wilhelm Dilthey as well. Dil-
they’s view that all meaning is formed within and is relative to a
social context is endorsed by Marcuse. Dilthey, Marcuse ex
plains, understood that
all the [social] structures and [cultural] form s o f [historical-societal]
reality . . . have been produced by a definite historical life. And
only as such products in the concrete coherence of the respective life
do they have existence and meaning.34
Marcuse’s agreement with Dilthey that meaning cannot be de
cided on some universal, objective basis independent of social
life brings us directly to the new problem. Within capitalism
there are two fundamentally opposing views —the ideology of the
bourgeoisie and the ideals of the working class, capitalist institu
tions and socialist aspirations. Each is false from the standpoint
of the other. But if meaning or, in this case, rationality is inter
nal to a way of life and both views, as the perspectives of its ma
jor social classes, are internal to the capitalist way of life, are not
principles of capitalism and socialism equally rational? On one
occasion Marcuse characterizes the problem in very similar

terms.
If Marxist theory is only the form ulation o f a particular standpoint
under which a particular class necessarily experiences and in ter
prets reality, can M arxism then on the whole still m ean ingfully lay
claim to being a “true” theory? And then, is not the analysis o f ca p i
talist society and the theory of proletarian revolution based upon it
nothing more than a one-sided representation o f this reality, a his
torically unique perspective? From its perspective, does not the c a p
italist bourgeoisie have an equal claim to truth and falsehood?35
Marcuse’s definition of this problem is familiar. It does, in fact,

appear within an essay devoted to Karl Mannheim’s Ideology
and Utopia. Mannheim’s challenge to Marxism, according to
Marcuse, is for Marxist theory to demonstrate that the claims it
makes for socialism are more rational than the truth that capi
talism claims for its principles if, as is also an implication of Dil-
they’s theory of meaning, what is true and false is relative to the
social and historical situations of particular social groups.
At this point, the question raised by this problem can now be
considered along with the question posed earlier. First, how can
a radical disposition escape the constraints of ideology and be
come the standpoint from which the individual begins to think
and act? And second, how can the claims for socialism be proven
to be more rational than claims to the contrary? Marcuse re
sponds to both of these questions with a single answer—both fall
within the domain of philosophy, as we shall now see.
Social science makes an important contribution to the ques
tion of rationality. Through the social sciences, by which Mar
cuse means the study of political economy, it is learned that capi
talism is not a fixed, unchanging social order. As a society based
upon a particular form of private property, it is burdened with
contradictions that threaten not only its stability but also its very
existence. By introducing a variety of institutional modifications
these contradictions can be managed and stability preserved,
though the threat continues so long as the changes do not in
clude the elimination of private property. But the change to a
higher order of capitalism does not'exhaust the possibilities for
social transformation. Social science proves, Marcuse argues,
that the “future nature of the class society is determined and
worked out in extremely different ways.”36 Its future is not un

ambiguous.37 Social science can discover its developmental tend
encies, possible alternatives to the established order, possible his
torical solutions to the contradictions of capitalism. Marcuse
cites approvingly sociologist Hans Freyer’s description of these
tendencies: ‘‘These are, first, the Marxist tendencies; second, the
solution of a state-socialism; and, Finally, a new one that bases
itself on ‘folk characteristics’ rather than on orders of class or
state .”38 The contribution made by social science is thus one of
clarification, for the Final decision about the rationality of the al
ternatives—capitalism, Marxist socialism, state-socialism, and
National Socialism —must take into account the social tenden
cies that would constitute opposition to the formation of a ra
tional society. The question of truth is tied to the question of its
practical realization, to political struggle.
But the importance of social science lies equally in what it can
not know as in what it knows. While the social sciences are able
to clarify tendencies, it is not within their capacities to determine
the outcome of history, that is, to predict with certainty which of
the competing alternatives will supersede the others. This limita
tion of social science derives from the ambiguity of the future,
that is, from the fact that the beliefs and attitudes of individuals
are ambivalent, uncertain, and hence unpredictable. Because
the future is indefinite, because the outcomes of history are Final
ly the choices (though not necessarily the free choices) made by
the members of society whose choices cannot be known in ad
vance, social science cannot provide historical laws whose causal
necessity eliminates the problem of deciding which of the tend
encies or alternatives are rational. By virtue of this important
limitation of social science, the task of determining the truth
passes to philosophy.
Marcuse goes only so far as to say that the difficult task of de
termining the truth belongs wholly to philosophy. But for Mar
cuse this is already to define the means by which the truth can be
known, for philosophy is reason, reflection on its every principle
and on every assumption of social life. Beyond this, any attempt
to conceive unquestionable universal truths would be to compro
mise the nature of philosophy as an essentially reflective enter
prise. Consequently, the certainty that Marcuse denies to social
science he denies to philosophy as well. No claim to truth by
philosophy and no justification for any such claim is ever exempt

from further consideration. And it is precisely because philoso
phy is constant reflection on every position attained, or because
philosophy knows that the work of reason is never completed,
that through an act of volition it must finally decide on a ratio
nal positionl
But the philosopher’s activity is completed neither in the activ
ity of reflection nor in the act of deciding truth, for “truths are
not grasped in the work of knowledge in order to be laid on ice
and preserved somewhere in abstraction. In the knowledge of
truth lies the demand for its appropriation .”39 “Practice,” Mar
cuse asserts, “must be taken back into the innermost task of phi
losophy.”40 The practice that Marcuse demands of philosophy is
political practice. Philosophy must reach out to the individual
and engage him in political discourse; it must
encourage m ovem ents that go in the direction o f truth and hinder
those that lead to decaying m odes o f existence. T h u s, the noblest
desideratum o f all philosophizing, nam ely, the unity o f theory and
practice, can becom e reality.41
Marcuse has proposed a political but not a revolutionary polit

ical act for the philosopher. There is no doubt, of course, that
the goal of politics is the radical transformation of society and
that Marcuse’s philosopher becomes involved in politics with that
eventual end in mind. Yet, what comes through implicitly in
these early writings is a concern with the practice of political dis
course. Through dialogue an effort is made to engage not a radi
cal individual but an individual who at some level of thought
and action is disposed to radical activity. It is precisely this radi
cal disposition that makes discourse —and only discourse —a
practical and political possibility. It was the theory of historicity
that established the existence of such a radically disposed indi
vidual, and Marcuse’s earlier point will be recalled that “any
genuine methodology permits its approach to be directed by the
manner in which its object is given.” The concretely existing sub
ject defines the guidelines of practice. Where the individual is
not revolutionary, not class conscious, but ambivalent in attitude
and uncertain in belief, politics turhs into pedagogy, practice
into philosophical discourse, and insight into knowledge. The
radical act, the class act, does not occur spontaneously; it does
not precede but must follow reflection and the political discourse
through which reflection acquires a true understanding of the
social order. Through discourse initiated by philosophy radical
dispositions can escape the constraints of ideology. It is no sur
prise that in a discussion of the practical function of philosophy,
Marcuse points to the philosopher who celebrated the critical
function of political discourse.
Socrates still had the possibility o f addressing the individual person
in the m arketplace and o f philosophizing with him because the in
dividual person still existed within the society o f the A th en ian city-
sta te.42
Marcuse’s theory of historicity seeks to prove that the individual

still exists in modern capitalism. This individual, and the theory
that lifted the theoretical shadows that concealed him from view,
are the early hopes of Marcuse’s early writings.
Marcuse’s project placed the Marxist theory of revolution on a

new foundation. Reification had prevented the emergence of a
class conscious proletariat. Ideology was not so effective, how
ever, that it could paralyze the faculties of individuals whose in
sights, no matter how primitive, were the embryos of an under
standing of the social system in class terms. While theoretically
class remained the vehicle of revolution, its practical significance
depended upon another theory that would recognize the individ
ual as a viable political unit. Marcuse’s project, his theory of his
toricity, constituted this recognition. But although the project is
fascinating and compelling in its arguments for a critical disposi
tion that prevails in and against ideological hegemony, ultimate
ly it offers no more than an abstract theoretical outline of the
individual’s capacities for radical thought and action and the
barest proposals for engaging such a person in the affairs of poli
tics. Nevertheless, the project is no less important for these short
comings. At the close of this early period in 1933, Marcuse’s
work had placed him in a position to develop his project through
a theoretical and practical immersion in the social existence of
the individual subject. Marcuse had recommended this next
move when he declared that
*
philosophy can reach the individual in his existen ce only if it does
not conceive o f him as an abstract subject but conceives o f him in
the fullness o f his un iqu e historical d eterm in ation . T h is m ean s that
philosophy has to reach and grasp, along with the individual
person, his . . . societal b eing . . . T h e philosopher m ust know that
he has not only the right but the o b ligation to en gage h im self in the
concrete needs o f existence . . . T h u s, pu blic practice stands at the
end o f every gen u in e concrete philosophy. H en ce the accu sation
and defense o f Socrates, and his death in prison; hen ce P la to ’s p o lit
ical activity in Syracuse; hence K ierkegaard’s struggle w ith the n a
tional ch u rch .45
Does Marcuse perhaps have a definite purpose in mind for select
ing these particular examples? Is he not arguing implicitly for a
particular approach to politics in modern capitalist society? If
so, it is important to add that according to the norms of modern
democratic capitalism, the political activities of Socrates, Plato,
and Kierkegaard to which Marcuse refers would be considered a
radicalized liberal politics. Here lies the significance of Mar
cuse’s project —its theoretical recognition of the individual and
the politics that it entails.
Marcuse’s project never develops beyond its theoretical out
line. The question is why? The answer, I believe, is revealed by
the stage that the project had reached by 1933 in relation to an
event of that year. As of that time Marcuse’s theory conceived
only abstractly of the individual as capable of critical insight,
disposed to radical activity, though inclined by the pressures of
reification to view his society in ideological terms. Not yet having
passed beyond this abstract theoretical phase, the expectation
would be that the future political allegiance of the individual
would continue to follow the line of least ideological resistance.
Now comes a crucial point. If, before further investigating and
before engaging the individual in his concrete social existence, as
Marcuse declared philosophy must, a political event of such bar
barity occurred that all established political and traditional cul
tural forms of opposition appeared to have been swept into a
torrent of ideology, the danger could arise that Marcuse would
discard his project and abandon the individual, whom he could
no longer regard as a potential source of antagonism and
change. And this project would be discarded and the individual
abandoned prematurely. For under the impact of such a terrible
event the truth of concrete philosophy would be obscured —that

the individual believed to have succumbed to ideology along
with all other forms of opposition is actually disposed to resist
ance and that such a disposition is meaningful only when politi
cally engagedl
Fascism was that political event and, as will be shown in the
following chapter, did eventually lead to Marcuse’s abandon
ment of the individual. It will also become apparent that the the
oretical project that established the existence of the individual is
entirely absent after 1933. Hegel’s relation of lordship and bond
age and Marx’s concept of labor, the central elements of the the
ory of historicity and praxis, which proved the individual to be a
theoretical as well as a practical subject, have been discarded. In
the wake of fascism the hopes of Marcuse’s early years, which
bore the promise of the years to come, are lost.
Notes
1. “H eid egger’s Politics: An Interview with Herbert M arcuse by
Frederick O la fso n ,” Graduate Faculty Philosophy Journal, 6, 1 (N ew
York: 1977), p. 29. T h is interview was taken from the transcript o f a
film presented at a conferen ce on the philosophy o f M artin H eidegger
sponsored by the D epartm ent o f Philosophy, University o f C alifornia,
San D iego, May 4, 1974. As this part o f the interview clearly indicates,
it was sp ecifically the H eideggerian dim ensions o f his early work that
M arcuse later rejected. M arcuse judges these aspects o f his project by
saying that he “soon realized that H eid egger’s concreteness was to a
great extent a phony, false concreteness, and that in fact his philosophy
was just as abstract and just as rem oved from reality, even avoiding re
ality, as the philosophies w hich at that tim e had dom in ated German
universities, nam ely a rather dry brand o f neo-K antianism , neo-
H egelian ism , n eo-id ealism , but also positivism ." (W hat M arcuse
m ean s by concreteness will be exp lain ed shortly.) M arcuse does not say
how soon this rejection occurred. O ne cannot determ ine from this
statem en t, in other words, w hether he rejected H eidegger before the
early period ended in 1933 or afterward. I will argue in this chapter
that the break with H eidegger took place before 1933, although im
plicitly. But though I will show that M arcuse departed from H eid eg
ger before this early period con clu d ed , I will also argue that the entire
early project, that is, not only the work that incorporated H eidegger’s
philosophy but also the m uch m ore prom ising work that broke with
H eidegger while con tin u in g the project through in terp retation s o f

H egel and Marx was aban don ed after 1933 in the w ake o f fascism .
Since it is my conten tion that M arcuse’s early project sh ou ld be taken
seriously by contem porary social theory bu t, as th e ch ap ter w ill in d i
cate, I am also sym pathetic to M arcuse’s reasons for rejecting H e id e g
ger, I thus want to em phasize that the sign ifican ce o f M arcuse s en tire
project should be evaluated neither in light o f his rejection o f its sp e
cifically H eideggerian aspects nor in term s o f his a b a n d o n m en t o f the
entire project. It must be stressed as well that M arcuse’s rejection o f
the H eideggerian dim ensions o f his early work sh ou ld not be con stru ed
as an explanation for his ab an d on m en t o f the entire project.
O ne additional point deserves m en tion . O n other, th o u g h little
known, occasions M arcuse also expressed hostility tow ard H eid eg g er.
In an article published in 1965, for in stan ce, M arcuse praised "the
anti-m etaphysical structure o f the English la n gu age for c o n stitu tin g a
lim it,” in fact, “an agreeable lim it to a broader recep tion o f H e id e g
ger" in the U nited States. See "Der Einfluss der d eu tsch en E m igration
au f das am erikanische G eistesleben: P h ilosop h ic u n d S o z io lo g ie ,”
Jahrbuch fur Amerikastudien, 10 (H eidelb erg: Carl W inter U niversi-
tatsverlag, 1965), p. 29.
2. "H eidegger’s P olitics,” p. 28.
3. Ib id ., pp. 2 8 -2 9 .
4. In Karl Marx: Early Writings (N ew York: M cG raw -H ill, 1964),
p. xvii, T . B. Bottom ore reports that M arx’s Economic and Philosoph
ic Manuscripts were first published in a co m p lete and accu rate version
by the M arx-Engels Institute (now the Institute o f M arxism -L en in ism )
in Karl Marx and Friedrich Engels, Historisch-kritische Gesamtaus-
gabe (M EGA) (Berlin: M arx-Engels V erlag, 1932). T h is e d itio n
prom pted M arcuse’s essay on M arx’s Manuscripts, w h ich is to be c o n
sidered later in this chapter.
5. Herbert M arcuse, “C ontributions to a P h en om en ology o f H isto ri
cal M aterialism ," Telos, 4 (St. Louis: 1969), p. 5; origin ally p u b lish ed
as “Bcitragc zu einer P h an om en ologie des H istorischen M aterialis-
m u s,” Philosophische Hefte,\, 1 (Berlin: 1928), pp. 4 5 -6 8 .
6. Herbert M arcuse, "Uber konkrete P h ilo so p h ic ,’’ Archiv fur So-
zialwissenschaft und Sozialpolitik, 62 (T u b in gen : 1929), p p . 1 1 8 -1 1 9 .
Resorting to a play on words I have translated Geschdftigkeit as "busy
ness” to capture both its M arxist elem en t ("business”) an d its H e id e g
gerian dim ension (the activity o f b eing busy). E ither “business” or " ac
tivity” alone would fail to convey the m ean in g o f M arcuse’s argu m en t
7. Ib id ., p. 119. &
8. Ib id ., p. 120.
9. Consider the chapter entitled "Reification and the Consciousness
o f the P roletariat” in G eorg Lukacs’s History and Class Consciousness

(C am bridge: M IT Press, 1975), pp. 8 3 -2 2 2 .
10. “C ontributions to a P henom enology o f H istorical M aterialism ,”
p. 3 (translation chan ged ).
11. Ib id ., p. 7 (translation ch an ged ).
12. H erbert M arcuse, “On the Problem o f the D ia le c tic ,” Telos, 27
(St. Louis: 1976), p. 24; originally published as “Zum Problem der
D ialek tik” (part 1), Die Gesellschaft, 7 (part 1), 1 (Berlin: 1930), pp.
1 5 -3 0 . T h is article is a critical essay on Siegfried M arck’s Die Dialek
tik in der Philosophic der Gegenwart (T ub ingen: J. C. B. M ohr,
1929), the first h a lf volum e, and though favorable to Marck also d e
velops the problem o f the d ialectic beyond the au th or’s fram ew ork.
M arcuse reviews the second h a lf volum e o f M arck’s study (1931) in
“Zum Problem der D ialek tik” (part 2), Die Gesellschaft, 8 (part 2), 12
(Berlin: 1931), pp. 5 4 1 -5 5 7 ; also translated in Telos, 27 (St. Louis:
1976), pp. 2 4 -3 9 .
13. Ib id ., p. 24.
14. “Uber konkrete P h ilo so p h ic,” pp. 1 2 5 -1 2 6 .
15. Ib id ., p. 124.
16. H erbert M arcuse, “T ranszendentaler M arxism us?” Die Gesell
schaft, 7 (part 2), 10 (B erlin: 1930), pp. 3 2 3 -3 2 4 .
17. Ib id ., p .3 2 3 .
18. “C ontributions to a P henom enology o f H istorical M aterialism ,"
p. 14 (translation chan ged ).
19. Ibid.
20. Ib id ., p. 22.
21. H erbert M arcuse, Hegels Ontologie und die Grundlegung einer
Theorie der Geschichtlichkeit (Frankfurt: V . K losterm an, 1932). I
have used the third ed ition , published in 1975 by K losterm an; it is u n
ch an ged except for its om ission o f Grundlegung from the title, w hich
now reads Hegels Ontologie und die Theorie der Geschichtlichkeit.
22. Ib id ., p. 8. “W hatever this work contributes to a clarification
and developm ent o f the problem s is ind eb ted to the philosophical
work o f M artin H eidegger. Let this be em phasized in place o f all p ar
ticular ack n ow led gem en ts.”
23. Ib id ., p .2 8 2 .
24. Ib id ., pp. 2 8 3 -2 9 9 , in particular.
25. H erbert M arcuse, “T h e F oundation o f H istorical M aterialism ,”
Studies in Critical Philosophy (Boston: B eacon , 1973), p. 28; o rig in a l
ly pu blish ed as "N eue Q uellen zur G rundlegung des H istorischen Ma-
terialism u s,” Die Gesellschaft, 9 (part 2), 8 (Berlin: 1932), pp.
1 3 6 -1 7 4 .
2 6 . Ib id ., p. 34 (italics added and translation ch an ged ).
27. Ib id ., pp. 3 4 -3 5 .
28. Ib id ., p. 39 (translation ch an ged ).
29. Ib id ., p. 34.
3 0 . In an earlier article M arcuse h ad argued that the con crete d ia
lectic o f historical m aterialism elim in ates “causality and teleo lo g y ”
from M arx’s theory. See H erbert M arcuse, “B esprech ung von Karl
VorlSnder: Karl Marx, sein Leben und sew, Werk," Die Gesellschaft, 6
(part 2), 8 (Berlin: 1929), p. 188.
31. In "The Struggle against Liberalism in the T o ta lita ria n V iew o f
the State” (1934), published the year follow in g the N azi assum ption o f
power, M arcuse argued that “g en u in e historicity presupposes a c o g n i
tive relation o f existence to the forces o f history and, derived from it,
the theoretical and practical critique o f these forces.” Negations:
Essays in Critical Theory (Boston: B eacon, 1968), p. 34; origin ally
published as “Der K am p f gegen den Liberalism us in der totalitaren
Staatsauffasu ng,” Z e/tec/in /f filr Sozialforschung 3, 2 (Paris: 1934), pp.
1 6 1 -1 9 5 . Failing to integrate theory and p ractice, H eid egger’s theory
o f historicity is not “g en u in e” in the sense in d icated by M arcuse. In
this passage M arcuse is, in fact, clearly allu d in g to H eid egger. In the
context in w hich the statem en t appears, M arcuse is in d ictin g e x isten
tialism for extollin g the m an who acts w ithout first reflectin g on the
m ean ing or consequences o f his action . Such an in d ivid u al, in M ar
cuse’s view, is fascistic, as is the theory that turns u n reflected action in
to a virtue. W ithout an adequ ate cogn itive d im en sion , a theory o f h is
toricity, such as H eid egger’s, is precisely this sort o f existen tialism . In
this 1934 ind ictm en t M arcuse m ay be looking back u p on his early p e
riod and en gagin g in self-criticism for at on e tim e havin g b ecom e e n
tangled in a theory o f historicity that dbes not su fficien tly integrate
theoretical and practical activity. M arcuse was already on the path to
this particular critique o f H eidegger w hen the latter’s m issing c o g n i
tive elem en t, as we have seen, was secured by rootin g the theory o f his
toricity in H egel and M arx.
3 2 . Herbert M arcuse, “On the P hilosoph ical F oun dation o f the
C oncept o f Labor in E con om ics,” Telos, 16 (St. Louis: 1973), p. 34
(translation changed): originally pu blish ed as “U ber die philoso-
phischen G rundlagen des w irtschaftsw issenschaftlichen A rbeits-
b egriffs,” Archiv fur Sozialwissenschaft und Sozialpolitik, 69 (T u b
ingen: 1933), pp. 2 5 7 -2 9 2 .
3 3 . H erbert M arcuse, “Zur Kritik der Soziologie," Die Gesellschaft,
8 (part 2), 9 (Berlin: 1931), p. 277.
3 4 . H erbert M arcuse, “Das Problem der g esch ich tlich en W irklich-
keit: W ilhelm D il{h ey,” Die Gesellschaft, 8 (part 1), 4 (B erlin: 1931),
p. 361.
3 5 . H erbert M arcuse, ‘‘Zur W ahrheitsproblem atik der soziolo*

gischen M ethode: Karl M annh eim , Ideologic und Utopie," Die Gesclh
schaft, 6 (part 2), 10 (Berlin: 1929), p. 359.
3 6 . H erbert M arcuse, “Zur A useinandersetzung m it H ans Freyers
Soziologie als Wirklichkeitsivissenschaft,” Philosophische Hefte, 3,
1 -2 (Berlin: 1931), p. 86.
3 7 . Ibid.
3 8 . Ibid.
39. “U ber konkrete P h ilosop h ic,” p. 112.
4 0 . “W ilh elm D ilth ey ,” p. 367.
4 1 . U ber konkrete P h ilo so p h ic,” p. 121.
4 2 . Ib id ., p. 126.
4 3 . Ib id ., p. 127 (italics added).
\
TWO
Fascism, Rationalism, and the

A bandonm ent o f the Individual
If in the development of the State itself, periods are

necessitated which impel the soul o f nobler natures
to seek refuge from the Present in ideal regions— in
order to find in them that harmony with itself which
it can no longer enjoy in the discordant real world,
where the reflective intelligence attacks all that is
holy and deep, which had been spontaneously in-
wrought into the religion, laws and manners of na
tions, and brings them down and attenuates them to
abstract godless generalities—Thought will be com
pelled to become Thinking Reason, with the view of
effecting in its own element, the restoration o f its
principles from the ruin to which they had been
brought.
Hegel, The Philosophy o f History
Follow ing the Nazi assumption of power in 1933, Marcuse ini

tially fled to Geneva to escape the dangers of fascism and then,
little more than a year later, left Switzerland to seek refuge in
America.1 Fascism, too, was that period in the development of
the state that forced Marcuse to seek refuge for theory in an ideal
region.2 There its principles would be saved from certain ruin
and their critical disposition restored. Contrary to Hegel, how
ever, in the midst of crisis Thought may not easily become
Thinking Reason. It may not, in other words, be within the
power of reflection to effect a restoration of theoretical princi-
42
Fascism, Rationalism, and the Abandonment of the Individual 43
pies. The impact of crisis on the reflective capacity may be dra

matic, indeed crippling, and yet opaque. Such is the tragedy of
Marcuse. Though he avoided the immediate perils of fascism, it
was to leave its impression on his every work. In that one sense, at
least, there was to be no escaping the Fascist horrors. In a way
that never became apparent to Marcuse, their memory was
seared deeply, grotesquely, into the structure of his thought.
Within the historical context of fascism, for a period of rough
ly eight years, the theoretical project that absorbs all of Mar
cuse’s intellectual energies from 1941 onward begins to take
shape. The eight years prior to that date should be viewed pri
marily as years of transition. At the outset they are marked not
only by the Nazi rise to power but also by Marcuse’s association
with the Frankfurt Institute for Social Research. At the conclu
sion of this period Reason and Revolution is published, which
among other tasks summarized Marcuse’s conception of “critical
theory” as it developed since 1933.3 During the interim, Marcuse
wrote a series of essays in which the ambitions informing his ear
lier, pre-Frankfurt work were discarded. It is as though a sud
den, sweeping, and brutal purge of Marcuse’s intellectual history
has occurred. Essentially, these essays are theoretical fragments.
Examined together they show that a new project is being formu
lated. And there is barely an element of that project as it was
carried out after 1941 that is not present in some form during
this transitional stage.
With these brief introductory remarks I have defined the two
fold objective of this chapter. Expository analysis will focus on
the central concerns of Marcuse’s critical theory, as he under
stands them and as they unfold between 1933 and 1941. Fascism
is the nucleus of these concerns and each will be studied and ap
praised in relation to it. Of interest here, it must be emphasized,
is Marcuse’s explicit design, his deliberate theoretical response to
the emergence of the authoritarian state and society. At the
same time, through this analysis the contours of Marcuse’s future
work will be brought to the surface. Second, I will step outside
Marcuse’s examination of fascism and its related issues to a dif
ferent consideration of the effect of fascism on his theoretical de
velopment. Attention here will be paid to the manner in which
fascism shaped Marcuse’s critical theory, an influence of which
he nevertheless remained unaware. To a significant extent, Mar
cuse and his social theory became the victims of that crisis he a t
tempted to escape and to comprehend.
Marcuse’s writings, and those of other theorists belonging to
the Frankfurt School, are widely held to be unusually and per
haps unnecessarily difficult, often obscure, and occasionally im
penetrable. Whatever the merits of these claims as they pertain
to the entirety of Marcuse’s work, the essays written during this
transitional period are very clear not only with regard to style but
also with respect to the questions posed, the straightforwardness
of analysis, and the conclusions drawn. Furthermore, none of
the ambiguity characterizing many of Marcuse s later efforts is
present. On the contrary, Marcuse’s positions are stated with di
rectness, free of even irony and sarcasm. The steady clarity and
sobriety of this period may be the result of fascism, as though this
particular crisis lent a certain transparency to the complex
theoretical problems to which it gave rise and with which Mar
cuse became occupied. Nevertheless, the clarity Marcuse’s theory
does achieve during this period of his work will, in the final
analysis, prove to be illusory for it conceals a deeper and dark set
of implications.
Authoritainan State
Marcuse’s examinations concentrate on the tendencies and rela
tions peculiar to liberal, democratic, capitalist societies. His ana
lytical purpose is to identify the economic and ideological factors
in liberal capitalism out of which grew the authoritarian state.
Although National Socialism is the immediate form of Fascist to
talitarianism Marcuse considers, it is apparent that his real tar
get is the authoritarian state as a social formation potentially
heir to all liberal capitalist societies.4 There is, in other words,
common to all variations of liberal capitalism a foundation that
contains the seeds of fascism.
Economic factors are of singular importance to Marcuse’s
analysis. Private property, the individual entrepreneur’s owner
ship of the means of material production, is the fundamental
principle of liberal capitalism. As a basic right its preservation
and protection are guaranteed. But private ownership is also lib
eralism’s irratiopal element. Because this configuration is by na
ture prone to instabilities such as unemployment and inflation,
Fascism, Rationalism, and the A bandonment of the Individual 45
its preservation constantly endangers the social order. If eco

nomic contradictions become so pronounced that an economic
crisis threatens, liberalism’s commitment to the safeguarding of
property rights permits state power recourse to authoritarian
measures of control. Such measures would be directed especially
against political organizations that, representing the interests
and needs of those classes suffering from the impoverishment
brought in the wake of crisis, attempt to exercise their liberal
freedoms to alter the conditions of social existence. For this rea
son, in the event of crisis the rational elements of liberalism, say,
freedom of speech, press, and assembly, are suspended by the
state. Fascism expresses the inner logic of liberal capitalism or,
as Marcuse argues in “The Struggle against Liberalism in the
Totalitarian View of the State,” “the turn from the liberalist to
the total-authoritarian state occurs within the framework of a
single social order .”5
Sharing fundamental economic principles, fascism and liber
alism are consequently consistent with one another. This identity
of interests is hidden from view, however, because fascism openly
struggles against liberalism. Through its attacks on liberalism,
and among other examples Marcuse notes the attack on the lib
eral practice of sacrificing the nation and the state to conflicts of
interest between particular social groups, fascism derives politi
cal support for its claims to a superior social organization. But
the liberalism that it opposes is far more a creation of Fascist ide
ology than an accurate portrayal of liberalist doctrines. Histori
cally, for instance, liberal states have rescued the national inter
est from conflicting groups placing their own interests above it.
Fascism transforms liberalism into an abstract world view and
does so to disguise what it holds in common with liberalism: pri
vate property. Fascism’s struggle against liberalism is more a di
versionary tactic to conceal its deeper commitment to basic liber
al capitalist norms than the laying of an alternative foundation
for society.
Marcuse’s intention, then, is to pass behind the deceptive
appearance of radical differences between fascism and liberal
ism and to reveal their essential agreement. According to Mar
cuse, on two accounts specifically this agreement extends beyond
the simple protection of private property interests to ideological
norms that serve to perpetuate a social order rooted in the. insti-
46 T h e Im a g in a r y W it n e ss
tution of private property. These are liberalism’s “naturalistic in

terpretation of society” and “liberalistic rationalism.”
Liberalism believes that the right ordering of society occurs
when its processes are made to accord with their natural law-like
character. A familiar conception, it finds expression in the theo
ries of the classical economists. A natural, automatic harmony of
interests, wants, and relations is expected to prevail wherever so
ciety is organized in strict obedience to principles thought to pos
sess the scientific status of the physical laws of nature. Moreover,
the stability of these processes will remain as eternal as nature it
self. Fascism also embodies the liberal myth of naturalism in its
celebration of the “folk,” an abstraction that takes on a life inde
pendent of the fate of the real individuals who comprise the na
tion. Regardless of the latters’ destiny the folk will survive for it
alone is above the “unnatural” vicissitudes of history. Eternal
and indestructible, the folk enjoys all the qualities ascribed to
nature.
Liberalism’s naturalistic interpretation of society is tied inti
mately to its idea of reason. Central to the natural law of the lib
eral economy is the notion that progress results from the activity
of the individual entrepreneur left completely to his own devices.
The public good is furthered by quite ordinary entrepreneurs
pursuing their self-interest free from state interference. Reason,
Marcuse explains, is realized through private actors, but the
rationality of such a “privatization of reason” breaks down the
moment the society is plunged into crisis. At that point an em
barrassed liberalism can grasp only at justifications for its new
developments which clearly appear irrational when measured
against its own standard of a privatized rationality. One irration
al justification that Marcuse mentions is liberalism’s extension of
“favors," or “special privileges,” to those it heralds as “gifted eco
nomic leaders,” the unique entrepreneurs who stride forth to
conquer new economic frontiers in times of crisis. The gifted
economic leader, Marcuse contends, anticipates fascism’s charis
matic, authoritarian figure.
Private property, liberalistic naturalism, and liberalistic ratio
nalism are in Marcuse’s estimation focal points of critical analysis.
Around them can be constructed art understanding of the eco
nomic and ideological continuity between liberalism and fascism.
Underscoring these three elements, Marcuse seeks to shatter the
belief that the axioms of liberalism and fascism are contradic
tory. Fascism, in fact, is “produced” by liberalism as an institu

tional arrangement securing its highest priorities when the liberal
social framework fails to do so. Additional proof for this thesis,
Marcuse remarks, is the embryonic presence of the authoritarian
state in the monopolistic phase of capitalist development. It is at
this point, when the state first acts aggressively on behalf of
propertied interests that cannot flourish burdened by the organi
zational logic of “privatized reason,” that the Leviathan is re
vealed as the secret of liberal capitalism.6
If Marcuse concluded his theory of the dynamic relationship
between liberalism and fascism at this point, it could be criti
cized without difficulty and dismissed. Too many factors are
omitted from Marcuse’s analysis. Among all the criticisms to be
leveled, and they are too numerous to entertain, perhaps the one
carrying the greatest weight pertains to the significance of the ra
tional elements of liberalism in relation to the value systems of
ordinary individuals. This argument can be stated as follows.
Marcuse’s claim is that “despite structural variations” among
liberal societies their uniform economic and ideological founda
tions in the long run make them all equally prone to the authori
tarian state. If Marcuse’s thesis is correct, then authoritarianism
matures within the womb of liberalism despite, for example, the
establishment of institutions in some liberal societies that make
them economically and socially progressive to a greater degree
than are liberal orders in which such institutions are absent.
Against Marcuse it can be argued that so-called structural varia
tions do not properly encompass ideological and cultural differ
ences among liberal regimes. In those systems where liberal tra
ditions are deeply ingrained and liberal norms are internalized
by the society’s members, the transition from a liberal to an
authoritarian state could not occur without contradiction and
disruption unless there were a corresponding transition from a
liberal to an authoritarian society. Where a liberal ethos is Firmly
rooted in the polity a conflict would occur between popular ex
pectations and authoritarian state tendencies. Liberal institu
tions would sacrifice legitimacy in the turn to authoritarianism,
and faced with popularly held liberal dispositions the state would
be sanctioned negatively.
A liberal society, to formulate this criticism sharply, would be
forced to contend with the social contradictions that would arise
if it engaged in sweeping violations of its own most basic princi-
48 T h e Im a g in a r y W it n ess
pies, particularly in Violations of the sort associated with the

total-authoritarian state. Consequently, this problem directly
challenges Marcuse’s social theory, but he has met this chal
lenge. His analysis does reach beyond a theory of the rise of the
authoritarian state to account for the development of the author
itarian society. In this new context Marcuse offers an explana
tion for the support for fascism forthcoming from individuals so
cialized into the richest liberal traditions. And once again it is
liberalism that is implicated in the rise of fascism for it is the very
traditions of liberalism that constitute the underpinnings of the
smooth transition from a liberal to an authoritarian society.
Authoritarian Society
Before moving the discussion to these new issues, a few prelimi
nary remarks are in order. In “A Study on Authority,” the theo
retical investigation now to be considered, Marcuse critically ex
amines the concepts of freedom and authority in the history of
“social thought,” that is, in religious, philosophical, political,
and sociological thought as it evolved in bourgeois society. The
family is also a prominent concern in this study. The discussion
will be confined to the central parts of Marcuse’s investigation,
which establish its principal thesis and form the basis of his theo
ry of authoritarian society.7 In the relevant sections of this study,
Marcuse certainly could be viewed as uncovering the ideological
constraints that capitalism imposes «on social thought and as
showing the way in which these constraints are reflected in its
concepts. Though such an approach is not incorrect, it limits our
understanding of Marcuse by supposing that his primary focus is
simply social thought as it is molded by the relations and author
itarian tendencies of capital.
But Marcuse’s analysis is not confined to the disclosure of the
ideological content of philosophical and theoretical concepts.
While this is the ostensible purpose of Marcuse’s argument, a
crucial underlying assumption animates this study. Marcuse as
sumes that all the concepts he examines are integral to the ideol
ogies that inform the day-to-day operations of the societies in
which the concepts are rooted. He assumes as well, therefore,
that the philosophical and theoretical concepts are also common
to the belief systems of all individuals within these societies.
When Marcuse’s critique of the concepts of freedom and au

thority in social thought is interpreted as an analysis of the con
cepts of freedom and authority held by ordinary individuals, the
critique is being viewed, and most properly so, as an effort to tie
these concepts to the future development of an entire social sys
tem rather than just to specific philosophical and theoretical de
velopments. The social system is liberal capitalism and its fate is
its historical transformation into authoritarian society.
With these remarks it becomes clear that the following discus
sion, which is to explore Marcuse’s account of the transition from
a liberal to a totalitarian society, can proceed only by keeping in
sight the two levels on which Marcuse’s analysis occurs. Mar
cuse’s investigation will be reviewed on its own terms, that is, as
an analysis of particular concepts as they evolve in the social
thought situated in the historical context of bourgeois society.
His argument then clearly before us, its underlying assumption
can be recalled and Marcuse’s conceptual analysis tied securely
to his explanation of liberalism’s authoritarian turn.
Marcuse provides us with a double-edged perspective on the
bourgeois conception of freedom as it was born with the Protes
tant Reformation. Together, the religion and social relations of
feudalism bound the individual’s spiritual and practical life, the
inner and outer spheres of his existence, to repressive institu
tions. The Reformation broke this total domination of the indi
vidual by emancipating the inner sphere. Religious authority
could no longer dictate in private, spiritual matters. As Marcuse
points out, however, restricting freedom to the private life of the
individual permits domination to persist in the realm of practical
affairs. The Reformation’s concept of freedom is compatible
with a social order that functions according to laws beyond the
individual’s control and that frustrate his efforts to fulfill wants
and realize aspirations.
With this Marcuse defines the elements of the bourgeois con
cept of freedom. The progressive element of the concept rids the
individual of a spiritual tyranny, while the failure to take that
crucial step into the domain of practice marks the concept’s con
servative side. True freedom, Marcuse insists, must include two
inseparable aspects: freedom of thought must be joined by free
dom of action, freedom of the intellect (or spirit) by practical
freedom. But Marcuse’s argument is not simply that in their pre
T h e Im a g in a r y W it n e ss
50
occupation with the life of the spirit Reformation thinkers justifi
ably neglected the realm of practical affairs. Rather, the re
straints that capitalism imposes on free practice became interna
to the Protestant concept of freedom and are reflected in its ex
clusion of free action. The notion of inner freedom works to
blind the individual to external constraints. Marcuse expresses
this point by saying that
the realm o f freedom and the realm o f un freed om are n ot sim p ly

contiguous with or superim posed oh each oth er. T h ey are fo u n d ed
together in a specific relation . For freed om — an d we m ust h old fast
to this astonishing phrase despite its p arad oxical n atu re is the
condition o f u n freed o m .8
Marcuse explains that Luther first introduced a dualistic con

ception of individual freedom. Freedom was assigned to the in
ner person while worldly authority was given charge over all his
practical concerns. The sacrifice of the individual’s practical in
terest was of limited spiritual significance for no harm inflicted
upon him by worldly authority could compromise his spiritual
integrity. Authority as a physical institution, in fact, was looked
upon as a product of divine ordination established to protect the
faithful. If authorities engaged in corruption it was not a reflec
tion on the institution, which retained its legitimate standing.
Because the legitimacy of the institution cannot be compromised
by official acts, authority must be obeyed regardless. In practice,
at least, the individual is not free to distinguish between obedi
ence to an office and to that office’s incumbent.9
Obedience to authority is affirmed equally in Calvinism, al
though Calvin’s concept of freedom departs from Luther’s in sig
nificant respects. Luther’s inner spiritual freedom is devalued to
an extreme, and the individual’s practical activities assume a new
importance. The redemption of the individual depends largely
on his material success and the vehicle through which success is
to be achieved is not chosen freely. On the contrary, the prevail
ing standards of society are those used to measure success and it
is only through conformity to these standards —in the last analy
sis through absolute obedience to the authority that establishes
or represents the standards —that redemption becomes a possi
bility. Stripped of the Lutheran inner freedom, which allows the
individual to make (silent) moral claims against authority’s viola

tion of spiritual and temporal law, freedom, which is the condi
tion of material and spiritual success, is reduced to freedom to
obey.10
With Calvin as well as with Luther, Marcuse has argued, in all
matters of practice there is perfect agreement between the free
dom of the individual and the aims of authority. At no time is
there even a suggestion of possible antagonism between practical
freedom and authority. From the outset freedom is defined pure
ly in terms of authority.
Kant improves upon this Reformation scheme by recognizing
a fundamental antagonism between freedom and authority. The
discipline and obedience necessitated by any social order also in
fringe upon the prerogatives of freedom. Can this contradiction
be eliminated without either restricting freedom or destroying
authority and with it social order? Kant’s response to this dilem
ma is to incorporate restraint into freedom as one of its charac
teristics. Restraint upon free practice becomes voluntary, a free
act. In Marcuse’s judgment an insight into the structure of bour
geois society is contained in the Kantian notion of a voluntarily
imposed restriction upon individual freedom; capitalism must
make restraint a condition of freedom. Capitalism, in other
words, can tolerate only a substantially compromised freedom,
one that could not encroach upon its basic interests. But the in
sight is canceled when Kant conceives of the nature of freedom
as including restraint. With this conceptual move the infringe
ment upon freedom ceases to originate within the social order
and authority can be obeyed without the implication of coer
cion. Kant, following Luther and Calvin, in the end elevates au
thority to the position of final arbiter over practical freedom.
Freedom again becomes a private matter. Where the ambitions
of freedom would intersect with the public sphere, the former
must “freely” defer to authority.11
The antagonism between the individual and society, or be
tween freedom and authority, that is recognized but eventually
suppressed by Kant reappears with Hegel. Civil society is ac
knowledged unequivocally to be a coercive order rooted in pri
vate property. Propertied interests figure as the source of con
tradictions responsible for mass poverty, contradictions that
perhaps could be managed though not eliminated through civil
CANISHK co lleg e library

society’s ventures into imperialism.12 Bearing no promise of ulti

mately being resolved, the antagonism between individual free
dom and the principles of civil society is sustained. Hegel, how
ever, is not divorced from the cause of freedom. Freedom resides
in the state, which is independent of the interests propelling civil
society and is removed from the pressures and vicissitudes of a
propertied economy. But from Marcuse’s perspective, Hegel’s
state is an inadequate vehicle for practical freedom because free
dom can be realized by the individual only through strict obedi
ence to the state’s ethical norms. Marcuse’s verdict is that Hegel
mirrors the ideology that saturates the thought of Luther, Cal
vin, and Kant. Freedom appears again as subservience to au
thority.13
Side by side with the analysis of freedom and authority in Lu
ther, Calvin, and Hegel is Marcuse’s description of their theories
of the family.14 In each case the family emerges as the single
most important factor contributing to the stability and perpetu
ation (reproduction) of bourgeois society.
The authority that Luther assigns to the temporal sphere is
anchored in the authority of the parents. Educated within the
family to accept rules and commands laid down by the parents,
the individual acquires the proper set of attitudes toward the au
thority of social institutions.
Calvin adds a psychological dimension to the theory of the for
mation of authority patterns. The family appears as a unit of
socialization in which particular f\abits of submission are not
merely learned but also internalized at a deeper psychological
level. Experiences with authority figures within the family, spe
cifically with an authoritarian father, accustom the child to sub
jection. With Calvin, Marcuse argues, the precise social role and
nature of the family in bourgeois society become transparent.
Through its harsh patriarchal structure the family erects the psy
chological infrastructure that disposes the individual positively
toward authority and its functions in capitalism.
Hegel’s theory of the family resembles Calvin’s in its attention
to the psychodynamics of authority relations, although with
Hegel the transmission of authority in the family does not possess
Calvinist harshness. Hegel idealizes the social relations of the
family. As a real community of interests in which no individual
ever thinks to benefit at the expense of the whole, the family gen
erates the selflessness that is a prerequisite for the authentic com
munity sought after by the state. And because individuality is
swallowed up benignly by the family, at a higher level of social
organization —the state —the dissolution of the individual can be
reproduced. The state inherits an individual well taught by the
family to subordinate individuality to an authority presiding
over the common good.
As Marcuse’s analysis moves from concepts of freedom and au
thority to theories of the family in bourgeois thought, a thesis is
beginning to crystallize. Because of the decisive sociological and
psychological functions that they attribute to the family, bour
geois thinkers are shown to be at least as concerned with theories
of social organization as they are known to be with strictly theo
logical or philosophical defenses of their concepts of freedom
and authority. Accordingly, Marcuse’s purpose is to expose the
social, not philosophical, implications of these concepts. The so
cial implications assume the greater significance when philoso
phers and religious thinkers, who nevertheless have grounded
their concepts in some sort of metaphysics, look to the family as
the social institution to implant these concepts in individuals as
unreflectively held beliefs or attitudes. If individuals were social
ized, or in a word “determined,” to view authority uncritically,
such attitudes toward authority would become the unshakable
basis of a relation of domination.
Within liberal society, of course, these attitudes actually may
be no more than tendencies toward an authoritarian relation.
But Marcuse takes the social theories of the formation of these
attitudes to reflect the structural characteristics of bourgeois so
ciety. Consequently, to judge from his analysis of freedom, au
thority, and the family in bourgeois thought, Marcuse certainly
wants to claim more than a tendential status for these attitudes
as they are nurtured within the social framework of liberalism.
The momentum of his argument does seem to be leading to a
foreclosure of the possibility that under certain conditions these
tendencies could be expressed as any social formation but au
thoritarianism. This momentum is illustrated further by another
measure of the social implications of the authoritarian family ex
amined in “A Study on Authority."
Marcuse’s new targets become thinkers wanting to restore the

vitality of institutions shaken by revolution and who in so doing
assign a special place to the family in society. Focusing on the
ories of counter-revolution at the times of the French Revolution
and the German Restoration, Marcuse primarily considers works
by Edmund Burke (Reflections on the Revolution in France),
Louis Bonald (Theory of Authority), Joseph de Maistre (Consid
erations on France), and Friedrich Stahl (Philosophy of Right).
All defend the interests of the deposed or declining feudal order
against the ascendant bourgeoisie.* Among the many elements of
these somewhat varying theories of counter-revolution dealt with
by Marcuse is a basic anthropological assumption that he con
tends is their essential component. Man is assumed to be im
moral and corrupt, with reasoning capacities so defective that
the idea of a society founded on the will of rational individuals
becomes untenable. In the place of disabled reason is substituted
the guidance of an authority based on faith, religion, and the
prejudice of tradition. It is here that the family enters as the bul
wark of authority. It alone can insure the individual’s entry into
the ideological mainstream of custom and superstition. The
family is drawn into the expansion of state authority at the ex
pense of liberal practices.
Thus, Marcuse’s account of the theory of counter-revolution
completes his thesis. It is the authoritarian family that marries
the authoritarian state to an authoritarian society. The historical
detail that counter-revolution and restoration aimed to suppress
liberal bourgeois principles becomes theoretically irrelevant.
Marcuse’s point is precisely that since the theorists of counter
revolution maintain a conception of the family identical to that
of bourgeois thinkers, both schools are committed to the authori
tarian state psychologically moored in the authoritarian family
structure.
Some conclusions can be drawn now that Marcuse’s study of
freedom, authority, and the family has been reviewed. When it
is recalled that the concepts Marcuse analyzes are not simply
central elements of certain religious and philosophical systems
but are assumed to be common to the belief systems of ordinary
individuals, his analyses become miich more than expositions of
the authoritarian features of bourgeois thought. In effect, they
become aspects of Marcuse’s own theory of the authoritarian dy
namics of bourgeois society. This point deserves emphasis for it

places Marcuse’s study in a different light. He should not be un
derstood as saying, in other words, that Calvin (for example) be
lieves the family ought to manufacture attitudes of obedience
toward authority, but rather that the family in bourgeois society
in fact produces such authority patterns.
Proceeding with this point in mind, in the context of the work
discussed thus far it is evident that Marcuse’s theory of the transi
tion from a liberal to an authoritarian state is buttressed by a
theory of the total transformation of a liberal to an authoritarian
society. Individuals within liberal capitalism are socialized to
hold certain beliefs about authority that are supportive of an au
thoritarian state. When capitalism does suffer the inevitable cri
sis that gives rise to authoritarian state rule, there is no danger of
a contradiction between the policies and practices of the state
and the beliefs and values of the people. Never threatened by
mass disaffection, the state remains legitimate and strong in its
guaranteed reliance on popular sentiments.
Yet, this conclusion is premature for there is an obvious wrin
kle in Marcuse’s theory. Liberalism may submerge a genuine
practical freedom in a powerful disposition to obey and recog
nize the priorities of authority. But it also has authored an equal
ly strong belief in the ideal that practical freedom is realized in
creasingly in a gradually and steadily improving social system.
Coupled to this ideal of practical freedom are beliefs in the possi
bility of individual happiness and the fulfillment of human po
tentialities. Armed with and inspired by these ideals, the liberally
schooled individual hardly can be expected utterly to capitulate
to the authoritarian state, especially because authoritarianism
views such promises as false and the excesses of a decadent, bour
geois individualism.
This criticism is anticipated by another of Marcuse’s essays,
“The Affirmative Character of Culture.” Bourgeois society, Mar
cuse contends, makes a distinction between culture and civiliza
tion that functions as a stimulus to material progress. Segregated
from the realm of necessity, that sphere of social life in which the
individual labors to satisfy basic needs, the cultural sphere artic
ulates values that express the idea of a better, happier life, one
free of the travails and anxieties of an unpredictable, insecure
existence. Cultural ideals become a driving force behind the will
ingness of the individual to work hard and sacrifice for a future

in which labor and sacrifice will cease to be necessary or at least
not as necessary. Culture is critical in as much as it addresses the
inadequacies of society and haunts it with reminders of a higher
purpose, though at the same time it bestows its blessing by view
ing society as instrumental to achieving the visions that are the
idealistic stock of all social orders.
It is only theory, however, that understands culture to be, at
one and the same moment, both critical and uncritical of socie
ty. To the minds of ordinary individuals the ideal, critical char
acter of culture is lost. A pleasurable alternative to the ceaseless
toils that are the trademark of civilization, the cultural represen
tation of the ideal is confused with the realization of the ideal in
practice. Freedom, happiness, and fulfillment seem to find their
perfect expressions in their cultural embodiments. And since
cultural experiences, the enjoyment of art, for example, are in
ner, private experiences, freedom or happiness become internal
realities. A strictly internal reality of freedom can exist harmo
niously with the most unfree external reality. Culture, Marcuse
explains, endorses, or “affirms,” the prevailing society. In Mar
cuse’s words, the decisive feature of what he, after Max Hork-
heimer, refers to as the “affirmative character of culture”
is the assertion o f a universally obligatory, eternally better and m ore
valuable world that m ust be u n con d ition ally affirm ed: a w orld es
sentially different from the factual world o f the daily struggle for
existence, yet realizable for every individual for h im self “from w ith
in ,” without any transform ation o f the state o f fa c t.15
First encountered in Marcuse’s analysis of Luther, the concep

tion of inner freedom is familiar. When it is taken up within the
concept of affirmative culture its meaning and historical signifi
cance are elaborated. In his later work, Marcuse will dwell on
the unique critical side of affirmative culture.16 During this early
period, too, inner freedom denotes a private space that sets the
individual apart from the demands of social organization.
Though inner freedom steels the individual to an unfree reality,
it also confers upon him a “critical distance” from social con
straints. The individual, Marcuse explains, is only “partially mo
bilized” by social order; inner freedom is still a sanctuary of sorts
for freedom of thought and spirit —but only to the smallest ex
tent for the inner freedom nourished by affirmative culture ulti

mately betrays the individual and is responsible for the complete
reversal of freedom into domination.
It is during the Fascist period that the real meaning and his
torical significance of inner freedom cease to be its role as sanc
tuary of a critical spirit. As Marcuse understands it at this time,
the freedom promoted by affirmative culture is actually a reser
voir of dormant energies, ungratified instincts, and unrealized
aspirations pent up and pressing for an unsublimated release.
When liberalism turns to the authoritarian state to remedy its
ills, the luxury of inner freedom, which critically detaches the in
dividual from the social order, can be afforded no longer. In
fact, it becomes an asset to fascism rather than a liability, for fas
cism provides a ready outlet for inner needs. Internalized spiri
tual cravings are externalized in authoritarian mass culture. In
ner freedom, the hallowed liberal retreat for individuality, all
along has prepared the individual for “deprivatization,” “dein
ternalization,” annihilation. The partial mobilization of the in
dividual in the bourgeois epoch slides gracefully, terribly, into
“ ‘total mobilization,’ through which the individual must be sub
jected in all spheres of his existence to the discipline of the au
thoritarian state.”17 And the blame for liberalism’s turn to au
thoritarianism is laid squarely upon liberal beliefs.
T h a t individuals freed [from feudalism ] for over four hundred years
m arch with so little trouble in the com m u nal colum ns o f the a u
thoritarian state is d u e in no sm all m easure to affirm ative cu ltu r e.18
T h e intensive ed u cation to inner freedom that has been in progress
since L uther is now, w hen inner freedom abolishes itself by turning
into outer un freed om , bearing its choicest fr u it.19
No one can study the essays written during this period without
being struck by an extraordinary —though some undoubtedly
would say outrageous —feature. Marcuse’s analyses of the essen
tial properties of liberalism and fascism show them to be congru
ent without exception. The extensiveness of this agreement, and
its startling implications for liberalism, is conveyed by the notion
of “total mobilization,” which subsequently becomes "one-di
mensionality.” No thought, indeed, no form of thought (art,
philosophy, science, ordinary language, etc.), is spared “the
reshaping of all human existence in the service of the most pow
erful economic interests.”20 Although intended as a description

of authoritarianism, this remark is much more a comment on
liberalism’s failure to produce individuals, norms, ideals, and in
stitutions that to even the smallest degree are able to withstand
assimilation into a totalitarian form of life.
Fascism is the child of liberalism. It is a birth that occurs nat
urally and in which the entire family of liberal individuals parti
cipates. There is not another metaphor better describing the
dynamic (indeed, organic) relationship of liberalism to fascism
as Marcuse understands it. One truer to the actual relationship
would have referred to the rational elements of liberalism that
could abort the Fascist embryo. Individuals educated to liberal
freedoms are not equipped to accept uncritically authoritar
ian—or any other sort of—rule. In the rational elements of liber
alism, in other words, lie the seeds of opposition to the authori
tarian state.
These elements did not escape Marcuse’s attention. At one
point he declares that “all the tendencies from which the politi
cal demands of liberalism derive their theoretical validity (such
as freedom of speech and of the press, publicity, tolerance, par
liamentary government) are elements of a true rationalism.”21
According to Marcuse, however, not because of—as with the
bourgeois concept of authority —but in spite of these elements
the transition to the authoritarian state and the authoritarian so
ciety takes place without the least friction. Why are individuals
who are instructed in the elements of Jiberal reason omitted from
Marcuse’s analysis of the transition?
An answer is suggested by Marcuse’s assertion in 1934: “Today
the fate of the labor movement . . . is clouded with uncer
tainty.”22 That Marx’s proletariat seemed unable to fulfill its his
torical mission, though the economic and social conditions for
the revolutionary transformation of capitalism had been present,
meant more to Marcuse than simply labor’s uncertain future. As
vehicle of historical development and progress, the proletariat
was the objective ground of Reason and hence the rational foun
dation for critical theory. While it is not within the power of the
ory to rehabilitate the ailing revolutionary spirit of the proletar
iat, it must respond to this development by reworking its rational
foundation. Without such a foundation, the claims against soci
ety made by critical theory are weakened. Marcuse responds for
midably, but the foundation he newly provides proves to be

flawed. It contains an implicit set of assumptions that serve to
exclude from consideration the politics and rationality of the lib
erally schooled individual. Later, it shall become clear that it
was the fatal blow that fascism dealt to the labor movement that
ultimately led to this abandonment of the individual.
There are two equally significant dimensions to what I here
choose to call the “abandonment of the individual.” This phrase
means that the individual is discounted as a theoretical factor
possibly affecting the transition from liberal to authoritarian so
ciety and as a prospective ally in the practical, political struggle
against the authoritarian state. At this point, my intention sim
ply is to indicate that this abandonment does occur in Marcuse’s
theory and that it is related intimately to authoritarianism’s
defeat of the labor movement and to the new foundation Mar
cuse provides for a critical theory of society. Shortly, this argu
ment will be developed. For now it is merely suggested as a line
of criticism. When the discussion turns to a complete explana
tion of the abandonment, it will become clear that the exclusion
of the individual’s theoretical and practical significance was not
deliberate. As noted, it will be shown to have resulted from a set
of underlying assumptions hidden within the analytical frame
work of critical theory as the latter was conceived in response to
fascism. But there is another aspect of Marcuse’s theory strangely
at odds with this framework, one that therefore deserves first
consideration. It is present in Marcuse’s analysis of German soci
ology and carries with it different implications for the rise of the
authoritarian state.
Marcuse’s studies on freedom, authority, and the family were
accompanied by a brief essay critically examining the dominant
theoretical approaches to “Authority and the Family in German
Sociology until 1933.”23 Marcuse isolates two sociological con
ceptions of the family that had substantial theoretical purchase
within the discipline. Broadly described, the "naturalistic” inter
pretation of the family regards it as a natural and eternally un
changing structure at the base of society. Because it is prescribed
by nature the family and its internal relations are valid and not
open to criticism. And not only relations within the family, but
also the larger social and economic relations rooted within it,
share the quality of naturalness and likewise derive their validity
from that quality. While this first school views the family as orig
inating independently of social processes, the “sociologistic” con
ception denies the family even a relative autonomy from society.
Viewed as a unit duplicating on a small scale the structural rela
tions of the entire society, the family is presumed to have arisen
from and to be conditioned directly by the social structure.
Marcuse illustrates the faults of these approaches with careful
ly selected examples. In one seminal work published in the mid
nineteenth century that was a sociological classic at the time
Marcuse is writing, the family appears as the natural ethical
foundation of society.24 Concerned to protect the family from so
cialist and other tendencies within bourgeois society that could
alter its natural structure and functions, its author wages a noble
defense. The sanctity of the family and the virtues of liberalism
are claimed to go hand in hand. When the family’s members are
considered, it is the father who plays the major socioeconomic
and political role within the society, while women are bound to
the family and “naturally” assume no public functions. By offer
ing emotional and spiritual comforts absent from the economic
sector, the family serves as a refuge for the embattled male eco
nomic subject, thus preparing him for another day’s work. More
over, the patriarchal and economic authority assigned to the
father by nature and the equally natural subordination of wom
en are authority patterns transmitted by the family.
As one combination of studies proves, the sociologistic meth
odology consistently transforms the family into a unit compatible
with any social formation.25 The principle that the individual is
capable of thought that can change the shape and direction of
social processes is rejected. Not individuals but groups “think”
or, to put it differently, being prior to individuals, the structural
dynamics of groups determine individual thought and action.
The most important group within this environment of social de
terminants is the family. But though the family molds the indi
vidual’s thinking, it in turn is formed and reformed by the larger
social structure to accord with the latter’s imperatives. Marcuse
also criticizes a third study for adopting a very similar thesis.26
This study claims that the family is invaded by society and its
functions appropriated. Whatever independence the family may
once have had js gradually exchanged for a complete depen
dence on broader social tendencies.
Since Marcuse criticizes approaches to the study of the family

that lie at opposite ends of the methodological spectrum, his own
approach in this essay must fall somewhere in between. But al
though he does not subscribe either to the naturalistic interpre
tation that the family should entirely determine social processes
or to the sociologistic view that it is wholly determined by society,
it should not be concluded that Marcuse’s approach blends ele
ments of both methods. At least with respect to the family, any
sort of naturalism is alien to Marcuse. Marcuse’s approach nev
ertheless can be situated between the two methodological ex
tremes in several important ways. Marcuse understands the fam
ily as it appears within capitalism to be a product of a long,
precapitalist historical development. Capitalism then imposes its
own pressures on the family in order to bring it into conformity
with its own dynamics. Quite obviously, these aspects of Mar
cuse’s view correspond somewhat to what he has called the “soci
ologistic” approach. With Marcuse, however, the family can be
bent only partially to the service of capitalism for he strongly
contends that “the family has proved itself to be highly resistant
to the tendencies described” by those who study the family socio-
logistically.27 Historical structures, Marcuse is arguing, are not
totally malleable just because they are the results of a long histo
ry of social processes. A structure emerging from one historical
period to some degree will be unyielding to the pressures of an
other. Hence, Marcuse’s approach clearly is historical but not
simplistically reductionistic. And by giving the family a semi-in
dependent status from societal trends, he participates in what
might be called the “spirit” of naturalism.
What is the significance of this characteristic ability of the
bourgeois family to withstand pressures to conform to the ends of
capitalism? According to Marcuse, it is that the family does not
simply act as a "psychic agency” within society. It does not, in
other words, merely sculpt personalities to fit neatly into the
framework of capitalism. It also develops an individual’s psycho
logical and rational capacities, which allow him to think critical
ly about the social system in which he lives and works. The indi
vidual, like the family, is as much a source of resistance to social
processes and political pressures as a source of support.
Now it is readily apparent that this approach to the family is
opposed dramatically to that taken by Marcuse in “A Study on
Authority.” The investigation examined earlier looks upon the

family and its progeny as social atoms moving in unison with the
social system. In no uncertain terms, Marcuse judges the individ*
ual to be a pillar of the authoritarian state, a lubricant for its
growth and development. In retrospect, therefore, it can be seen
that Marcuse’s approach in “A Study on Authority” seems “soci
ologistic” —individual development parallels social develop
ment, with all individual needs and aims reduced to the needs
and aims of society. At this point, an issue of some concern be
comes visible. Why is Marcuse’s analysis of authority and the
family (in "A Study on Authority”) informed by an approach
that discards the individual as a source of resistance to authori
tarian society when his critique of other analytical approaches to
the family (in “Authority and the Family in German Sociology”)
insists implicitly on the existence of such an opposition to author
itarianism?
With this question the discussion Finds entry into an analysis of
Marcuse’s formal conception of critical theory. This entails an
exposition and critical examination of its fundamental principles
and will secure an answer to our question. But to understand
Marcuse’s conception of critical theory requires an appreciation
of the entire theoretical motivation that lies behind it. Another
of his critical essays, “The Concept of Essence,” must therefore
be considered first. This work remains at the level of a critique of
philosophical systems and specifically focuses on the concept of
essence.28 The level at which the analysis proceeds is noteworthy
for it reveals Marcuse’s purpose in undertaking this effort. Since
the theory of authoritarian society excludes the possibility that
either collective or individual opposition will be forthcoming,
Marcuse’s problem now is to discover whether resistance to the
authoritarian state has survived within the intellectual division of
labor. At least since Plato the Western philosophical tradition
has sheltered ideas critical of society. Has the critical disposition
of philosophy acquiesced to authoritarianism, or can it aid in
rescuing civilization and the socialist vision from barbarism?
Marcuse, in fact, begins by inquiring into the relationship of
essence and appearance as it is elaborated by Plato. His starting
point is not arbitrary. With Plato, the critical temper of the con
cept of essence receives one of its finest expressions. For Marcuse,
Plato’s “essence” derives its critical impetus from the philoso
Fascism, Rationalism, and the Abandonment o f the Individual 63
pher’s investigation into the universal and particular, the One

and the Many.
Although all things in the universe are different from one an
other, through logical procedures they can be classified accord
ing to their similarities. For instance, there are various kinds of
justice and happiness just as there are types of tables and chairs.
W hat is important, however, is not any particular form of justice
appearing to ordinary observation, but the Idea of justice. Con
tained within the Idea are all possible attributes of the object to
which the Idea refers. All possible attributes of an object, its
“universal” qualities, that is, justice or happiness in general, are
the proper concern of thought and the only basis of true knowl
edge. Through the Idea knowledge distinguishes between es
sence and appearance, the universal and the particular, the One
and the Many, or between that which is certain and permanent
and that which is transient and accidental. Both logic and epis
temology are joined in reason’s claim to know this difference.
Marcuse argues that the critical dimension of Plato’s concept
of essence springs from its meaning as “universal.” According to
the very nature of the universal, no society ever could realize, for
instance, all the possible attributes of justice. Societies always
could be more just. Consequently, the universal indicts the soci
ety for against this measure of true justice the society is inade
quate. Furthermore, though essence is established logically and
is the basis of knowledge, the universal is not simply an invention
of philosophy. On the contrary, the universal is descriptive of the
very nature or Being of reality, including social realities. As
such, it refers to inexhaustible possibilities for growth and devel
opment. Although later in Reason and Revolution he grounds
the concept of possibility in a logic rather than in an ontology,
this ontological character of Plato’s universal is of interest to
Marcuse. Ontologically, or logically as Marcuse subsequently ar
gues, possibility, or potentiality, remains a given of social life.
This is a point that Marcuse will stress constantly in view of the
attacks on the validity of universals, and the possibilities they
represent, made by logical and epistemological theories after
Plato. And there is a final and equally significant aspect of Pla
to’s essence that Marcuse emphasizes: its relation to the world of
appearance is not static but dynamic. All universals—justice,
happiness, freedom, and so on —are in constant motion toward
the realization of thett essential possibilities. This is the Plato of

the later dialogues. As Marcuse puts it, “The essence as poten
tiality becomes a force within existence.”29
At the dawn of the bourgeois era the classical conception of es
sence undergoes demonstrative changes with Descartes. Marcuse
interprets these changes from the standpoint of the historical
context of Cartesian philosophy, specifically in terms of socioeco
nomic constraints that Marcuse already has shown to influence
bourgeois thought. Liberated from the oppression of feudal or
der, the individual acquires an autonomy, a sovereign power to
shape his own existence. But the newly emancipated individual is
not a subject able to express his freedom practically. Laws gov
erning the economic processes of society are opaque, making it
impossible to bring the market under control. Because market
relations cannot be mastered, individual intentions and aspira
tions collide with unanticipated obstacles and produce unex
pected consequences. At best, uncertainties accompany the exer
cise of freedom; at worst, hazards.
Descartes’s philosophy reflects the new possibilities and the
new constraints of bourgeois society. Deprived of an arena for
practical freedom, freedom retreats into a secure world. Free
dom becomes freedom of thought. But is it secure? Can thought
gain access to certain knowledge or is it, like practice, subject to
“blind chance”? Descartes’s response, of course, is that the truth
fulness of all conceptualization should rest upon a single concep
tion that would serve as the unshakable foundation for all knowl
edge. Since no person ever doubts the concept of his conscious
existence, the cogito, or “I think,” is the criterion for conceptual
certainty. With thought being confident of the certainty of its
free exercise, essence, man’s universal potentiality, now can re
side safely in thought.
Marcuse praises Descartes’s concept of essence on two ac
counts. The certainty associated with thought makes thought ra
tional in an objective sense, while the freedom attached to
thought allows for all things to be judged according to the stan
dards reason devises. But Marcuse’s praise is balanced equally by
two criticisms. Once essence is located in thought it ceases to be a
property of existence lying outside thinking processes. W hat has
happened, in other words, is that the ontological character of es
sence has been lost through the reduction of essence to episte

mology. This change in the concept is decisive. It means that the
world no longer has a truth (potentialities) of its own behind the
way it appears to, or is comprehended by, the knowing subject.
This first point is crucial. Marcuse means by it that when the dis
tinction between essence and appearance is based upon episte
mological rather than ontological assumptions, the critical status
of essence becomes fragile. This happens because thinking proc
esses can be influenced by social processes and their ideological
supports. Second, the dynamic character of essence is also com
promised by Descartes. Restricting essence to freedom of
thought means that the inventions of human reason need not be
translated into practice. Potentiality remains inert. The critical
power of essence is doubly eclipsed.
As the bourgeois era unfolds, the critical dimensions of the
concept of essence continue to erode. Kant’s philosophy, in Mar
cuse’s estimation, forfeits what critical leverage Descartes had
preserved. Essence acquires its new definition in the context of
Kant’s pure theoretical reason. Marcuse focuses primarily on
Kant’s concepts of the understanding (such as causality), which
give form to the elements of sensual experience, and on the tran
scendental apperception, that unity of conscious processes that
integrates sense experiences and renders them intelligible. Be
cause these attributes of consciousness belong to every individual,
they are universal. And as the immutable basis of all experience
they guarantee knowledge a foundation in certainty. Universal
ity, permanence, and certainty—all characteristics of pure theo
retical reason —constitute essence. But although pure reason
makes knowledge possible by organizing experience, it provides
no standards by which to evaluate experience. With Kant, there
fore, the critical rationality of Descartes’s cogito disappears. And
following Descartes, the ontological and dynamic qualities of
essence are canceled as well. Like Descartes’s, Kant’s essence is
restricted to reason, and the stable forms reason imparts to con
scious experience embody no potentiality that is unrealized.
In the decades immediately preceding the rise of the authori
tarian state, the critical voice of reason becomes ever more silent.
Bourgeois philosophy, like the society of which it is a part, is not
in the least antagonistic to authoritarianism. It is the final mean
ing that is given to the concept of essence which signifies philoso

phy’s tacit consent to domination. Phenomenology and positiv
ism, Marcuse contends, exemplify philosophy’s compliance.
Marcuse’s analysis shows that Husserl’s concept of essence
makes no advance over Kant’s. He especially takes issue with
Husserl’s “phenomenological reductions.”30 For two reasons,
Husserl’s dual reductions fail as reflective vehicles for discovering
the essential basis of factual experience. First, the phenomeno
logical “bracketing,” which suspends judgments and eliminates
biases that otherwise would interfere with reflection on experi
ence, is no more than an indifference to the true social meaning
and implications of experience. That all experience is equally
significant because reflection is concerned only with its common
foundation denies reason the opportunity to discriminate among
different forms of experience according to definite standards.
For example, it is not within the province of phenomenological
reflection to declare experiences within a social system rational
or irrational or to identify potentialities for social reorganization
and growth beyond those officially recognized. Second, the sub
ject that is found to be the basis of experience is not a particular
group, class, or social institution. Phenomenological analysis
purges experience of social and historical determinants. Hus
serl’s subject is transcendental —to Marcuse, not a step removed
from Kant’s pure theoretical reason. As the absolute, certain, es
sential foundation of all experience, the transcendental subject
retains its truth even if the experience is that of authoritarian
ism. Taking both points together, Marcuse appears to be saying
that Husserl permits the irrationality of experience to be ne
glected and that the presence of the transcendental subject at the
basis of that experience allows essence to coexist peacefully with
irrationality.
Husserl’s phenomenology thus paralyzes the critical power of
essence. Essence ceases to represent a truth against which the
facts of experience, that is, the way in which the social order ap
pears, can be condemned as false. For all intents and purposes,
Husserl has abolished the distinction between essence and ap
pearance. With no truth independent of the world of appear
ance, the latter assumes the status of truth by default. In this
event, phenomenology comes to resemble positivism, which
holds that the only valid objects of knowledge are observable
facts. Only the facts are real, positivism alleges, and there are no
grounds for believing in an essence, a truer world, apart from
them. As Marcuse says, using for the first time an expression that
will figure prominently in his future work, according to positiv
ism “the world of facts is, so to speak, one-dimensional.”31 And if
the given facts are the facts of authoritarianism, positivism and
phenomenology collaborate in its affirmation.32
The distinction between essence and appearance is no esoteric
philosophical conception. It is fundamental. Without it philos
ophy relinquishes any possibility of thinking critically. Marcuse’s
analysis of this development is clearly a difficult theoretical
study. It is painstaking in its attention to detail, much more so
than an exposition can hope to capture. Its detail radiates a cer
tain urgency or perhaps anxiety. It is as though Marcuse is turn
ing over every philosophical stone to recover some critical bear
ing that remains untouched by the authoritarian dynamics of
bourgeois society.
All these qualities of Marcuse’s study are indicative of its real
purpose. Though it is conducted at the level of a philosophical
analysis, Marcuse’s critique of philosophy is not designed simply
to expose philosophical errors or to stake out an opposing philo
sophical terrain. Marcuse’s great concern is with what the politi
cal practice implicit in philosophical discourse shows about the
nature of society. Marcuse is waging a battle for ideas that, in
the complete absence of other sources of opposition, continue to
transcend this society and to call it into question. As an enter
prise removed from society in the sense that it makes no contri
bution to the mechanics of social organization and the produc
tive process, philosophy, by virtue of its “distance,” should be less
vulnerable to social and political dynamics than is the thought of
ordinary individuals. Transcendent ideas should endure within
philcsopny—that they do not is far more significant than philos
ophy’s affirmation of the status quo. It is revealing of the sheer
power of authoritarianism to coordinate the most remote forms
of thought with its political ends.
T he Theoretical Response to Authoritarianism

Important, then, is not only that philosophy has submitted to
authoritarianism by severing its critical lifeline. Its compliance is
also an exceptional measure of the extensiveness of the integra

tion of thought into authoritarian society. When critical theory
now responds to authoritarian domination, it must respond to
total domination. Its conceptual structure must express an oppo
sition that is equally total.
When considering critical theory’s response to authoritarian
ism, it is appropriate to begin with its own concept of essence.33
For although critical theory is joined by a second fundamental
principle, essence is its pivotal cojicept, the nucleus around
which all other articles revolve. Hegel’s concept of essence in
forms that of Marcuse’s critical theory, a debt Marcuse willingly
acknowledges. Very shortly, the discussion will return to the sig
nificance of Hegel’s philosophy for Marcuse when there is occa
sion to consider Reason and Revolution. Presently, four aspects
of Hegel’s concept of essence warrant brief mention.
First, Hegel’s essence refers to possibilities or potentialities, in
other words, to that which is unrealized. As it appears, for exam
ple, society is always false to an extent because its beliefs, rela
tions, and institutions contain possibilities for more rational
beliefs, social relations, and institutions.
Next, the realm of possibility denoted by the concept of es
sence turns essence into a critical concept. Only that is true
which has developed its potentialities fully.
Third, Hegel’s concept of essence is dynamic and historical.
Possibilities are continually in the process of developing, and as
they do new possibilities unfold. This dynamic is historical be
cause new possibilities develop through the actions of unique in
dividuals within historical periods, through the norms that con
stitute cultural epochs, the structural principles of economic and
social relations, the practices of the state, and so forth.
Last, though the dynamic process is rooted in the greatest va
riety of historical factors, it is eventually reduced to an ontologi
cal foundation. It is Reason (or Being) that evolves historically.
All elements that comprise history —cultures, actors, principles,
states —are instruments of Reason, particular possibilities that
are expressions of universal potentialities. As the expressions of
possibilities that are contained a priori in Reason, history is in
fact the manifestation of a predetermined rational structure.
Consequently, not only are the possibilities seized and developed
by man not originally authored by him but by the labor of Rea
son, but also potentiality is limited by Reason in virtue of its be

ing the Absolute (whole or sum of all potentialities).
With the exception of the final characteristic, all are incorpo
rated into Marcuse’s concept of essence (though not without
modification). For several reasons, Marcuse continues to be hos
tile to any ontological formulation of essence. Man must be the
driving force of the dialectic, not some abstract Reason. And
while the possibilities for human and social development are lim
ited within any societal constellation for Marcuse, those actually
developed are not determined for man but by him from a range
of historical possibilities. Moreover, the possibilities for future
historical development must remain open, “indeterminate,” and
never foreclosed by any self-contained conceptual or societal
framework of rationality.
It is Marx’s materialism that enables Marcuse to meet these
new stipulations for a concept of essence. Man is the author of
history, meaning the history of all forms and aspects of social or
ganization. History is the objective, material expression of human
potentialities. As man creates history, he also creates himself.
Creativity is always self-creation; productivity is self-production.
As the fruit of human activity, historical formations (accumu
lated levels of knowledge and technological development) are the
instruments or tools with which man engages in further self-pro
duction as well as production. Human potentiality, human es
sence, therefore, lies as much outside man in his historical crea
tions as it lies within him.
Although man is the author of history, of man’s nature, he
does not author them freely. Broadly conceived as human histor
ical activity, essence is embodied in every society’s perpetually
changing relations, in the totality of social processes. As the to
tality of relations develops, so does man’s essence. Historically,
however, the totality always has been, as Marcuse describes it,
“an inherently multi-dimensional, organized structure.”34 In
other words, social, economic, political, and cultural processes
have been organized such that one of these levels, the economic,
is more fundamental and stamps all relations with a definite
character (e.g., feudal or capitalist). The resulting forms of so
cial organization always have disposed over what is to be produced
and how production is to occur. In this way, the history of hu
man development has taken place unfreely. In the current his
torical period it is capital and its production relations that form

the basis of and shape all other processes.
Following Marx, Marcuse’s view is that the possibilities inher
ent in the production relations of capitalism are qualitatively dif
ferent from those realized in capitalist and precapitalist social
formations. Materialism maintains, of course, that the contra
dictions of capitalism should lead ultimately to the elimination
of private property and to the socialist reorganization of produc
tion relations. Socialism, however, is not merely one historical
possibility among others. Through the abolition of private prop
erty and alienation, socialism restores to the individual the free
dom to “assimilate all the wealth of previous development,” that
is, the freedom to utilize the intellectual and material achieve
ments of history to develop his own potentialities.35 Socialism is
thus the realization of a historical possibility that establishes the
preconditions for the realization of all human possibilities. Free
ly produced, the essence of man then would become truly his es
sence.
If essence is embodied in the totality of a society’s social proc
esses, must not the tendency toward authoritarianism, which is,
as we have seen, another possibility within capitalism, be counted
as another essential possibility for human development? A sec
ond principle of Marcuse’s critical theory now becomes perti
nent. In its determination of what constitutes m an’s essence, crit
ical theory is not objective in the sense of being value-free but
possesses a normative criterion by whifch it distinguishes between
essential and merely historical, true and false possibilities. Theo
ry’s criterion is its “concern for m an,” its “interest” in his emanci
pation. It necessarily follows from this commitment that critical
theory must incorporate freedom into its concept of essence and
that essential possibilities are those that promote freedom. Mar
cuse argues these points by saying that
just as the co n ten t o f th e m a teria list n o tio n is h isto rica l an d o r i
en ted tow ard p ractice, th e way in w h ich it is arrived at is also d e te r
m in ed by historical an d p ractical p resu p p osition s . . . It is d e te r
m in ed w ith in th e fram ew ork set by the h istorical g o a ls w ith w h ich
m a teria list theory is lin k ed . N o t on ly^ lo th e interests resu ltin g from
these g oals play a role in esta b lish in g w h at is essen tia l, they en ter
in to the co n ten t o f the c o n c ep t o f e sse n c e .36
The “interest of freedom” is “thus preserved in materialist theo

ry.”37 Authoritarianism is not an expression or realization of
human essence because it robs man of his self-productive free

dom —a freedom that is the essence of all human essence.
In the concept of essence as human potentiality and in the in
terest of freedom we have the two basic principles of Marcuse’s
critical theory. Both of these principles, as has been shown, are
tied intimately to materialist theory. The conception of potenti
ality is Filled out, so to speak, by an analysis of the possibilities for
change and development shaped by the economic structure of
society, while the interest of freedom derives from materialism’s
proof that these potentialities will be realized only through a so
cialist reorganization of the relations of capital. In “Philosophy
and Critical Theory,” Marcuse summarizes these principles by
explaining that there “are two basic elements linking material
ism to correct social theory: concern with human happiness, and
the conviction that it can be obtained only through a transfor
mation of the material conditions of existence.”38
Its specific conceptions of potentiality, freedom, and happi
ness comprise the truth of critical theory. They appear to theory
as the highest good, as the truest aims of social life, because m a
terialism demonstrates that not only the achievements of history
but also the social class produced by its most advanced, capital
ist, stage converge to bring about their final realization. This last
point, now almost commonplace in Marxist theory, is extremely
important. Theoretically it means that the truth that critical
theory maintains is not true in itself. It is true because it derives
from the existence of a class within capitalist society whose objec
tive function is to give birth to a new history of human freedom
and happiness by radically altering the material conditions of
life. This objective revolutionary function of the proletariat gives
the truth of critical theory its substance as an empirical, histor
ical truth. In the first and final analysis, the truth of critical
theory is a contingent truth.
With the revolutionary agent of historical transformation van
quished by the authoritarian state and society, are critical theory
and its truth refuted? To recall the earlier formulation of this
problem, how will Marcuse’s critical theory respond to the his
torical situation of total domination? His response is anticipated
in this candid recognition of the problem.
W h a t, h ow ever, if th e d e v e lo p m en t o u tlin e d by the theory does not
occu r? W h a t if th e forces th at w ere to b rin g a b ou t th e tra n sfo rm a
tion are su p p ressed an d a p p ea r to be d efeated ? L ittle as th eory’s
truth is thereby co n tra d icted , it nevertheless app ears th en in a new

ligh t w hich illu m in ates new aspects an d elem en ts o f its o b ject. T h e
new situ ation gives a new im p ort to m an y d em a n d s an d in d ices o f
the theory, w hose ch a n g ed fu n ctio n accords it in a m ore in ten sive
sense the ch aracter o f “critical th eory” . . . T h is situ a tio n co m p els
theory anew to a sharper em p h asis on its co n cern w ith the potential*
ities o f m an and w ith the in d iv id u a l’s freed o m , h ap p in ess, and
rights co n ta in ed in all o f its a n alyses.39
Critical theory is not invalidated by the absence of a class con

scious revolutionary agent. It responds to a situation that has
ruptured the bond between theory and practice with, as Marcuse
says, a new stress upon theory. Theory must now underscore con
ceptual elements that can preserve and protect its truth from the
fate suffered by its practical agency. To do so is an obligation in
curred by its “interest of freedom,” or its “concern for m an,” in
Marcuse’s terms. And, of course, critical theory undertakes to
guard its truth simply because it believes it to be the truth. To
adhere stubbornly to the truth against an authoritarian reality
that threatens it is an authentic act of political opposition.
The precise nature of Marcuse’s response to authoritarianism
is now but a short step away. In the excerpted statement Marcuse
has offered several clues. In the present situation, he explains,
theory has a “changed function” and becomes, “in a more inten
sive sense,” a “critical theory” with a new and “sharper emphasis
on potentialities, freedom, and happiness.” What this means is
that critical theory becomes emphatically “theory”; that is, it ar
ticulates its goals, its truth, without reference or direct appeal to
a practical agent of historical change for that agency is no longer
a conscious revolutionary subject. Critical theory especially re
tains its theoretical allegiance to political economy because m a
terialism is the basis of its concept of essence and identifies struc
tural tendencies in the social system that can lead to radical
change. Critical theory, Marcuse reaffirms, “is economics itself
insofar as it deals with contents that transcend the realm of es
tablished economic conditions.”40
Also, in the absence of an agent that joins critical theory in an
apprehension of theoretical possibilities as real historical possi
bilities, the transcendent possibilities now sharply emphasized by
critical thepry are purely objective but their objective status is
open to question. Claimed to exist independently of any subject’s
failure to comprehend them, transcendent possibilities become,

as Marcuse says, critical theory’s “utopian element.”41 This point
can be put differently. Since, in the absence of a revolutionary
subject who is aware of objective possibilities for change (con
scious of its own objective historical function) these objective
possibilities for transformation are attested to by theory only,
critical theory is placed in the awkward position of defending
possibilities that appear unrealistic or imaginary. Consequently,
when critical theory changes its function by becoming strictly
theoretical, it must be accompanied by a very important revision
in its conceptual framework. An adequate theoretical response
to an authoritarian reality that contests its truths as illusory, its
essence as fiction, will be to provide this truth with a philosoph
ical foundation that establishes its certainty and rationalityl
Marcuse’s great work culminating his period of theoretical
transition begun in 1933, Reason and Revolution, is an interpre
tation of Hegel offering analyses that converge on the task of
providing a foundation for the truth of critical theory. This task,
though not the express aim of the study, nevertheless is the indis
pensable feature without which the study would fail. Written
during the era when the National Socialists, and many of their
opponents, viewed Hegel as an ideological forefather of the au
thoritarian state, Reason and Revolution is a work explicitly de
voted to an elaborate and highly systematic exposition of those
tendencies in Hegel’s philosophy hostile to fascism. There is also,
however, an underlying preoccupation with revealing within He
gel’s philosophy a logical and epistemological theory opposed to
positivism. But the provision of a foundation for critical theory
and the analyses of the antiauthoritarian and antipositivist as
pects of Hegel’s philosophy are not three separate objectives of
Reason and Revolution. Rather, they are all accomplished
through the development of a single thesis with the foundations
argument at its core.
The way in which Marcuse’s interpretation of Hegel weaves
these three objectives into a single thesis is fascinating. Positiv
ism, as Marcuse also alleges in the earlier essay on the concept of
essence, implicitly affirms the authoritarian state. It does so
through its claim that knowledge must be confined to observable
facts as they are presented in our ordinary experience. Such a
principle denies the validity of critical theory’s concepts that
point beyond the established social and political facts (social or
ders) to transcendent possibilities. By defending the validity of
the conception of transcendent possibility, which is based upon
his examination of Hegel’s philosophy, Marcuse wages a critique
of positivism that simultaneously provides the rational founda
tion for the truth of critical theory. And at the same time, since
Marcuse’s foundation is drawn from Hegel’s own thought, this
foundation frees Hegel from the accusation that his philosophy
could certify any established social order as true. The rationality
of transcendent possibility, central to Hegel’s logic, indicts as ir
rational and authoritarian all social systems that obstruct the re
alization of human potentiality.
Marcuse’s exposition of Hegel’s philosophy is thoroughly com
prehensive and exacting in its attention to and affection for
Hegel’s fine detail. What is salient here, however, is not a review
of Marcuse’s exposition but its major thesis. In Marcuse’s analysis
of Hegel’s Early Theological Writings, the first philosophical
writings (the Difference between Fichte's and Schelling’s System
of Philosophy, Faith and Knowledge, the “Relation of Skepti
cism to Philosophy”), the first political writings (“The German
Constitution”), his System o f Morality, the Jena system (particu
larly the Jena Logic and Philosophy of Mind), the Phenomenol-
ogy of Mind, Science of Logic, the Logic, Philosophy o f Right,
and the Philosophy o f History, a single motif appears consistent
ly as Hegel’s foremost concern. All the differences among these
greatly varied works, though discusse'd by Marcuse, ultimately
are passed over and resolved into the uniform theme of the “uni
versal.”42
I described the four basic components of Hegel’s universal
during the discussion of his concept of essence. For Hegel, es
sence and the universal are in fact one and the same. Only one
additional property of the universal should be noted. The uni
versal is true according to the principles of dialectical logic.
Thus, Marcuse’s insistence on viewing the universal as the cen
tral motif of all of Hegel’s works implies that their respective
arguments are grounded in Hegel’s logic, especially the system of
the Science of Logic. The question of the correctness of this in
terpretation of Hegel falls outside the scope of this study of M ar
cuse and is not relevant to it. W hat is significant is to remember
why Marcuse pursues this particular interpretation. The reason,
Fascism, Rationalism, and the Abandonment of the Individual lb
as explained, is that Marcuse seeks a foundation for the truth
claimed by critical theory, a task imposed upon him by the his
torical circumstances confronting critical theory. The main
point is that Marcuse seizes upon the logic of the universal as a
rational, philosophical foundation for critical theory’s concept of
possibility. Whether the universal actually is a satisfactory foun
dation for critical theory is taken up in another chapter.43 At this
time the focus of the discussion is a description of the revised
conceptual framework of critical theory when its theoretical
weight comes to rest upon Hegel’s universal.
Marcuse draws out the implications of the logical properties of
universals. A particular fact or set of facts is an expression of a
universal but is not its equivalent. The (factual) nature of man
within capitalism, for instance, partakes of the universal “m an
kind,” or “m an,” but according to the logic of universals m an
kind is more than man appears to be in a capitalist society. Logi
cally, “m an” refers not only to men as they have appeared past
and present but to all possible men. The same property of possi
bility belongs to all universals, and everything that has been
encountered historically and all that comprises our own world,
organic and inorganic, the products of mind or matter, has a
universal as well as a particular form.
If thought is to be rational, therefore, it must be guided by the
logic of universals. It must refuse to define as true the form that
something—be it man, the state, justice, happiness, and so
forth —has taken historically or assumes in the present. Reason
proclaims truth to be in the continual unfolding of potentiality.
And a society is rational and true only to the extent that it con
tributes to this end.
Rational thought, guided by the universal as the criterion of
truth, thus implies a very special kind of thinking. Reason is
“negative thinking,” as Marcuse calls it. To think negatively, or
dialectically, is to conceive of things as they appear as being lim
ited. Such conceptions spring from a recognition of something’s
potentiality. To think in this manner is to deny, cancel, or “ne
gate” a thing’s apparent form. And to think negatively, critical
ly, there must be freedom of thought. Rational faculties must be
free from any sort of conditioning by social and political factors
that would blind reasoning processes to the existence of possibil
ities for growth and development.
We need go no further to understand how Marcuse’s new in

terpretation of Hegel, with its singular emphasis on the universal,
lays the foundation for the rationality of critical theory’s concept
of possibility and in the same theoretical sweep lays positivism to
rest and vindicates Hegel of all charges of authoritarianism.
What must be stressed is that all this is brought to pass only
through a defense of the concept of possibility, of the universal.
That this foundation for critical theory’s truth is the project at
the very heart of both Marcuse’s critique of positivism and his
vindication of Hegel is made clear in this passage from Reason
and Revolution.
Positivism , the ph ilosop h y o f c o m m o n sense, a p p ea ls to th e c e r ta in
ty o f facts, bu t, as H egel show s, in a w orld w h ere facts d o n o t at all
present w h at reality can and o u g h t to b e, positivism a m o u n ts to g iv
in g up the real p o te n tia lities o f m a n k in d for a false a n d a lie n w o rld .
T h e positivist attack on universal c o n c ep ts, on th e g r o u n d th ey c a n
not be red u ced to observable facts, c a n cels from th e d o m a in o f
kn ow led ge everyth ing th at m ay not yet be a fa ct . . . W h e n h e e m
phasizes tim e and again that th e u n iversal is p r e -e m in e n t over th e
particu lar, he is stru g g lin g again st lim itin g tru th to th e p a r ticu la r
“g iv e n .” T h e universal is m ore th an th e p a rticu la r . T h is sig n ifie s in
the co n crete that th e p o te n tia lities o f m en an d th in g s are n o t e x
hau sted in the given form s an d rela tio n s in w h ich they a c tu a lly a p
pear; it m ean s th at m en and th in gs arc all they h ave b e e n a n d
actu ally are, and yet m ore th a n all th is. S e ttin g th e tru th in th e u n i
versal expressed H e g e l’s co n v ictio n tHpt no g iv en p a r tic u la r fo rm ,
w h eth er in natu re or so ciety , e m b o d ie s the w h o le tr u th .44
Considered in light of its historical context, Reason and R ev

olution is a remarkable and heroic accomplishment. A ppropri
ating the universal as the new foundation for critical theory,
Marcuse responds powerfully to the total domination of authori
tarianism with absolute truth, reason, and freedom. By so doing,
he introduces a decisive element into critical theory’s conceptual
framework. With the certainty of truth, reason, and freedom
Marcuse forges the sturdiest of theoretical opponents to fascism,
an impregnable fortress that safeguards critical theory by tu rn
ing it into rationalism. In the context of fascism, the rationalistic
structure of critical theory becomes its greatest strength. Theory
could no longer.tie its truth to the proletariat. If it did, the de
feat of the working class as revolutionary subject would invali
Fascism, Rationalism, and the Abandonment of the Individual T1
date the truth of critical theory. Critical theory then had to sever
its alliance with the historical agent and, to recall Hegel’s por
tentous comment, “seek refuge from the Present in ideal regions
. . . with the view of effecting in its own element, the restora
tion of its principles from the ruin to which they had been
brought.”45
This is not to argue that when critical theory became rational
ism it ceased to be committed to political practice. On the con
trary, its insistence on political practice was as tenacious as ever.
But critical theory’s criteria for political practice express theory’s
rationalistic structure. Negative thinking, which enjoins political
practice to bring the world into harmony with its proposals, ab
stracts and reproduces the qualities of the proletariat that made
it a revolutionary subject. Consider these remarks that set forth
the criteria for an authentic political practice.
T h e “n ew ” state [o f affairs] is the truth o f th e o ld , bu t th at truth
d o es not stead ily a n d a u to m a tica lly grow o u t o f th e earlier state; it
ca n be set free on ly by an autonomous act on the part o f m e n .46
T h e se b e c o m e revolu tion ary c o n d itio n s, how ever, on ly if seized
u p o n an d d irected by a conscious activity that has in mind the so
cialist goal.*7
T h e rev o lu tio n req uires th e m atu rity o f m a n y forces, bu t th e g r e a t
est a m o n g th em is th e su b jective fo rce, n a m ely , th e revolu tion ary
class itself. T h e rea liza tio n o f freed om an d reason requires the free
rationality of those who achieve it**
“Autonomy,” a “conscious activity that has in mind the social
ist goal,” and a “free rationality”: clearly, the subject of political
practice must be completely free, rational, and able critically to
evaluate the prevailing institutions in view of their tangible intel
lectual and material riches, as well as to know of their inherent
range of possible social and political alternatives. And most im
portant, the revolutionary subject achieves this level of rational
ity under the yoke of domination. In short, the subject that
comes forth to engage in radical politics must meet the standards
represented by Marx’s proletariat, which are now restored as the
rationalism of critical theory. To bring about a rational society,
the subject already must be rational in an irrational social order;
to achieve a freer existence, the subject must be truly autono
mous in a system that distorts the meaning of freedom; to realize
the truth, the subject must know what is true in a society that
equates the truth with its own practices.
With the conversion of critical theory into rationalism, Mar
cuse responds deliberately and reflectively to fascism. For as long
as the proletariat remains disabled, and the objective possibili
ties that it still objectively represents remain inert, rationalism
will also remain the citadel that preserves and protects the truth
of critical theory. Rationalism, as mentioned, is the greatest
strength of critical theory.
But it is also the greatest weakness'. A rich and complex con
cept of subjectivity is embedded in the rationalistic dimensions of
critical theory. Autonomy, rationality, and a clear, conscious,
and certain apprehension of radical goals and of the obstacles to
those goals represented by the established order are all charac
teristic of the subject of political practice. These characteristics
constitute critical theory’s explicit concept of the subject. But
when we now inspect Marcuse’s critical theory more closely, it
will be discovered that its implicit concept of the subject is dra
matically different. Critical theory’s implicit concept of subjec
tivity is impoverished.
Because critical theory’s criteria for political practice are un
compromisingly rationalistic —now identical to those prescribed
by the concept of correct class consciousness, which Marcuse re
jects in his early work—any political practice that does not meet
these criteria is in no sense authentic political opposition. M ar
cuse declares the inflexibility of theory’s criteria when he says
that “theory will preserve the truth even if revolutionary practice
deviates from its proper path. Practice follows the truth, not vice
versa.”49 When critical theory confronts subjects who express op
position in this m anner—
an individual feels discontented as a result of the stresses imposed by
the organization of production and the sacrifices exacted through a
system of distribution but is not consciously socialist;
an individual is partially disaffected from society after witnessing
the state’s violation of basic liberties and comes to doubt the justness
and morality of institutional policies but is not clear that institu
tions have ceased to be legitimate;
an individual has an ambivalent allegiance to social and political
institutions butds not certain whether inherent possibilities for
structural change would produce a more rational social order —
it concludes that they do not qualify as subjects of correct politi

cal practice.
By virtue of its criteria for political practice, therefore, critical
theory excludes from consideration the discontented, doubting,
disaffected, and ambivalent individual. But the criteria dictated
by critical theory’s rationalism go much further than rejecting
the authenticity of this sort of political practice. The subject
whose political practice does not meet theory’s criteria for oppo
sition is, according to critical theory, an object of social integra
tion, a source of support for an authoritarian regime.
It appears, then, that the rationalism of Marcuse’s critical the
ory leads him to view the subject as one who can be totally deter
mined, socialized, and manipulated to the point of being made
incapable of the least resistance. This view of the subject appears
clearly in Marcuse’s essay “On Hedonism.”
Determined
The labor process, in which the laborer’s organs atrophy and are
coarsened, guarantees that the sensuousness of the lower strata does
not develop beyond the technically necessary minimum.50
Socialized
Class situation, especially the situation of the individual in the labor
process, is active in them, for this situation has formed the (bodily
and spiritual) organs and capacities of men and the horizon of their
demands.51
Incapable of the least resistance
It appears that individuals raised to be integrated into the antagon
istic labor process cannot be judges of their own happiness. They
have been prevented from knowing their true interest. Thus, it is
possible for them to designate their condition as happy and, with
out external compulsion, embrace the system that oppresses them.52
Since the subject can be so completely assimilated into a repres
sive social system, implicitly the subject is assumed to possess no
faculties that cannot be molded by social structures. In effect,
the subject is no more than a blank slate that simply registers the
commands impressed upon it by society. Turned inside out, crit
ical theory, with its rich and complex rationalistic conception of
the subject, can boast only of a skeletal subject who lacks even
the capacity to develop a relative autonomy from social condi
tions.
It is obvious, and ih my estimation painfully so, that the con

cept of subjectivity excluded by Marcuse’s rationalistic fram e
work for critical theory is that which inspired and informed his
early period. The individual who through labor is able to achieve
critical insights that penetrate relations of domination has been
abandoned. While there is some continuity between the earlier
and the Frankfurt period of Marcuse’s work (specifically the hos
tility to ontology, the retention of Marx’s notion of objectifica
tion, and the adherence to political economy), the dynamics of
lordship and bondage, and the theoYy of historicity and praxis as
it was firmly rooted in Hegel’s Phenomenology o f M ind and
Marx’s Manuscripts have been exchanged for the concept of the
universal in Hegel’s logic and for purely rationalistic determ i
nants of radical action. Once critical theory’s rational founda
tion and its rationalistic criteria of political practice conceived in
response to fascism are in place, it is no longer possible to return
to the earlier concept of the ambivalent but reflective and in
sightful individual. This point must be emphasized. From the
standpoint of Marcuse’s rationalism, the individual is totally in
tegrated into a system of domination and hence necessarily ex
cluded from further consideration.
But it is not only the subject of “praxis” who is excluded. In
retrospect, it now can be understood why Marcuse’s analysis of
the turn from liberal to authoritarian society excludes the ele
ments of liberalism that would incline the individual to oppose
the authoritarian state. Critical theory’s rationalistic criteria of
political practice would lead it to dismiss liberal practices as po
litical opposition. But much more important, critical theory’s
implicit concept of the subject would compel it to reinterpret lib
eral political practices as expressions of the subject’s integration
(i.e., as limited horizons, false conceptions of true interests,
etc.). And it is this implicit conception of the subject that guides
Marcuse’s analysis of the bourgeois family, in which he argues
that the individual can be socialized within the family unit to u n
critically accept the authority of the Fascist state.
If Marcuses critical theory had not been revised along the
lines of rationalism, his analysis of liberalism would not have
been guided by an impoverished, although implicit, concept of
subjectivity. The politics of liberal practices might then have
been interpreted in a different light. They might have been
viewed as the seeds of opposition to authoritarianism —an uncer

tain, ambivalent, precarious opposition but opposition never
theless. It may be, in fact, that in the absence of Marx’s revolu
tionary agent of historical transformation, the “true subject’’ of
radical politics, perhaps similar to the subject of praxis Marcuse
attempts to provide a foundation for in his early work, is the in
dividual liberal subject. Critical theory cannot grasp this possi
bility as long as its conceptual framework sublimates the politics
of class struggle into rationalism. For though the liberal subject
is not rational according to critical theory, he is not totally inte
grated either. Like Hegel’s subject, the liberal individual gropes
toward reason and the universal; unlike Hegel’s subject, the lib
eral individual does not necessarily make progress toward reason
without having his beliefs challenged and without being engaged
in the discourse and practice of political activity.
All of Marcuse’s work after Reason and Revolution, with the
exception of a single period that will be examined ,53 is guided by
the conception of critical theory that evolved out of his experi
ence with fascism. And the impoverished concept of subjectivity,
buried deeply beyond the pale of reflection, continues as the hid
den subject of Marcuse’s critical theory, fused into its conceptual
framework —the irrationalism of the rationalistic response to fas
cism. As of 1941, whenever Marcuse focuses this theoretical
framework on the individual’s thought and action, he will see a
totally mobilized, completely integrated, one-dimensional man;
when analyzing social institutions and relations, he will see a
one-dimensional society. In a theoretical study the fate of the
theorist is not easily distinguished from the fate of his theory. In
the ideal region wherein Marcuse’s critical theory sought refuge
from fascism, it, and perhaps he, became as much victim as the
victims left behind.
One of the most impressive qualities of Marcuse’s work during

this period of transition is the intensive labor expended in mas
tering an enormous range of philosophical and theoretical ideas.
While the preceding review of Marcuse’s critical analyses ac
quaints us with the central influences on his development, a few
less pronounced influences that are just beginning to stir beneath
the surface of this transitional work deserve mention. One such
influence is that of Max Weber. During this period Marcuse oc
casionally alludes to Weber; at other times his arguments and in

terpretations are sprinkled with Weberian terms .54 None of this,
however, is indicative of Marcuse’s true debt to Weber, which
will be discussed further on .55
There is also sufficient indication that Marcuse has begun to
incorporate the categories of Freud’s instinct theory and m eta
psychology into his critical theory. Though Freud never is re
ferred to explicitly, Marcuse’s 1938 essay “On Hedonism” is laced
with Freudian language —instincts, repression, sublimation, and
so forth. Here Marcuse’s purpose is to examine the historical evo
lution of the conception of happiness beginning with classical he
donism. The aspect of this study tying Marcuse’s critical theory
to Freud is its concern with the devaluation of pleasure, particu
larly sensual pleasure, in bourgeois culture. Bourgeois ideology
necessarily views sensual pleasure as a debased form of happi
ness—necessarily, Marcuse argues, because if sensual gratifica
tion were permitted by society its productive process would be
disrupted.
The unpurified, unrationalized release of sexual relationships would
be the strongest release of enjoyment as such and the total devalua
tion of labor for its own sake. No human being could tolerate the ten
sion between labor as valuable in itself and the freedom of enjoyment.
The dreariness and injustice of work conditions would penetrate ex
plosively the consciousness of individuals and make impossible their
peaceful subordination to the social system of the bourgeois
world.56 »
The struggle that bourgeois society wages against sensual hap
piness immediately suggested to Marcuse that human potential
ity must possess a sensual dimension. And since labor and the
perpetuation and expansion of the productive process depend
entirely upon the repression of human sensuality, sensuality must
not be merely another potentiality among others but in a strict
sense may be the essence of man. Indeed, at one point Marcuse
hints that the real possibilities inherent in a freely organized pro
ductive apparatus could be exploited fully only if developed u n
der the supervision of what we can infer from this statement
would be a “sensual rationality.” >
The unfolding of the personality must not be merely spiritual. In
dustrial society has differentiated and intensified the objective
world in such a manner that only an extremely differentiated and

intensified sensuality can respond adequately to it.57
In fact, this insight anticipates Marcuse’s later conception of a
“libidinal rationality” as the basis of a “new science.”58
Of course, Marcuse’s new concern with human sensuality fol
lows naturally from the principles of critical theory. It is an
extension of his interest of freedom, commitment to human hap
piness, and a soon to be serious expression of that ‘‘sharper em
phasis” on the potentialities of man when the historical situation
of critical theory warrants such stress. Sensuality becomes the
substantive, concrete foundation of critical theory, an essential
complement to his preoccupation with theory’s philosophical
foundation in an abstract universal.59 Sensuality becomes, in a
phrase, Marcuse’s ‘‘second dimension.” But here again we shall
see that the rationalistic underpinnings of Marcuse’s critical the
ory infect his interpretation of Freud. When Marcuse’s critical
theory turns to an analysis of Freud’s instinct theory and meta
psychology, the hidden subject of theory’s rationalistic frame
work reappears as an image of man ill-equipped to reason, much
less to reason critically.
Notes
1. For a history of the Frankfurt Institute and its members during

the first years following the Nazi assumption of power see Martin Jay,
The Dialectical Imagination (Boston: Little, Brown, 1973), pp.
29-40.
2. The ideal region referred to, of course, is the region of theoreti
cal and philosophical thought that no longer enlists any sector of or
element in society as a vehicle for the practical realization of its values
and objectives. There is a sense, however, in which the ideal region
sought for theory is not a strict philosophical and theoretical region.
Marcuse also viewed the United States as an ideal environment, and
not only for his own work. Feelings of intellectual well-being and phys
ical security are reflected in this passage from Reason and Revolution,
wherein he pays tribute to his new home. “There is in Hegel a keen in
sight into the locale of progressive ideas and movements. He attrib
uted to the American rational spirit a decisive role in the struggle for
an adequate order of life, and spoke of ‘the victory of some future and
intensely vital rationality of the American nation . . . Knowing far

better than his critics the forces that threatened freedom and reason,
and recognizing these forces to have been bound up with the social sys
tem Europe had acquired, he once looked beyond that continent to
this as the only 'land of the future.’ ” Reason and Revolution: Hegel
and the Rise of Social Theory (New York: Oxford University Press,
1941), p. xv. Marcuse is alluding to Hegel’s analysis of the “New
World’’ in The Philosophy of History (New York : Dover, 1956), pp.
86-87. Hegel had argued that “America is therefore the land of the fu
ture, where, in the ages that lie before us, the burden of the World’s
History shall reveal itself . . . It is a land of desire for all those who are
weary of the historical lumber-room of old Europe . . . It is for Amer
ica to abandon the ground on which hitherto the history of the World
has developed itself.”
3. With his membership in the Frankfurt Institute for Social Re
search, Marcuse’s theoretical perspective acquires the name “critical
theory,” the theoretical genre of the Frankfurt School. For a discussion
of the genesis of critical theory see Jay’s Dialectical Imagination, pp.
41-85.
4. Although in contemporary social science the terms “authoritar
ian” and “totalitarian” have different meanings and carry different
implications, throughout his work after 1933 Marcuse uses them inter
changeably. Totalitarian state, authoritarian state, total-authoritar
ian state, totalitarian and authoritarian society appear unsystemati
cally. In Marcuse’s later work he favors the term "totalitarian.”
Although he is guilty of the same practice, on one occasion Marcuse
expressed his dissatisfaction with the imprecise meanings social scien
tists attribute to totalitarianism (see chapter four, p. 153). It would be
helpful to bear in mind that Marcuse uses authoritarian and totalitar
ian quite generally to refer to forms of domination that determine
thought as well as control action. This does not mean, however, that
every authoritarian and totalitarian measure accomplishes both.
5. Herbert Marcuse, “The Struggle against Liberalism in the To
talitarian View of the State,” Negations: Essays in Critical Theory
(Boston: Beacon, 1968), p. 19; originally published as "Der Kampf
gegen den Liberalismus in der totalitaren Staatsauffassung,” Zeit-
schriftfiir Sozialforschung, 3, 2 (Paris: 1934), pp. 161-195.
6. Ibid., pp. 18-19.
7. Herbert Marcuse, “A Study on Authority,” Studies in Critical
Philosophy (Boston: Beacon, 1973); originally published as “Theo-
retische Entwiirfe iiber Autoritat und'Familie: Ideengeschichtlicher
Teil,” Studien iiber Autoritat und Familie (Paris: F£lix Alcan, 1936),
pp. 136-228. Attention will be confined to the sections on Luther and
Calvin, Kant, Hegel, and Counter-revolution and Restoration.
8. Ibid., p. 52.
9. Marcuse considered Luther’s The Freedom of a Christian, The
First Lent Sermon at Wittenberg, The Third Lent Sermon at Witten
berg, Sermon on the Ban, Temporal Authority: To What Extent It
Should be Obeyed, Admonition to Peace, An Open Letter on the
Harsh Book against the Peasants, On War against the Turk, Treatise
on Good Works, To the Christian Nobility of the German Nation
Concerning the Reform of the Christian Estate, and The Large Cate
chism. Ibid., pp. 56-78.
10. Marcuse focused on Calvin’s Institutes of the Christian Reli
gion. Ibid. For an analysis of Calvinism that would contest Marcuse’s
equation of Calvinism in general with obedience to authority see
Michael Walzer, The Revolution of the Saints: A Study in the Origins
of Radical Politics (New York: Atheneum, 1968).
11. Marcuse concentrated upon Kant’s Political Writings. See “A
Study on Authority,”pp. 79-94.
12. Ibid., p. 97. Marcuse is alluding to paragraph 246 of Hegel’s
Philosophy of Right; see the translation by T. M. Knox (New York:
Oxford University Press, 1965), p. 151.
13. Marcuse based his discussion of Hegel primarily upon his read
ing of the Philosophy of Right. See “A Study on Authority,” pp.
95-110.
14. During this period Marcuse’s work on the family takes place
within the context of the Frankfurt Institute’s first theoretical studies
on authority. For a discussion of these studies see Jay’s Dialectical
Imagination, pp. 113-142.
15. Herbert Marcuse, “The Affirmative Character of Culture,”
Negations, p. 95; originally published as “Uber den affirmativen
Charakter der Kultur,” Zeitschrift fiir Sozialforschung, 6, 1 (Paris:
1937), pp. 54-94. The term “affirmative culture” was conceived by
Max Horkheimer; see his “Egoismus und Freiheitsbewegung,” Zeit
schrift fiir Sozialforschung, 5, 2 (Paris: 1936), p. 219. Marcuse ac
knowledges Horkheimer in the first footnote of “The Affirmative
Character of Culture,” p. 88.
16. The critical aspects of bourgeois art are especially significant
for Marcuse. See chapter eight of this volume.
17. “The Affirmative Character of Culture,” p. 124.
18. Ibid., p. 125.
19. Ibid., p. 127 (italics added).
20. Ibid., p. 128.
21. “The Struggle against Liberalism,” p. 17.
22. Ibid., p. 42.
23. Herbert Marcuse, “Autoritat und Familie in der deutschen So-
ziologie bis 1933,” Studien iiber Autoritat und Familie, pp. 737-752.
24. Ibid., pp. 738-741; here Marcuse examines W. H. Riehl’s Die

Familie (1851).
25. Ibid., pp. 742-743; in these pages Marcuse considers L. Gump-
lowicz’s Die sociologische Staatsidee (1892) and Grundriss dcr Sozio-
logie (1885). j
26. Ibid., pp. 743-744; here Marcuse mentions F. Miiller-Lyers
Die Familie (1911).
27. Ibid., p.744.
28. Herbert Marcuse, “The Concept of Essence,” Negations, pp.
43-87; originally published as “Zum Bêgriff des Wesens, Zeitschrift
fiir Sozialforschung, 5, 1 (Paris: 1936), pp. 1-39.
29. Ibid., p. 46.
30. Marcuse’s criticisms are directed at Husserl’s Formal and Tran
scendental Logic and Ideas I, Introduction to Pure Phenomenology
and Phenomenological Philosophy. Ibid., pp. 55-61.
31. Ibid., p. 65.
32. Later, in One-dimensional Man: Studies in the Ideology of Ad
vanced Industrial Society (Boston: Beacon, 1964), Marcuse will revise
his harsh critical interpretation of Husserl. In that new context the
focus is on Husserl’s Crisis of European Sciences and the Transcenden
tal Phenomenology, see chapter six, pp. 282-283.
33. “The Concept of Essence,” pp. 69-87.
34. Ibid., p. 70.
35. Karl Marx: Early Writings, edited by T. B. Bottomore (New
York: McGraw-Hill, 1964), p. 155.
36. “The Concept of Essence," p. 76.
37. Ibid., p. 77.
38. Herbert Marcuse, “Philosophy and Critical Theory,”
Negations, p. 135; originally published as “Philosophic und kritische
Theorie,” Zeitschrift fiir Sozialforschung, 6, 3 (Paris: 1937), pp.
625-647.
39. Ibid., p. 142.
40. Ibid., p. 146.
41. Ibid., p. 143.
42. For example, in Reason and Revolution Marcuse argues that in
the Early Theological Writings ‘.‘Hegel incorporates the basic Aristo
telian conception into his philosophy: ‘The different modes of being
are more or less complete unifications.’ Being means unifying, and
unifying means movement. Movement, in turn, Aristotle defines in
terms of potentiality and actuality. The various types of movement de
note various ways of realizing the potentialities inherent in the essence
or moving thing.Âristotle evaluates the types of movement so that the
highest type is that in which each and every potentiality is fully real
ized (p. 41); about the first philosophical writings Marcuse says that
for Hegel “speculative thinking compares the apparent or given form
of things to the potentialities of those same things, and in so doing dis
tinguishes their essence from their accidental state of existence” (p. 46);
the Jena system, Marcuse continues, “already reveals the outstanding
traits of his philosophy, especially its emphasis on the universal as the
true being” (p. 88); in the Phenomenology of Mind, Marcuse explains,
“setting the truth in the universal expressed Hegel’s conviction that no
given particular form, whether in nature or society, embodies the
whole truth” (pp. 113-114); in the Philosophy of Right the "abstract
determinations of the Logic once again show forth in their historical
significance. The veritable being, the Logic had said, is the universal,
which is in itself and contains the particular in itself’ (p. 203); and in
the Philosophy of History the "true subject of history is the universal,
not the individual” (p. 229).
43. See chapter six of this volume.
44. Reason and Revolution, pp. 113-114.
45. Hegel, The Philosophy of History, p. 69.
46. Reason and Revolution, p. 315 (italics added).
49. Ibid., p.322.
50. Herbert Marcuse, “On Hedonism,” Negations, p. 185; original
ly published as "Zur Kritik des Hedonismus,” Zeitschrift fur
Sozialforschung, 7, 1-2 (Paris: 1938), pp. 55-89.
51. Ibid., p. 190.
52. Ibid., p. 191 (“determined,” “socialized,” and “incapable of
the least resistance” are my terms).
53. See chapter seven of this volume.
54. Particularly noteworthy is an aspect of Marcuse’s interpretation
of Marx during this period. When discussing Marx’s analysis of the
way in which the state functions to stabilize capitalist society, Marcuse
argues that “the perpetually conflicting activity, the perpetual strug
gle between 'opposed particular interests’ requires, if the reproduction
of the anarchically producing society is to be safeguarded, a universal
apparatus which is equipped with all the material and intellectual in
struments of coercion: it ‘makes practical intervention and control
necessary through the illusory general interest in the form of the state.’ ”
“A Study on Authority,” p. 139. The concept that stands out in this
passage is “universal apparatus which is equipped . . .” While it is cer
tainly true that Marx attributed such a function to the state, Marcuse’s
conception shades Marx’s meaning toward Weber’s theory of the state
as a highly rationalized form of domination. In other words, Mar-
\
cuse’s interpretation views Marx as having developed a theory that an
ticipates and explains, much more than it actually does, the power of
capitalist institutions to reproduce and perpetuate an inherently un
stable society. In fact, this is the thrust of Marcuse’s entire discussion
of Marx herein (pp. 128-143).
55. See chapter four, pp. 179-183.
56. “On Hedonism,” p. 187.
57. Ibid., p. 184.
58. See chapter six, pp. 282-286.
59. I am suggesting that viewed in the context of Marcuse’s general
concern with the foundations issue, the Freudian aspects of “On
Hedonism” and these principles should be construed as tendencies
toward what eventually becomes Marcuse’s anthropological founda
tion for critical theory. Consequently, the foundations issue, this
essay, and the theoretical principles of critical theory together offer an
explanation for Marcuse’s turn to Freud in addition to that which
points to the influence of those members of the Frankfurt Institute
who had incorporated psychoanalysis into their work earlier than did
Marcuse.
THREE
T he Second D im ension
Warum sucht ich den Weg so sehnsuchtsvoll,
Wenn ich ihn nicht den Briidern zeigen soli.
Goethe, "Zueignung,”
Gedichte
W hereas H egel’s universal constitutes the philosophical foun

dation for critical theory, Marcuse’s interpretation of Freud’s in
stinct theory and metapsychology is intended to form its anthro
pological basis. A later chapter will explore the problematic
relationship between the two foundations.1 Essentially, the in
terpretation of Freud is the human groundwork from which
Marcuse derives justification for projecting the possibility for a
qualitatively different and rational social order he believes to be
inherent in advanced industrial society. As justification for a
more rational social system, Freudian theory is at the same time
a reasoned defense of Marcuse’s critique of late capitalism. Shar
ing the same foundation, the vision of a future society and the in
dictment of our present mode of social organization are insepa
rably bound together through Freud’s concepts and categories.
It was not for some time after the publication of Marcuse’s
comprehensive study of Freud, all later work incorporating
Freudian theory in some sense returning to and further
developing ideas originating in Eros and Civilization, that the
implications and perhaps very purpose of that investigation was
clarified for Marcuse, In An Essay on Liberation the Freudian
project at last crystallizes into “a biological foundation for so
cialism .”2
89
Prior to all ethical 'behavior in accordance with specific social

standards, prior to all ideological expression, morality is a “disposi
tion” of the organism, perhaps rooted in the erotic drive to counter
aggressiveness, to create and preserve “ever greater unities of life.
We would then have, this side of all “values,” an instinctual founda
tion for solidarity among human beings —a solidarity which has
been effectively repressed in line with the requirements of class
society but which now appears as a precondition for liberation.3
By “this side of all ‘values’ ” Marcuse certainly means this side
of all conventional value systems only, for he also is claiming that
critical standards, or norms, reside essentially in human nature.
Being this side of all values consequently supposes this morally
disposed nature to be presocial in character, standing over and
against and in judgment of all social arrangements. Nature be
comes the basis of a critical tribunal of reason.
Marcuse arrives at his conception of human nature through a
discriminating reading of Freud’s instinct theory. And his ap
proach to the metapsychology enables him to generate an im
pressive set of sociological insights into the complex interrela
tionships of man and his historical and social universe. Before
closely examining this Freudian project, I shall describe its broad
outlines. In particular, Marcuse’s concept of human nature and
its relation to the sociological insights derived from the metapsy
chology should be made clear. With these bearings the discus
sion then can turn to the intricate mosaic of ideas comprising
Marcuse’s “second dimension.” '
Basic Elements of the Interpretation o f Freud

According to Freud, as each person matures and particularly af
ter that level of maturity has been reached coinciding with the fi
nal (genital) stage of infantile sexual development, the ego turns
completely outward toward the external world and is largely de
pendent upon it for gratification. So varied are human relations
that what is or is not gratifying easily appears to originate within
social contexts rather than within the individual. The very no
tion of gratification as a definite nee<J with universal characteris
tics is open to question. Prior to the genital stage, however, the
child achieves gratification, the pleasurable release of tension re
sponsible for psychological and physical discomfort, through ac
tivity directly related to the psychosexual phase of development

reached. Stamped with the distinct traits of these phases, such
activity not only involves objects, say, people, in the environ
ment. It also takes more direct routes through the autoerotic
stimulation of the oral, anal, and phallic zones and the generally
eroticized areas of the body. Freud’s by now well-known term for
these latter forms of obtaining gratification is “polymorphous
perversity.” Freud’s theory of infantile sexuality is decisive for
Marcuse. Psychosexual activity during these earliest phases of
development, when man is most directly influenced by (his own)
nature and gratification is explicitly sexual, proves that the first
value rooted in human nature, the first norm characteristic of its
moral disposition, is the need for instinctual gratification.
Unless qualified, instinctual gratification is by itself an insuffi
cient basis for critical theory. All social orders provide some sort
of instinctual gratification. How can the instinct theory be used
critically to distinguish among them? Another and decisive char
acteristic of the ethical dimension of man’s nature limits the sort
of gratification that is morally approved. Eros, the life instinct,
and Thanatos, the instinct of death and aggression, are Freud’s
two primary instinctual drives and the central categories of Mar
cuse’s anthropology. By nature Eros is the dominant instinct, dis
posing human nature to a receptiveness to human relations and
relations with nature. Among other meanings to be considered
later, receptivity connotes an erotic or nonaggressive sensibility
as the basis for social relations. But a receptive, nonaggressive
sensibility would require the emancipation of those senses and
sexual drives repressed by a civilization bent on productivity.
Productivity, rooted in the aggressive drive, suppresses the non-
aggressive, erotic disposition.
Civilization engages human nature by imposing its own values,
the most important being the value of productivity. Civilization
begins, indeed, is able to begin, only at the moment when the
need for instinctual gratification is repressed. The needs of so
cial organization are elevated far above those of human nature
for the two are irreconcilable. According to the terms dictated
by Eros, gratification should be nonaggressive. And according
to Freud’s “pleasure principle,” instinctual gratification must be
immediate and complete. Such indulgence, however, would,thor
oughly undermine civilization, which requires the repressive
modification of the instincts in order to accomplish socially pro

ductive work. From the standpoint of human nature, that which
has truth value is the happiness and freedom bred from the grat
ification of the instincts through nonaggressive relations gov
erned by the pleasure principle. The hallmark of civilization’s
morality of productivity, on the other hand, is the denial of free
dom, the frustration of happiness, and the suppression of truth —
suppression, but not elimination, as we now shall see.
At the point in individual development when instinctual needs
and their governing principle must be adapted to the require
ments of the environment, specifically to the rules governing real
ity, the ego becomes a reality-testing ego, equipping the individ
ual with the capacity to negotiate the complex terrain of society.
The reality-ego has the task of discovering the “most favorable
and least perilous method of obtaining satisfaction .”4 For if the
ego, under the hegemony of the pleasure principle, were urged
continuously to seek “immediate and unheeding satisfaction of
the instincts,” this single-minded approach “would often lead to
perilous conflicts with the external world and to extinction” of
the individual.5
Yet there is no simple transformation of the pleasure-seeking
ego into an ego structure accommodating social order. Rather,
the ego divides into a pleasure-ego and a reality-ego: “With the
introduction of the reality principle one mode of thought-activ
ity was split off; it was kept free from reality testing and remained
subordinated to the pleasure principle alone. This is the act of
phantasy-making .”6 The realm of fantasy preserves the memory
of the original aim of the instincts, which is still expressed as the
wish for immediate, total, and eroticized gratification. As fan
tasy, or imagination, the suppressed truth of human nature sur
vives as part of the unconscious. The critical standards of social
theory, its foundation, are displaced to the unconscious, which
retains the truth of gratification at a repressed layer of existence.
Properly speaking, the two principles of rationality, actually
two different modes of reason, two value systems, are divided
though not independent of one another. They are as dynamical
ly interrelated as are the id and the ego or the unconscious and
the conscious mind. Obeying the pleasure principle, the ego
seeks instinctual*gratification; obeying the reality principle, it
also must insure survival if any gratification is to be obtained, A
balance ought to occur between the requisites of social organiza

tion and the pleasure to accrue to the individual —the greatest
pleasure within the limits of maintaining the mutual preserva
tion of self and society. Beyond these limits either pleasure is sac
rificed or preservation threatened and social order undermined.
Within these limits the rationality of social organization must
uncompromisingly serve the ends prescribed by human nature
and upheld by critical theory. Marcuse’s critical theory of society
appears to be teleological by virtue of the relationship between
natural order, upon which the theory is based, and social organi
zation.
In Freud’s presentations of the relation among social, psycho
logical, and instinctual processes, the emphatic step is never
taken to address the issue of the correct balance between social
values and natural human values, social order and the moral or
der embedded in human nature. It is imprecise, however, to
claim, as Marcuse does, that to Freud “there was no higher ra
tionality against which the prevailing [civilized] morality could
be measured .”7 At the decline of the Weimar Republic Freud in
vokes the same principle of reason that animates Marcuse’s in
dictment of modern capitalism.
Men have gained control over the forces of nature to such an extent
that with their help they would have no difficulty in exterminating
one another to the last man. They know this, and hence comes a
large part of their current unrest, their unhappiness and their mood
of anxiety. And now it is to be expected that the other of the two
“Heavenly Powers,” eternal Eros, will make an effort to assert him
self in the struggle with his equally immortal adversary. But who
can foresee with what success and with what result?8
Other examples could be produced showing that Freud was
hardly a reluctant critic of Western culture. Frequently he con
sidered the measure of repression exacted by modern civilization
to be exaggerated relative to the cost in human happiness and
the opportunity to eliminate sacrifice in the face of the accumu
lated material wealth of a highly productive civilization. Freud
knew also that socioeconomic and political institutions impose
heavier burdens of repression upon the individual than are nec
essary.9 In the final analysis, though, these economic and social
factors were given little weight in Freud’s explanation for the ne
94 T he Im a g in a r y W itness
cessity and justifiability of repression. The orthodox Freudian

account of repression leaves little room to entertain an argument
for reducing repression by limiting the objective requirements of
social organization to the mutual preservation of individual and
society. In light of what Freud took to be the antisocial and de
structive dangers of biological and psychological drives, repres
sion becomes a fundamental principle of reality, an absolute, in
dispensable requirement for all social organization: the demands
of civilization are always more rational than the rationality of
human nature and its needs for gratification.
Marcuse examines Freud’s concepts of repression and reality
principle critically and from the inside out, so to speak. If there
are historical and social processes that contribute to repression,
with a change in these processes repression’s historical content,
its harshness, could change, too. It could be made to vary from
one historical period to the next, from one society to another. In
order to capture the historical content of the concepts repression
and reality principle, they “must be paired with corresponding
terms denoting the specific socio-historical component.” The
corresponding terms thus introduced are
(a) Surplus-repression', the restrictions necessitated by social domi
nation. This is distinguished from (basic) repression: the “modifica
tions” of the instincts necessary for the perpetuation of the human
race in civilization, (b) Performance principle: the prevailing his
torical form of the reality principle.10
Interpreted through these new terms, Freud’s concept of repres
sion is shown to contain within it political as well as social and ec
onomic elements. Repression ceases to be simply an unchanging
principle of reality. These new elements become visible the mo
ment Marcuse begins his inquiry into the necessity and rational
ity of repression in the context of the historical development and
social organization of the productive apparatus. This inquiry is
guided by Marcuse’s new terms and clarifies their meaning.
With these new terms Marcuse is extending Marx’s conceptual
framework. Marx’s “socially necessary and surplus labor” be
come “basic and surplus-repression.” Jlasic repression refers spe
cifically to the degree of the denial of libidinal (nonaggressive)
instinctual impulses that is required for labor insuring survival.
Or, put differently, basic repression is the repression of the erotic
drives required by socially necessary work, work without which

survival is inconceivable. Basic, or socially necessary, repression
prevails so long as man must labor in the face of natural scarcity.
Surplus-repression, on the other hand, refers not to ‘‘the brute
fact of scarcity” but to ‘‘a specific organization of scarcity”
brought about through the creation of artificially manufactured
needs. With the concept of surplus-repression, it is possible to
conceptualize unnecessary repression, or alienation, in biologi
cal-instinctual terms. It also allows us to reason that needs ful
filled through surplus-repression, surplus labor not contributing
directly to the perpetuation of the human race, are false needs.
The greater the production of false needs, the greater is the la
bor required for production and consumption and the higher the
degree of instinctual repression. Capitalism depends on the pro
liferation and mass acceptance of artificial needs to create pat
terns of consumption that legitimate the continuing expansion of
the productive process and foster the growth of technology.
The concept of surplus-repression also addresses the phenome
non of aggression in modern capitalism. All labor channels ag
gression at the same time as it represses libidinal instincts. As
libidinal impulses are repressed, aggressive energy increases in
intensity, and vice versa. The increasing demand for repression
brought on by the multiplication of false needs and the expan
sion of human labor would increase the repression of libido and
the release of aggression. Consequently, the labor invested in the
development and progress of civilization along the lines of an
economic system that raises its overall level of affluence by gener
ating false needs would be threatened internally by the aggres
sive impulses that surplus-repression releases. Marcuse concludes
that ‘‘developing under progressive renunciation [of the libidinal
drives], civilization tends toward self-destruction.” Socialism
would eliminate surplus-repression by abolishing false needs,
along with the political and administrative apparatus responsi
ble for them; it would expel the surplus aggression with which
surplus civilization is burdened.
In a socialist society basic repression would remain. So long as
scarcity persists, some labor is socially necessary, hence some de
gree of repression and alienation must exist, to provide the basic
means of subsistence. In a nonrepressive social order the reduc
tion of labor to the minimum required for the satisfaction of
basic human needs would sustain the natural predominance of

the libidinal over the aggressive instincts. This means that ag
gression would become socially useful and manageable if society
functioned in accordance with the criteria established by the
concept of basic repression.
The scientific and technological achievements of modern cap
italism create the possibility for eliminating the scarcity of most
necessary goods. Once the relations of capital that enforce the
organization of scarcity through the. promotion of false needs are
abolished, the forms of unnecessary labor that fulfill these needs
would be abolished, too. And with the abolition of surplus labor
would disappear the surplus-repression of the libidinal instincts.
Then, as further technological development gradually rendered
the remaining forms of socially necessary work obsolete through
automation, the corresponding amount of basic repression in
volved in the human performance of those tasks also would be
eliminated. The sum of basic repression would be narrowed to a
minimum. In this way, technological progress allows the socially
necessary quota of basic repression to be minimized constantly
and continuously redefined as surplus-repression.
In a rational society, therefore, the need for repression must
correspond to the objective need for socially necessary labor. The
progress of science and technology under capitalism, fruit of the
repression exacted by capitalist institutions, has forged the
means partially to eliminate scarcity and with it instinctually re
pressive and socially alienating work‘. The possibilities at hand
for qualitatively transforming man’s relationship to nature and
relations between men are being systematically abused by capi
talism. The difference between basic and surplus-repression is an
index of both unnecessary alienation and political domination.
The difference has become greater and the domination harsher
in proportion to the growth of technological possibilities for
abolishing repression. This difference indicates that modern
capitalism depends upon surplus needs, surplus labor, surplus-
repression, and surplus aggression for its very survival.
With the distinction between basic and surplus-repression,
Marcuse establishes clearly that repression could vary if measures
were taken to reorganize the productive apparatus to unleash its
technological potential. Consequently, there is no single princi
ple that makes repression into an absolute burden that must be
borne equally by all social orders. Freud’s reality principle ob

scures this theoretical insight. There are only “performance
principles,” the principles underlying different forms of social
organization, that determine the amount of instinctual repres
sion. Surplus-repression is the performance principle of modern
capitalism. Basic repression could become the performance
principle of socialism. Domination and freedom are based in
principles that either violate or obey the norms of human nature.
To this extent and considered at this level of generalized pre
sentation, Marcuse’s critical examination of the instinct theory
and metapsychology is sound and persuasive. From his biological
foundation for socialism rooted in Freud’s instinct theory, and
through a historical analysis of the metapsychological process of
repression, Marcuse generates concepts from which he derives
theoretical justification for his assault on capitalism and for his
vision of a free society.
Marcuse’s work must now be studied closely. Of particular
concern is the correctness of Marcuse’s interpretation of Freud —
the image of man and the new dimension of human potentiali
ties it has produced. As many problems as possibilities, however,
emerge from Marcuse’s anthropological foundation for critical
theory.
Repression and Sublimation

Each of the problems with Marcuse’s biological foundation for
socialism originate in his usage of Freud’s concept of repression.
It is appropriate to begin our analysis here. “ ‘Repression’ and
‘repressive’ are used in the non-technical sense to designate both
conscious and unconscious, external and internal processes of re
straint, constraint, and suppression.”n Consider the indexing of
the term: “Repression (suppression, oppression).”12 Caused by
the “impact of the reality principle” upon the individual, repres
sion is characterized throughout by sociological and political
connotations.
Even a cursory reading of Freud proves Marcuse’s rudimentary
exposition basically correct. Eventually, though, we shall discov
er that Marcuse’s decision to explicate the concept in this impre
cise, nontechnical sense leads to his confusion about the relation
ship between repression and sublimation and to the complete
loss of the latter concept’s critical significance. But a prior seri

ous and fundamental error lies in his application of the concept
of repression, which also will be shown to be related to his misun
derstanding of Freud’s notion of sublimation.
The predominant form of repression Marcuse identifies is the
“repressive organization of the instincts” under the genital
sphere of sexuality. This results from the impact of the reality
principle as it is transmitted through the Oedipal conflict. Mar
cuse argues that
Freud emphasizes the aspect of centralization. It is especially opera
tive in the “unification” of the various objects of the partial instincts
into one libidinal object of the opposite sex, and in the establish
ment of genital supremacy. In both cases, the unifying process is re
pressive —that is to say, the partial instincts do not develop freely in
to a “higher” stage of gratification which preserves their objectives,
but are cut off and reduced to subservient functions. This process
achieves the socially necessary desexualization of the body: the li
bido becomes concentrated in one part of the body, leaving most of
the rest free for use as the instrument of labor.13
Here Marcuse makes a departure from Freud’s theory of in
fantile sexual development that is crucial to his argument and
upon which its entire critical edifice is built. Freud designated
the nonaggressive (libidinal) and aggressive instinctual predispo
sitions as the two categories of pregenital “component,” or "par
tial,” instincts. 14 He explained that "the infantile sexual life, in
spite of the preponderating dominance of erotogenic zones, ex
hibits components which from the very first involve other people
as sexual objects.”15 An appreciation of the nature of these com
ponent instincts in relation to infantile sexual development is re
quired to comprehend fully the flaws in Marcuse’s interpretation
of Freud. Freud further described the behavior of the compo
nent instincts by saying that they act independently of one another
during the early phases of sexual maturity. For the duration of
the pregenital stage the libidinal and aggressive instincts seek
gratification in a radically individualistic m anner .16 According
to Freud this instinctual anarchism prevails because the instincts
are "unalloyed,” "unfused,” or “disunited .” 17 In their search for
pleasure, in their effort to achieve the aim of gratification by re
lieving tension, the instincts pursue their goals separately
through dominant sexual zones, through polymorphous activity,
and through contact with external objects until the final stage of
instinctual development, when the component instincts are fused,
or alloyed, by being subordinated to the genital sphere .18
W hat is decisive about this process of fusion and subordina
tion is that it is the natural outcome of a biological process of
maturation during which an unorganized and unrestrained, in a
sense free, distribution of instinctual drives, wherein the instincts
had discharged their aims independently, changes to an orga
nized condition in the service of the genital zone. Freud’s emphasis
on the biological nature of the establishment of genital suprema
cy is diametrically opposed to Marcuse’s sociological explana
tion. Sociological factors are significant determinants of psycho-
sexual maturation at all stages of infantile development in that
they influence personality development, character formation,
and dispositions to neurosis, and, of course, the impact of society
is dramatized during the Oedipal conflict through Oedipal re
pression and the creation of the superego. But it is a biological
and not, as Marcuse claims, a historical process that determines
the organization of the instincts.
This point is not made as a denial of the ultimate historical
character either of the nature of the instincts or of other biologi
cal aspects of infantile sexuality. Phylogenetically all facets of
sexuality should be understood as originating in the historical ex
perience of the species. Freud’s archaic heritage thesis makes it
clear that human nature is the result of centuries of human en
counters with social structures all making quite similar demands
for the repressive modification of desires and inclinations. Even
tually these repressions are assimilated as constitutional factors.
Ultimately biology can be reduced to its historical determinants;
human nature, in the final analysis to second nature. Once his
torical experience becomes sedimented as biology, however, we
must be prepared to concern ourselves with it as human nature
only. Phylogenetically, the subordination of the instincts to the
genital sphere and the desexualization of the body may have
been enforced by the repressive mechanisms of the performance
principle in the interests of domination. Ontogenetically, the es
tablishment of genital supremacy is first and foremost a biologi
cal phenomenon such that we must confine our attention to its
critical significance as human nature.
Freud did assert that repression occurs during the Oedipal sit
uation, but he used the term in a highly technical sense. When
the instincts begin to be localized in the genital zone, polymor

phous sexual activity ceases to be an outlet for instinctual aims.
Instinctual impulses are directed completely outward and the
Oedipal conflict is initiated. The constraints imposed by paren
tal authority prohibiting the Oedipal drive from achieving its
aim issue in the repression of the Oedipus complex, the repres
sion of its instinctual designs, and the erection of the superego
through the process of identification. When Marcuse incorrectly
submits that the “superego is the heir of the Oedipus complex,
and the repressive organization of sexuality is chiefly directed
against its pregenital and perverse manifestations,”19 it must be
stressed to the contrary that for Freud the repression of the Oedi
pal drive is necessary after the genital organization of the in
stincts creates the sexual preconditions for the Oedipal conflict.
As it is encountered through the Oedipal conflict, the reality (or
performance) principle has nothing whatsoever to do with deter
mining instinctual organization. But it influences the selection,
in this case through the repression that forms the superego, of
the objects of instinctual drives for gratification.
Marcuse applies the concept of repression incorrectly by ignor
ing the biological preconditions necessary to the very occurrence
of the Oedipal conflict and Oedipal repression. Since it is axio
matic in Freud’s instinct theory that the genital instinctual orga
nization precedes this momentous encounter with the reality
principle, Marcuse argues incorrectly that as a consequence of
the introduction of the performance principle through the Oedi
pal confrontation “the autonomous development of the instincts
is frozen, and their pattern is fixed at the childhood level.”20
By identifying the genital organization of the instincts with re
pression, Marcuse means to imply that the maturation process
that Freud believed to be biological and irrevocable is actually
social and potentially subject to conscious redirection and con
trol. The obvious implication is .that the body does not have to be
desexualized. In order to understand why Marcuse is preoccu
pied with desexualization, the relationship of the body’s desex-
ualization to alienated labor must be examined.
It is true, as Marcuse states, that despite sweeping changes in
the instinct theory during various periods in its theoretical devel
opment, throughout Freud’s life work sexuality, the libido, re
tains the predominant place in the instinctual structure. The
view Freud consistently held is that within the mental apparatus

the life instincts rule the instincts of aggression. Marcuse mistak
enly concludes, however, that “if the primary mental processes
are governed by the pleasure principle, then that instinct which,
in operating under this principle, sustains life must be the life in
stinct .”21 Following this logic Marcuse exclusively confines the
pleasure principle to rule only the life instincts, the instincts of
Eros. Cultural activities involving the instinctual drives of Eros
and only those activities —although this position is relinquished
elsewhere —are pleasurable and gratifying .22 Seen in this light
and returning to Marcuse’s equation of desexualization and
alienation, since the parts of the body executing labor have been
desexualized, or de-eroticized, “work is normally without satis
faction in itself; to Freud it is unpleasurable, painful .”23
Marcuse errs in regarding only the life instincts as governed by
the pleasure principle. In fact, the gratification of the aggressive
instincts yields pleasure, too. Because Freud’s theory acknowl
edges the subordination of the aggressive as well as the nonag-
gressive drives to the pleasure principle, labor based on the re
pression of Eros would not be totally alienating. Gratification of
the aggressive component instincts would occur through work.
All labor, therefore, must involve partial gratification and plea
sure. Marcuse’s conventional Marxist categories of alienated and
unalienated labor appear too crude to be insightfully applied to,
and the oversimplified dichotomy of unpleasurable and pleasur
able work too conventional to be derived from, Freud’s instinct
theory.
Even allowing for this revision in Marcuse’s theory bypasses its
central problem and implies concessions where none can be
made if Freud is to be understood correctly. The body’s desex
ualization is not a social phenomenon. It is not “socially neces
sary,” as Marcuse contends. Since the organization of the instincts
at the genital stage is biological and does not entail a sociological
dimension, it is not a form of repression and the desexualization
of the body should not be described in sociological terms as al
ienating. It is not possible to reverse the genital instinctual m atu
ration and it makes little sense to equate this event with a process
of alienation supposedly open to social intervention and change.
Marcuse’s indictment of the genital stage of instinctual organi
zation also overlooks its most important function. It establishes
the biological and psychological preconditions for sublimation,

that is, for all intellectual and physical labor. The demand for
the resexualization of the body suggests a regression behind the
genital organization of the instincts making sublimation impossi
ble. This problem deserves very special attention and a closer in
spection of Freudian theory.
Freud’s instinct theory associates an interesting and important
characteristic with the instinctual drives during the pregenital
stage. At this stage, more than at any-other in the life of the indi
vidual, there is the possibility for nearly total discharge of ten
sion and nearly complete instinctual gratification and pleasure.
This possibility arises from the immaturity of infantile sexual de
velopment. There is an unorganized division of the instincts into
qualitatively distinct and independent libidinal and aggressive
component impulses, which derive gratification through the ac
cessibility of external object relations, for instance, with loved
ones, and through the polymorphous immediacy of bodily sources
corresponding to the pregenital instinctual arrangement.
When we consider explanations for complete gratification
during the pregenital stage of infantile sexuality, primary em
phasis must be placed not on the object or form of gratification,
that is, neither on the child’s relations with parents and other fig
ures nor on the polymorphous nature of sexual expression, but
rather on the independence and radically individualistic behav
ior of the instincts. The individual component impulses have a
relatively low intensity of instinctual excitation. For that reason
nearly complete gratification is possible. Once the component
instinctual drives become fused at the genital stage, gratification
becomes more difficult to achieve. This absence of complete
gratification is the natural consequence of a multiplicity of com
ponent impulses, which, once combined into a new instinctual
drive but nevertheless retaining the need for discharge as inde
pendent aggressive and nonaggressive component instincts, must
rely either upon a single or upon many instinctual object rela
tions in order to reach the aim of gratification. Freud explains
that “the sexual instinct of adults arises from a combination of a
number of impulses of childhood into a unity, an impulsion with
a single aim .”24 Elsewhere he makes this point more clearly by
saying that “the same object may serve for the satisfaction of sev
eral instincts simultaneously.”25 Consequently, only some pro
The Second Dimension 1 03
portion of the component instincts is gratified in any activity or

activities. This is tantamount to saying that the complex instinc
tual drive structure created through the biological organization
of the instincts at the genital stage of sexual development sup
poses the absence of complete gratification because excitation
cannot be eliminated, but at best reduced. This entire discussion
must eventually lead, of course, to a consideration of the sorts of
social relations that could provide gratification for the instincts
after their new stage of biological development has been reached.
Biology clearly appears to be a decisive factor in an explana
tion for the absence of complete gratification. It is now a small
step to realize that biological development is equally prominent
in preparing the bases for sublimation (intellectual and physical
labor). Whereas the newly complex genital instinctual organiza
tion makes gratification difficult, at the same time it compels the
development of a sophisticated psychic structure. As of the geni
tal stage the ego is charged with the function of establishing rela
tions in the external world that suitably gratify complex instinc
tual drives. Hence, the ego is forced to develop its capacities in
response to the biological demands thrust upon the individual at
the genital stage of instinctual maturity. And the capacities to be
developed are those that allow for sublimated modes of gratifica
tion, that is, for the labor from which higher sources of pleasure
could be derived. But did Freud explicitly make this argument to
which his instinct theory leads?
Unsublimated sexual relations are important forms of socially
derived gratification. Marcuse interprets Freud as stressing a
causal relationship between civilization’s constraints on sexual
behavior and sublimated activities, as though the restraints make
available the instinctual energy to be invested in labor. Freud
does say, for example, that “civilization is obeying the laws of
economic necessity, since a large amount of psychical energy
which it uses for its own purposes has to be withdrawn from sexu
ality .”26 It would have to follow from this argument that if these
restraints were suddenly removed, sublimation would not occur.
Freud would hardly be inclined to draw such a conclusion for he
did not stop with this rather crude explanation for sublimation.
Freud also considered the possibility that sexual relations are
by their very nature limited in the gratification they provide.
Perfectly consistent with his instinct theory is the contention that
1 04 T he I maginary W itness
the experience of limited gratification in unsublimated sexual

relations is the result of a multiplicity of component instincts
that, fused, simultaneously seek gratification through sexual
contact. The inadequate gratification of sexual relations would
derive not from cultural suppression but from the complexity
and intensity of instinctual energy after the genital stage had ef
fected its instinctual reorganization. This would give birth to the
natural and necessary tendency of the ego to sublimate its ener
gies in the interest of securing more fulfilling and lasting gratifi
cation.
As his work progressed this implication became increasingly
clear to Freud. In the second phase of the instinct theory’s devel
opment Freud remarked that “the possibility must be considered
that something in the nature of the sexual instinct itself is unfa
vorable to the achievement of absolute gratification .’’27 He kept
to this view in the theory’s final stage and suggested that “the sex
ual life of civilized man is notwithstanding, severely impaired . . .
Sometimes one seems to perceive that it is not only the pressure
of civilization but something in the nature of the function itself
which denies us full satisfaction and urges us along other
paths .”28 Such claims are not rare in Freud’s writings and more
over express a major thesis of the instinct theory as it developed
through its final stage. Freud questioned the degree to which un
sublimated social relations can offer gratification and proposed
a natural inclination to compensate through sublimation. Subli
mation, having the genital organizatidn of the instincts as its pre
condition, also appears as a developmental stage in a natural
process of maturation. It alone holds out the possibility for com
plete gratification.
Behind this thesis lies an even more fundamental biological
consideration that finds expression in the need not simply for la
bor (sublimation) but rather for particular forms of labor. The
complexity of the instinctual structure after the last stage of in
fantile sexual development explains why it is “the difference in
amount between the pleasure of satisfaction which is demanded
and that which is actually achieved that provides the driving fac
tor which will permit of no halting at any position attained .”29
This notion is saturated with the most important implications. It
moves far beyond the point at which unsublimated relations are
found wanting as sources of gratification. Freud is saying now
that some forms of labor are more gratifying than others and
that the lack of gratification in labor is the impulse to seek more
gratifying forms of sublimation. Freud’s presentation of the bio
logical aspects of gratification thus brings us to the horizon of soci
ological analysis, to a consideration of the historical determinants
of labor, to the social and political organization of sublimated
forms of gratification. We shall return to these issues later.
In this exposition of Freud, I have drawn out major elements
of his instinct theory. They point directly to sublimated activities
as potentially the highest source of gratification. Marcuse, how
ever, views sublimation as denial of gratification: “sublimation
and domination hang together ;’’30 “sublimation involves de-
sexualization ,’’31 loss of pleasure. Marcuse’s reasoning is based
upon two errors he has committed.
The first, briefly discussed, is Marcuse’s claim that under the
impact of the performance principle through the Oedipal con
flict, the genital organization of the instincts occurs and trans
forms the body from an instrument of pleasure into an instrument
of toil by spatially reducing its pleasurable areas to the genital
zone. Through this event desexualization prepares the body for
labor, for if it were to remain subject to the rule of the pleasure
principle it could not be brought to perform tasks from which in
stinctual pleasure cannot be derived. Second, this social restric
tion on sexual behavior makes available instinctual energy for
work. Sublimation desexualizes the instinctual drive, that is, se
verely weakens the libidinal component. Libidinal gratification
is denied in proportion to the degree of sublimation entailed in
the performance of a particular task. Cultures progressing in ac
cordance with an ever expanding set of productive relationships
demand continuous sublimation.
Marcuse’s initial error originates in a confusion about the his
torical character of the instinctual makeup. It is true that in
Freud’s theory the genital phase of organization is the biological
product of centuries of historical repression demanding the spa
tial reduction of the instincts in the service of procreation and
sublimation. At the present stage of civilization, however, the
genital and pregenital stages and all other universal characteris
tics of infantile sexuality are firmly rooted in biological proc
esses. By critically grasping the experience of the individual from
the standpoint of the experience of the species or, more pre
cisely, by supposing phylogenesis to be recapitulated ontogeneti-

cally in its historical rather than in its biological form, Marcuse
exaggerates the extent to which the instinct theory can be histor-
icized.
To account for the second error is much more difficult. In
fact, there are scattered remarks in Freud’s writings, though very
few and apparently made in passing, to the effect that sublima
tion desexualizes an instinct by weakening (repressing) the erotic
component.32 But through statements and evidence of the vari
ety I have underscored and, most important, by relating Freud’s
particular ideas back to his whole theoretical framework and
then in turn allowing this constantly elaborated and revised
whole to guide further analysis of its parts, the meaning of the
instinct theory unfolds against Marcuse’s interpretation. Libidi-
nal and aggressive components remain as strong in their subli
mated as in their unsublimated forms. Sublimation emerges as
the means to gratification rather than its denial. If the instinc
tual drive goes unsatisfied, the blame is to be laid not on subli
mation but on the particular form of sublimation (labor) chosen
by, available to, or forced upon the individual. This last point
leads us to a more satisfactory explanation for Marcuse’s second
error.
This error can be explained best, perhaps, as the result of
Marcuse’s nontechnical use of repression. Freud’s technical usage
confined repression to internal, psychological processes of re
straint or inhibition. Marcuse expands this term’s meaning to in
clude external processes of restraint, constraint, and suppres
sion. In a modern capitalist society all labor (sublimation) for all
classes is determined by capitalism’s performance principle.
Under these circumstances, in light of the broad meaning Mar
cuse attributes to repression, which includes a sociological as well
as an internal, psychological dimension, all sublimation (labor)
can be interpreted as repression, that is, as domination. Subli
mation appears per se as repression; the concepts become inter
changeable. It is only when repression and sublimation are re
stricted to their proper and technical Freudian definitions that
sublimation can be differentiated from repression and suppres
sion (oppression, etc.) such that it can be understood to have a
nonrepressive dimension. I have begun to lay the foundations for
these distinctions throughout the foregoing examination.
Marcuse’s confusion about the phenomenon of sublimation is

highlighted the moment he encounters varieties of sublimated
activities not agreeing with his theoretical expectations. An artis
tic sensibility is gratifying, pleasurable, and a sublimation of li-
bidinal impulses. Acknowledging this deviation from his critical
evaluation of sublimation, Marcuse awkwardly explains that “ar
tistic work, where it is genuine, seems to grow out of a non-re-
pressive instinctual constellation and to envisage non-repressive
aims —so much so that the term sublimation seems to require
considerable modification if applied to this kind of work .’’33 Cer
tainly in great works of art the quality of beauty, which pertains
to the erotic and sensuous content of art, may derive from the ac
complishment of a highly sublimated aesthetic form. And not
only in the great work, but the aesthetic response to such an
oeuvre is likewise a sublimation of erotic energy in the pleasur
able feelings accompanying the appreciation of art. Yet to
characterize aesthetic experience in this way is to demand not a
modified concept of sublimation but rather a modified under
standing of this concept.
Art instructs us about the actual relationship between subli
mation and gratification according to Freud’s theory. There is a
uniqueness to art that lies not in its sublimated gratification of
libido but in its providing for only the sublimated gratification of
Eros. As such it appears to be the single form of labor based
upon the repression of the aggressive instincts. Marcuse, then, is
partially correct. Art does grow out of a nonrepressive instinctual
constellation through its sublimation of erotic impulses. But it
preserves a repressive dimension in that aggressive impulses are
not gratified. A completely nonrepressive and unalienated form
of activity would be neither art nor labor as we know them but
activity sublimating both the libidinal and the aggressive compo
nent instincts.
Marcuse has further difficulties with sublimation in his m an
agement of aggression. When he speaks of the satisfaction of ag
gressive impulses, which cuts against his view that only libidinal
gratification is pleasurable, he maintains that gratification oc
curs because “socially useful destructiveness is less sublimated
than socially useful libido .’’34 In truth, socially useful destruc
tiveness is not sublimated merely to a high degree; in the con
temporary period it is perhaps the most highly sublimated of the
instinctual drives. Progress through the development of science

and technology must mean that the impetus behind the evolu
tion of these sublimated forms of aggression is the need for subli
mated satisfaction. This factor should be taken into serious ac
count in any explanation of the course of modern civilization.35
In this corrected interpretation of Freud great stress has been
placed on two significant elements of the instinct theory. Subli
mation emerges as the primary source of gratification. And the
genital organization of the instincts establishes the biological
preconditions for sublimation. We are now in a position to con
sider Marcuse’s “second dimension” and to discover, as well, that
its implications are related to his faulty analysis of both decisive
elements of Freud’s instinct theory. “Second dimension,” it
should be noted, is a term I have chosen for two reasons. This
phrase seeks to capture Marcuse’s dimension of freedom and hu
man potentialities as they are modeled from the theoretical clay
provided by Freud. And as a second dimension of one social uni
verse, it is a dimension of freedom presumably just as real as that
familiar dimension of repression within which the members of
society dwell.
The Second Dimension

Under the rule of its performance principle the scientific and
technological achievements of modern capitalism have been so
far-reaching that conventional forms of labor have become obso
lete. To Marcuse, this means that genital “repression,” the his
torical catastrophe in each life that alters human nature to per
form a lifetime of hard labor, is no longer socially necessary and
now is to be judged as surplus-repression. A physical regression
behind the genital stage of instinctual organization would follow
from the abolition of genital repression and the process of desex-
ualization would be reversed.
What is involved in this “resexualization” of the body? Mar
cuse defines desexualization precisely as the confinement of the
entire range of human sexuality, of Eros or the erotic drives, to
the genital sphere. Genital sexuality insures reproduction, which
explains why genital sexuality is restricted by the norm of hetero
sexual dominance. And as we saw, after this desexualization of
the body, “psychical energy is withdrawn from sexuality.” In
other words, through labor genital sexuality is subjected to fur

ther inhibitions on the pleasure it can provide. Resexualization,
therefore, refers to the transformation of sexuality back into
Eros, to re-eroticizing the body and the entire personality. Re
gression behind the genital stage would involve the reactivation
of a pregenital polymorphous sexuality. A “libidinal rational
ity,” a rationality of true gratification, would be substituted for a
repressive performance principle. A second dimension of human
potentiality would be born .36
Of no little concern to Freud, however, were the mature sex
ual counterparts to polymorphous perversity, expressed in such
forms of psychosexual pathology as sadistic and masochistic be
havior. Metapsychological theory drew out the parallels between
the perverse manifestations of infantile sexuality and adult per
versions by studying the dynamic relationship between stages of
psychosexual development and sexual behavior. Freud’s work in
this area and its theoretical underpinnings extend beyond the
present focus of discussion. A few aspects, however, are salient to
a critical perspective on Marcuse’s notion of libidinal rationality.
Frequently, in deference to social pressures an individual re
presses an instinctual aim for which there cannot be found an al
ternative outlet (displacement) that is both gratifying and social
ly permissible. In this event, the aim undergoes a regression to an
early phase of sexuality. The stimulus for this regression is soci
ety’s denial of gratification, while its psychological motivation is
the unconscious memory of an infantile and particularly intense
experience of gratification whose timing and intensity made it a
“fixation.” The memory also may be of a normal gratification
that had been abandoned prematurely as a consequence of a pri
mary or a traumatic repression during childhood. By means of
regression the adult gains the satisfaction frustrated by society
through a perverse sexuality (or a neurosis), which derives its
pathological character from being based upon some form of pre
genital sexual expression. The regression causes the instinctual
structure to revert to its prior arrangement of independent com
ponent impulses. The perversion assumes the sexual characteris
tics of the component instincts before their genital organization.
This is indicated, for example, by Freud’s statement that adult
sexual aberrations result “from components which have come
apart again in the perversions.”37 The perversion’s psychological
disposition is informed' by the infantile psychic memories of the

particular pregenital form of gratification. Thus, the psychosex-
ual pathology corresponds in its entirety to the nature of poly
morphous perversity at some phase of infantile sexual develop
ment. Perversion and infantile sexual disposition are inseparable.
Freuds theory of regression and perversion suggests that the sub
stitution of a polymorphous libidinal rationality for the perform
ance principle would replace one mode of irrationality with
another.
Marcuse, on the other hand, chooses to believe that regression
to the infantile phases of sexuality would allow for the free devel
opment of polymorphous sexuality and that the instincts would
tend toward their own sublimation (a claim to be evaluated
shortly). “Self-sublimation,” as he calls it, “would also transform
the perverted content of these stages.”38 Marcuse’s argument
proceeds from the mistaken idea that perversion is not rooted in
polymorphous perversity but is the outcome of the “explosion” of
sexuality “repressed” to the genital sphere and to further subli
mated constraints. Abolishing the repressive modification of
genital supremacy would subvert the preconditions for perversi
ty. This view is entirely incorrect. Such a primitive explanation
for perversion as stemming from dammed up libido might con
ceivably Find some, though very little, support in Freud’s earliest
papers or in the writings of Wilhelm Reich. It would hardly be
sustained by the mature metapsychology. Freud’s studies in neu
rosis proved the relationship between ipfantile sexuality and per
version (neuroses are the “negative of perversions”). Polymor
phous perversity is tied to all subsequent perversion. Constrained
sexuality, or frustrated instinctual aims, whether of an unsubli
mated or a sublimated variety, does not cause perversion but
merely triggers the regression that allows for its appearance.
The objective of this part of the critical analysis of Marcuse’s
second dimension is meant seriously to question his polymor
phous libidinal rationality by bringing forward its implications.
It is not intended to leave heterosexuality intact as the dominant
norm. Marcuse is correct in one respect. The Oedipal conflict is
repressive both in the technical Freudian sense and in the non
technical sense employed by Marcuse not because it affects in
stinctual organization, because it does not, but rather because it
is responsible for'the modification of an instinctual disposition
that is inherently bisexual to an exclusively heterosexual identifi

cation. Heterosexuality as the dominant sexual norm is the con
sequence of an inhibited sexual development. It is the repression
of the Oedipal complex that prepares the ground for this inhibi
tion and its heir, the superego, which insures it. With this excep
tion, Marcuse’s inquiry into Freud possesses implications that
make his more creative social theory extremely vulnerable. In
the final analysis, it will become clear that these theoretical im
plications efface his theory’s critical and heuristic value.
Other and equally serious problems with Marcuse’s libidinal
rationality arise when he attempts to give this conception a more
definite form. He selects the myths of Orpheus and Narcissus to
suggest possibilities for freedom in a nonrepressive society. They
are meant to create an easily identifiable separation between the
established repressive alternatives and future nonrepressive pos
sibilities. These myths are opposed to “ ‘culture-heroes’ who have
persisted in the imagination as symbolizing the attitude and the
deeds that have determined the fate of mankind,” such as “Pro
metheus . . . the culture-hero of toil, productivity, and progress
through repression .”39 Orpheus and Narcissus are “symbols of
another reality principle . . . sought at the opposite pole .”40 Pro
metheus represents the prevailing social order and is the para
digmatic expression of the performance principle, whereas
Orpheus and Narcissus represent possible, desirable, and quali
tatively different alternatives. As Marcuse says, the “Orphic and
Narcissistic experience of the world negates that which sustains
the world of the performance principle .”41 But the problem asso
ciated with Marcuse’s explication of the progressive mythological
images is that they possess a meaning other than that he imputed
to them, a meaning Marcuse chooses steadfastly to ignore. Their
entire realm of implicit possibilities is not presented.
Marcuse’s exposition of Orpheus and Narcissus emphasizes
their positive qualities: “Theirs is the image of joy and fulfill
ment; the voice which does not command but sings; the gesture
which offers and receives; the deed which is peace and ends the
labor of conquest; the liberation from time which unites man
with god, man with nature .”42 The images do portray a new h ar
mony between man and nature and among men, relationships
that are noncompetitive, nondestructive, peaceful, and eternal.
But as such they are distorted, for their undesirable features are
disregarded. The myths of Orpheus and Narcissus have always

been overshadowed by a morbid, morose, and saturnine charac
ter. Orpheus seeks his lost love, Eurydice, in the depths of the
underworld and consorting with the rulers of the dead, Pluto
and Proserpine, makes a pact that leads to his own demise. Both
Orpheus and Narcissus are isolated, unconcerned, and asocial
creatures. Narcissus rejects contact out of vanity and self-love
and is eventually punished for his indifference. These traits sug
gest a darker moral nature.
But the distortion of the cultural myths is only the first step.
Marcuse then proceeds to reinterpret Freud’s instinct theory on
the basis of the distortion and he applies this modified psychol
ogy of the instincts to social relationships.
Freud’s theory requires that the death instinct be understood
in terms of a Nirvana principle that governs the “conservative
nature of the instincts.”43 This means that the instinctual aim is
not merely for gratification but rather for lasting gratification.
Under the rule of the Nirvana principle, in other words, the aim
is to reproduce the complete absence of excitation characteristic
of an inorganic state, or of a deathly state, a state before life. In
Marcuse’s elaboration of his second dimension, however, Freud’s
hypothesis is transfigured. Marcuse’s mythological prototypes
have come to symbolize life and permanency of happiness, their
connection with the death instinct and other shadowy connota
tions having been purged in his one-sided analysis. And since
Freud’s Nirvana principle expresses the instinctual need for per
manent, eternal gratification, then to achieve social relations
corresponding solely to the positive, eternal characteristics of O r
pheus and Narcissus means that the Nirvana principle will begin
to rule “not as death but as life .”44 This extraordinary and far
fetched reinterpretation of the Nirvana principle neglects the bi
ological integrity of Freud’s theory and its implications (although
Marcuse claims to consider biology seriously and criticizes the
neo-Freudians for rejecting it). In particular, it entails an unwit
ting celebration of the death instinct. But through his circuitous
manner of analysis this license taken with Freud reveals the true
nature of Marcuse’s polymorphous rationality. As shall become
clear shortly, Marcuse’s interpretation of Freud leads to the men
tal death of the individual.
Marcuse does not end his mythologically based argument here.

The cultural myth of Narcissus is extended further into the bio
logical and psychological realms. Where Orpheus and Narcissus
were tailored to Marcuses needs, trimmed of unpalatable myth
ological details and essentially disfigured to provide for a modifi
cation of the Nirvana principle, Narcissus is used again in a com
parison with another aspect of Freud’s instinct theory, primary
narcissism.
Like Orpheus and Narcissus and the Nirvana principle, pri
mary narcissism is understood to contain progressive existential
criteria suggesting new forms of social relations between man
and nature. According to Marcuse, “narcissism denotes a funda
mental relatedness to reality which may generate a comprehen
sive existential order. In other words, narcissism may contain the
germ of a different reality principle.” Primary narcissism would
mean that “the normal antagonistic relation between ego and
external reality” would disappear .45 The needs of the individual
would no longer conflict with the needs of society.
In Freud’s theory, however, perhaps what is most important
about primary narcissistic behavior is that it is peculiar to the
earliest phase of infantile psychosexual development. Here the
death instinct, Thanatos, predominates. Libidinal and aggres
sive component instincts reach their aim of tension reduction to
the extent of nearly accomplishing a return to an earlier state of
quiescence. If death seems a rather bizarre and uncanny fate of
the individual at this stage, it may be more reasonable to suggest
that if this pregenital instinctual arrangement were to endure, as
it does with Marcuse, there could be no ego development and
hence no progress in the interest of mature (unsublimated, aim
inhibited, and sublimated) social relations. According to Freud,
though, at the mature genital stage of instinctual organization
the complete elimination of excitation is not possible and ego de
velopment moves forward so that sublimation may occur in or
der to provide higher forms of gratification.
It is true, of course, that at this earliest phase of infantile sex
uality the child’s ego has no conception of a division between it
self and environment, internal and external worlds, subject and
object. There is no antagonism but rather a unity of the ego and
its universe. The solipsistic ego essentially is dissolved into the
whole of its perceptual and conceptual experience. Certainly,

the implication is a world free of conflict, free of the separation
between self-interest and general interest, of the distinction be
tween egoism and altruism. There is an absence of differentia
tion between private and public spheres.
Once again, however, we find a distortion. The freedom that
Marcuse infers from his account of primary narcissism could be
won only at the expense of an inhibited mental development.
Such freedom could be the free expression of an individual not in
possession of an ego able either to conceive of or gratify complex
spiritual, intellectual, or sexual needs or to cope with the inexor
able necessities, challenges, and obstacles of any real world. And
as just mentioned, the infantile character of primary narcissism
also entails the rule of the Nirvana principle. Freud carefully
chose a myth to symbolize the instinctual behavior he described
as narcissistic. Over Narcissus and primary narcissism, Thanatos
prevails. Needs must be gratified immediately, permanently;
there can be no thought of postponement. Through Narcissus
and narcissism, Marcuse appears to encourage and to partici
pate in the erosion of subjectivity, of thought, of the ego. There
is no little irony here. For Marcuse’s original purpose in integrat
ing Freud’s theory into critical theory was to rescue the subject
from the total domination of social order. This goal was to be ac
complished by developing an anthropological foundation for a
theory whose critical rationality then would be rooted in an ele
ment of subjectivity that could retairt an autonomy from society.
But Freud’s instinct theory and metapsychology, which were to
provide this foundation, are interpreted in such a way as to lose
the singular element of subjectivity, the ego, that must exist if
there is to be any critical autonomy.
There is further evidence for Marcuse’s theoretical erosion of
the subject in his concept of “self-sublimation.” It will be re
called that Marcuse identifies the genital organization of the in
stincts with repression and considers this organization to be the
product of social manipulation and coercion. With the excep
tion of art, all mental and physical labor is alienating because it
requires the desexualization of the^ body, the spatial and tem
poral reduction of the life instincts, of Eros, to the genital
sphere. If this alienation is to be overcome and the instincts are
to regain their original and natural disposition, social institu
tions must permit a regression behind the genital stage of instinc

tual organization. Now this regression supposedly would allow
for what Marcuse calls self-sublimation. The self-sublimation of
free and unrepressed Eros, of reactivated polymorphous sexuali
ty, would constitute a liberation of all human faculties. For the
first time sublimation would be truly gratifying and pleasurable,
a “higher gratification.” Social relations and relations with na
ture would come to incorporate the values symbolized by Or
pheus and Narcissus.
But Marcuse wants an individual capable of sublimation who
is not forced to pass through the developmental stages that make
sublimation possible. Infantile sexual development proceeds in
strict accordance with a carefully and elaborately defined bio
logical and psychological model of maturation. The logic of
Freud’s model dictates that its progressive stages are neither re
pressive nor alienating. Most important, without the completion
of all instinctual stages the preconditions for sublimation would
not exist. There would not be, on the one hand, the complex in
stinctual organization making gratification difficult to achieve
and, on the other, the complementary development of a psychic
apparatus insuring that sublimation can occur so that means of
gratification can be devised. By eliminating both of these fac
tors, by reversing the genital organization, as Marcuse does,
there would be no self (ego structure), no reasoning faculty to en
gage in sublimation.
Finally, not only the reasoning capacity of the subject but
Reason as such is annihilated through Marcuse’s interpretation
of Freud. This occurs when Marcuse considers the Nirvana prin
ciple directly, without the interpretive mediation of the myth of
Narcissus. Here Marcuse is consistent with his previous disregard
of the biological realities Freud inferred from the instincts under
the rule of the Nirvana principle. Marcuse correctly acknowl
edges that just as immediate, complete, and permanent gratifi
cation is experienced as pleasurable, the relative absence of this
state is experienced as painful. The instinctual process originates
in an unpleasant state of tension and thereupon determines for
itself a path that results in relaxation of tension, for instance, the
avoidance of pain (unpleasure, tension) or the production of
pleasure .46 But whereas Freud makes no distinction in Beyond
the Pleasure Principle between the alleviation of pain (unplea
sure, tension) and the elimination of life as an aim of the Nir

vana principle, Marcuse contends that “if the instincts’ basic ob
jective is not the termination of life but of pain the absence of
tension —then paradoxically, in terms of the instinct, the conflict
between life and death is the more reduced, the closer life ap
proximates the state of gratification .”47
Insisting on such a distinction where none could be drawn out
of Freud’s theory, Marcuse actually has lost much of the deeper
significance of the metapsychology.. By claiming that the Nir
vana principle refers to the elimination not of life but of tension
and pain only, the discovery that led Freud to infer the existence
of Thanatos is effaced. And while Marcuse’s interpretation can
distort the meaning of the Nirvana principle, it cannot alter its
reality. Marcuse reduces the conflict between Eros and T hana
tos, life and death, only to bring life more securely within the or
bit of death. If there is ever a nihilistic strain in Marcuse’s philos
ophy it is at those moments when his inquiry into Freud’s theory
conceals the latter’s real implications. For in addition to its com
monplace meaning, because it represents the end of everything
symbolized by human life, death also is opposed to all human
values, particularly Reason. Correctly understood, however, from
the instinct theory it must be appreciated that the submission of
the mature ego to a developed instinctual organization and to
an “antagonistic reality” is first and foremost an antagonism to
death, whatever else it may become thereafter.
This critical examination has uncovered several fundamental
errors in Marcuse’s interpretation of Freud, and together with
these flaws a set of issues and implications was considered forcing
the thrust of his argument to be discarded. In the final analysis,
Marcuse’s interpretation of Freud accomplishes the opposite of
its appointed task. His anthropological foundation for critical
theory will support neither a reasoning subject nor a critical ra
tionality. The biological foundation, the second dimension in
which they are anchored, effectively eliminates both subjectivity
and Reason. Now there remains the task of restoring subjectivity
and the anthropological basis for the rationality of critical the
ory. A small contribution can be made by further elaborating
the significance of the corrected interpretation of Freud’s in
stinct theory, which has been the ground for the critical evalua
tion of Marcuse’s second dimension. The focus will be on the
concept of sublimation. This discussion also will serve as back

ground for considering the final aspect of Marcuse’s second di
mension—-the aesthetic dimension.
Sublimation, Subjectivity, and the Foundation

o f Critical Theory
It was Freud who first recognized that repression is necessary and

fundamental to the preservation and development of both indi
vidual and society. While both parties benefit through collabo
ration, he stressed also that the individual immediately and the
society ultimately suffer from the impact of repression. Analysis
and therapy perhaps can extricate the individual, but even men
tal health stands as no barrier to living the eventual fate of social
order, which to Freud bore so little promise of redemption. His-
toricizing the relationship among repression, scarcity, and politi
cal domination, Marcuse sheds Freud’s darker vision in favor of
the possibility of increasingly minimizing repression and the suf
fering it causes in a way that would insure collective salvation.
Although each offers a different perspective on labor’s purpose
and organization in modern civilization, Freud and Marcuse
share an emphasis on labor as the single most decisive factor in
an explanation for repression. But they do not share the sense in
which work necessarily involves repression!
It is a relatively simple matter to be clear about Freud’s notion
of repression. The ego inhibits an instinctual impulse, wish, or
memory from exercising any influence over its conscious activi
ties. Consciousness may be occupied, for a time, with such mate
rial, or it may not, but in either case the ego deflects it away
from consciousness into a layer of the unconscious mind. Repres
sion is an internal process of restraint carried out at the behest of
society or its internal psychological counterpart, the superego.
Ego defense mechanisms protect the individual by adjusting its
needs to the conflicting demands of society. But as elementary as
it may be to describe the basic characteristics of repression, the
discussion is complicated the moment the concept is related
meaningfully to labor, for now the concern must be with what
precisely is repressed and for what reason. In this regard Freiid's
theory of aggression is highly instructive.
Although he argued'that “man’s natural aggressive instinct,

the hostility of each against all and of all against each, opposes
[the] programme of civilization,”48 more important, he demon
strated also that the “natural aggressive instinct” is not naturally
or inevitably destructive. However, Freud did impute a destruc
tive nature to the aggressive component instincts during the pre
genital phases. At the oral phase, for example, the component
instincts are marked by a primitive and barbaric “cannibilistic”
urge, alluding to the biting and chewing activity associated with
deriving oral gratification, while the &nal instincts are essentially
sadistic. At the genital stage of sexual development, however, a
significant change in the instinctual structure occurs that binds
together the libidinal and aggressive component instincts. This
development, in turn, is accompanied by a change of even
greater significance. The erotic impulses now predominate and
“the discharge of the instinct of destruction is habitually brought
into the service of Eros . . . The advance from the earlier [pre
genital] phase to the definitive genital one would be conditioned
by an accession of erotic components.”49 In view of this charac
teristic of the genital stage of instinctual organization Freud was
"driven to conclude that the death instincts are by their nature
mute and that the clamour of life proceeds for the most part
from Eros.”50
According to Freud’s theory, therefore, the biological progres
sion of the instincts by nature does not permit aggression to enter
without design into sublimated social relations (labor) but rather
into modes of work wherein the libidinal impulses are dominant.
To put it somewhat differently, since the sublimation of instinc
tual drives is, at the same time, sublimation of an instinctual
structure with the erotic impulses harnessing the aggressive im
pulses, labor by nature is the sublimation of eroticized aggres
sion. By nature labor is nondestructive. It should be noted that
this sort of sublimation (labor) has been derived from Freud’s
theory without once mentioning repression. This insight will re
ceive further attention shortly, but here an indication is given
that it is possible and appropriate to speak of nonrepressive sub
limation.
Society rests upon labor, however, fhat exclusively utilizes the
aggressive and destructive components of an instinct. Providing
basic material needs and other economic necessities requiring
the transformation of nature into consumable products means

that the raw materials of nature must be destroyed and proc
essed. The erotic instincts preclude destructiveness because they
bind and neutralize the destructive tendencies of aggression.
Only the elimination of the libidinal instincts through repression
will free up the requisite energy that determines that the form of
man’s relationship to nature and of relations among men will be
primarily aggressive and destructive. Repression releases the ag
gressive-destructive component impulses for sublimation. The
societal need for particular types of labor, in other words, has re
pression as its precondition.
Since the fusion of the erotic and aggressive instincts mitigates
the aggressive impulses and the destructive manifestations of ag
gression, the reemergence of destructive aggression occurs when
the libidinal components are eliminated from the instinctual
drive, as though a regression to an earlier and pregenital phase
of instinctual organization had taken place. According to Freud
this is the consequence of repression. Through repression the in
stinctual drive is “defused” and the destructive impulses, no
longer bound and tamed by Eros, are again released. Repression
introduces this process of defusion because, as Freud explained,
the aggressive components of the instinctual drive must become
attached to the superego so that it can act aggressively against
the ego to maintain the repression of the erotic impulses. Once
repressed, the libidinal impulses can experience any of several
fates. They may be displaced as fantasy or expressed as perver
sion, or they may undergo displacement as symptoms of a neu
rotic disorder. The outcome depends largely on the individual
concerned, his particular history of infantile development, the
nature of the regression to an earlier phase of psychosexual expe
rience, and so on. Being repressed and made over to the super
ego, the aggressive components are “transformed into a sense of
guilt .”51 The aggressiveness of conscience reproduces the aggres
siveness of society, which had demanded that the repression be
undertaken in the interest of production.
A society, such as modern capitalism, developing according to
the overriding principle of material growth and progress requires
continual repression, and every subsequent demand for a
renunciation of instinct now becomes a dynamic source of con
science and every fresh renunciation increases the latter’s severity
and intolerance . . . The effect of instinctual renunciation on the

conscience then is that every piece of aggression whose satisfaction
the subject gives up is taken over by the super-ego and increases the
latter’s aggressiveness (against the ego).52
This accumulation of guilt, of aggressiveness against the ego,
places the ego in a potentially desperate situation, for “what is
now holding sway in the super-ego is, as it were, a pure culture of
the death instinct, and in fact it often enough succeeds in driving
the ego into death .”53 Elsewhere, Freud again expressed this
point by saying that the result of continual repression is “an in
crease of the sense of guilt, which will perhaps reach heights that
the individual finds hard to tolerate .”54
If the social order is not to succumb to the collective guilt
brought on by the repressive demands of productive relations,
either this guilt must be deflected or, what is but the same thing
in other metapsychological terms, the aggressive components
threatening the ego must be displaced. Freud argued that
so long as that [destructive] instinct operates internally, as a death
instinct, it remains silent; it only comes to our notice when it is di
verted outwards as an instinct of destruction. It seems to be essential
for the preservation of the individual that this diversion should oc
cur . . . Holding back aggressiveness is in general unhealthy and
leads to illness.55
As Freud showed, in the interest of self-preservation and to avoid
psychological disorder, the ego turns the aggressive energy re
sponsible for its suffering outward in the direction of the society.
But this re-externalization of aggression occurs after a dramatic
change has been effected. The postrepression displacement of
the aggressive instincts has been de-eroticized. The libidinal in
stincts are no longer present to neutralize the destructive m ani
festations of aggression. Nonerotic or destructive aggression then
is sublimated in labor. Freud, in fact, inquired as to how he
could have “overlooked the ubiquity of non-erotic aggressivity
and destructiveness and can have failed to give it its due place in
our interpretation of life.”56
By examining Freud’s theory of aggression, forms of aggressiv
ity emerge as the result of a social logic that implicates mental
processes in productive processes. Social organization structures
a universal network of productive relations and defines the kind

of labor to be performed. Individuals cannot avoid the necessity
of earning a living and, consequently forced into repressions that
place mental health in jeopardy, generate the aggressive energy
that finds sublimated means of expression in labor. Repression
and sublimation clearly are independent psychological proc
esses. Yet, from the standpoint of mental and social behavior
they are related systemically. The socially defined need for the
sublimation of aggressive and destructive energy in production
precedes repression, but actually repression must occur in ad
vance of sublimation in order that noneroticized aggression be
made available for work. As a function of repression the cause of
the destructive manifestation of aggression originates in society.
Though repression can be grasped only as an internal, psycho
logical process, the sublimation of aggression is socially required,
making repression socially determined. Thus, one relationship of
sublimation to repression is through the social need for aggres
sive and destructive relationships. Such labor should be termed
“repressive sublimation.”
Repressive sublimation embraces several crucial aspects of
Marx’s notion of alienation. A one-sided exaggeration of needs
and drives through productive activity excludes a wealth of expe
rience in harmony with the essential constitution of human na
ture. Within this alienation from human nature must be included
an alienation of man from nature as nature would develop if a
fuller range of human potentialities could engage it through an
appreciation of nature’s other than utilitarian value. And just as
repressive sublimation determines relations of man to nature,
this aspect of alienation has a counterpart in relations among
men. Insofar as they require competition, struggle, and other
sorts of behavior derivative of the aggressive and destructive im
pulses, the social relations of production are based upon the re
pression of erotic impulses. The essential disposition of human
nature, where aggression is bound to the service of Eros, would
eroticize social relations. This is precisely what productive rela
tions do not, indeed cannot, allow, for the problem of alienation
is not merely an existential problem caused by scarcity and the
necessity of providing for basic needs, as Marcuse has ably dem
onstrated, but an economic problem in a dualistic sense. The
vicissitudes of the instincts, the economics of libidinal and ag

gressive-destructive energy, depend upon the broader claims of
economic “necessity” and its political manipulation.
But is nonrepressive labor, where the instincts harness aggres
sion, feasible and rational? Freud’s theory claims nonrepressive
sublimation to be a natural disposition following from the bio
logical maturation of infantile sexuality. Natural disposition im
plies both a capacity and a necessity. This point can be under
stood in this way. The need for nonrepressive sublimation, fo r
higher forms o f gratification, is the biological stimulus for ego
development, that is, for the development of reasoning capaci
ties. These capacities continue to grow with attempts to fulfill
this need. And insofar as reasoning processes seek nonrepressive
forms of sublimation, they are obedient to a necessity prescribed
by nature. Reasoning, as nonrepressive sublimation, then ap
pears as Reason. Yet, although bound by the principles of Rea
son, reasoning processes are not actually constrained by the
values of the natural relation between biology and psychology,
instincts and nonrepressive sublimation. The possibilities for all
modes of labor remain open. But sublimation that contravenes
this relation is both morally and psychologically repressive.
An examination of Freud’s theory has produced an all-impor
tant distinction between repressive and nonrepressive sublima
tion. Marcuse’s historical terms —basic and surplus-repression
and the performance principle —should be retained as well for
they also unfold the critical elements in the instinct theory and
metapsychology and circumscribe the historical limits of Freud’s
concepts. The real significance of basic and surplus-repression,
however, is captured only when the repression to which they re
fer is understood as repressive sublimation. The undoing of re
pressive constraints, whether they are politically or socially ne
cessary, would establish the preconditions for a nonrepressive
sublimated mode of existence. And though the difference be
tween repressive and nonrepressive sublimation is qualitative, a
correct interpretation of the instinct theory shows that there
would be continuity in human activity as labor (sublimation).
There is no regression, as in Marcuse’s second dimension, to a
stage of development inhibiting the formation of the subject’s ca
pacities for sublimation, for reasoning. Marcuse’s concept of
nonrepressive sublimation as self-sublimation, in its association
with polymorphous sexuality, cannot maintain a subject with the

capacity and disposition for sublimation. By reclaiming the con
cept of sublimation, a step is taken to reinstate the critical tem
per of theory. Not only is a decisive element of autonomy re
stored to the individual, but this element of autonomy is given a
natural foundation upon which the objective need for nonrepres-
sive sublimation, nonrepressive, unalienating labor, can be de
fended.
To complete the analysis of Marcuse’s second dimension, the
restoration of the subject in light of the new conception of nonre
pressive sublimation presupposes a revision of a remaining aspect
of his theory, the aesthetic dimension. The aesthetic dimension is
a further attempt by Marcuse to describe, although this time in
strict philosophical terms, the shape that man’s relation to na
ture would assume when governed by a libidinal rationality. As
such, the aesthetic dimension is an important expression of Mar
cuse’s second dimension.
The Aesthetic Dimension

The philosophies of Kant and Schiller are attractive to Marcuse
by virtue of the function they attribute to an aesthetic sensibility.
With Kant the problem is to reconcile the moral autonomy of
the individual with an order perceived to operate according to
universal empirical laws. The antinomy or essential antagonism
of subject and object, man and nature, is overcome through aes
thetic perception, a sensuous experience of objects wherein the
object, whether “thing or flower, animal or m an,” comes to
assume a form other than that imposed when it is grasped con
ceptually. In the aesthetic perception no cognitive faculty is in
strumental in the mental representation of the object. For if cog
nition intervened, some definite and limited purpose would be
inherent in its conception and attached to the object. Intuition is
the mode of apprehension in the aesthetic perception, and imag
ination is the faculty of a priori intuitions.
The aesthetic perception is receptive, passive, and such mere
perception of the object is without regard for any purpose it
might otherwise serve. Its appearance without consideration for
utility allows an appreciation of its “pure form.” The only real
purpose of the aesthetic perception is to represent without pur
pose; its only law, to express lawlessness. Once represented in its

pure form by the imagination the object is subjected to reflective
judgment —the faculties of the understanding are brought into
free play. The harmonious accord of the imagination and the
understanding issues in pleasure. Thus, the sensuous and imagi
native representation of objects is bound up with pleasure and
gratification, and since the basis of pleasure lies not in any sensa
tion of the object but in its form, the perception is universally
valid for all sentient beings.57 Beauty is defined as the universal
ity of form. In its universality, beauty (“purposiveness without
purpose,” “lawfulness without law,” the "pure form” of an ob
ject) is symbolic of morality, which is now grounded in universal
principles. In this way the aesthetic perception binds together
freedom and nature, pleasure and morality.
Kant’s treatment of aesthetics does not reflect the history of
the concept. Beginning with Alexander Baumgarten in the eigh
teenth century "sensuousness” and “aesthetic” often are shuffled
into a remote sector of the academic division of labor. They ap
pear within a separate discipline as the study of art. Existing on
the fringes of society, sensuousness and art are pleasant diver
sions but not acceptable as part of the real business of the day.
Sensuousness is sanctioned only as art and the critical power of
aesthetics is neutralized. The nonrepressive aesthetic order and
the repressive social order lead a benign coexistence through an
institutionalized distance. For Marcuse the importance of Schil
ler’s work lies in his attempt to recapture the critical significance
of aesthetics by undoing its sublimated and neutralized expres
sion in art. Schiller somewhat alters the terms of the argument
but its spirit is essentially Kantian. Against the repressive order
of reason, against the “form impulse,” is opposed the order and
the “impulse of sensuousness.” Freedom resides in the “free play
of the imagination,” the unfettered “display” of human facul
ties, of potentiality. The liberation of the senses unleashes a new
universal morality by redefining the relations among men and
between man and nature as passive, receptive, contemplative.
All things unfold according to their own designs as nature —h u
man nature and external nature —is released from the bondage
of the performance principle.
No objections Qan be raised to Marcuse’s interpretation of
Kant and Schiller in Eros and Civilization. His explication is bril
liant and through it both philosophers contribute remarkably to

the philosophical legitimation of Marcuse’s project. The aesthet
ic dimension of Kant’s Critique o f Judgement and Schiller’s On
the Aesthetic Education o f Man, however, is more than the phil
osophical expression of Marcuse’s second dimension; it is also its
theoretical critique for it clearly exhibits the weaknesses of Mar
cuse s position. The aesthetic dimension dictates a relatedness of
man to his world essentially passive by nature. The point here is
not to emphasize some affirmative trait. Without a doubt the
aesthetic dimension is a qualitative change in social order. Its
break with the past, or with the present, would be so dramatic as
to presume the sweeping transformation of culture as it has ex
isted. But although in its legitimation of the second dimension
no affirmative character prevails, in the aesthetic dimension a
regressive factor is solidly entrenched. Neither the aesthetic nor
the second dimension conforms to the disposition of the senses or
faculties of human nature according to Freud’s theory, where
they take on the features of actively appropriating the world
through labor. Certainly, this appropriation is regulated by
Eros, but the libidinal instincts are in association with the ag
gressive impulses. At worst this may mean that a repressive social
order is exchanged for a benevolent form of domination. At the
heart of Freud’s theory—and this point would be sustained by
the concept of nonrepressive sublimation —egoism is always the
basis for altruism. Marcuse’s second dimension and its philo
sophical expression in Kant and Schiller are true to the nature of
Eros only as it would appear once removed from its natural con
stitution. Only without the aggressive drive naturally subordi
nated to Eros, only through the violation of human nature, is the
disposition of human nature released to passivity and receptive
ness. As it appears in the second dimension and in the aesthetic
dimension, Eros is an alienated mode of human nature.
In Counterrevolution and Revolt Marcuse comes very close to
recognizing this problem when he recalls a much neglected inter
pretation of Marx’s Paris Manuscripts. Where Marx spoke of the
radical emancipation of all human senses in a socialist society,
Marcuse realizes that this means that a liberated human sensibil
ity in the broadest sense becomes “ ‘practical’ in the reconstruc
tion of society,”58 that m an’s senses “are active, ‘practical’ in the
‘appropriation’ of the object world; they express the social exis
tence of man, his ‘objefctification’ ”59 through labor. For this

brief moment Marcuse verges on an insight into the meaning of a
fully reconstituted human nature. The value for Marcuse of his
exposition of Marx would have been the correction of his inter
pretation of Freud. Before this correction can occur, however,
Marcuse recoils from pursuing the logic of his analysis. Of
Marx’s active and practical sensibility Marcuse finally says,
“Marx’s notion of a human appropriation of nature retains
something of the hubris of domination. ‘Appropriation,’ no m at
ter how human, remains appropriation of a (living) object by a
subject.”60 Hubris? Perhaps, but Marx was forced to speak with
out the benefit of Freudian theory. Yet, this concession to Mar
cuse proceeds too far against Marx and at the same time begs the
question about the Freudian concept of man. Is domination,
even of a benevolent cast, the consequence of an emancipated
human nature? No certain answer can be offered to this all-im
portant question, but no resort to metaphor or symbol must be
allowed to inhibit its sober consideration. As for Marx, however,
I believe he has an informed vision that surely portrays a world
wherein Freud’s concept of human nature becomes human n a
ture for man.
Communism is the positive abolition of private property, of human
self-alienation, and thus the real appropriation of human nature
through and for man. It is, therefore, the return of man himself as
a social, i.e., really human being, a complete and conscious return
which assimilates all the wealth of previous development. Commu
nism as a fully developed naturalism is humanism and as a fully de
veloped humanism is naturalism. It is the definitive resolution of
the antagonism between man and nature, and between man and
man. It is the true solution of the conflict between existence and es
sence, between objectification and self-affirmation, between free
dom and necessity, between individual and species. It is the solution
of the riddle of history and knows itself to be this solution.61
If this proposal means anything at all, it means at least that the
hubris of domination is exchanged for the hubris of having final
ly conquered the impulse for domination.
Further attempts to develop a critical social theory from Freud’s
instinct theory and metapsychology milst recognize, as Marcuse
has not, that nonrepressive sublimation, labor, is a central theo
retical concept. Sublimation is not necessarily repressive either in
the technical Freudian sense of repression or in the nontechnical

sense of repression employed by Marcuse. It is foremost a natural
and autonomous human predisposition. In capitalist society,
however, the mode of sublimation is largely beyond individual
self-determination. It is limited by the relation of the individual
to the social division of labor, and the latter is shaped by political
restraints and by the objective historical level of cultural and
technological development. All these factors converge as deter
minants of the degree and quality of gratification to be derived
from the sublimation of energy in work. We account for the loss
of gratification through labor not as a consequence of the nature
of sublimation per se but as a result of the repressive inadequacy
of the organized division of labor. After focusing on the means to
eliminate the socioeconomic, political, and historical forms of
repression, we will be left with the categories of labor and plea
sure, sublimation and self-realization, and firm grounds to inte
grate the theoretical priorities and perspectives of Marx and
Freud. Sublimation must become a central theoretical concept
and foundation of a critical theory of society, for through it we
discover in the individual a natural disposition to make history
without violence and, beyond that, a history of indeterminate
possibility.
Notes
1. See chapter six of this volume.

2. Herbert Marcuse, An Essay on Liberation (Boston: Beacon,
1969); the first chapter is entitled “A Biological Foundation for
Socialism?”
3. Ibid., p. 10.
4. Sigmund Freud, An Outline of Psychoanalysis (1938) (New
York: Norton, 1969), p. 5.
5. Ibid., p. 55.
6 . Sigmund Freud, “Formulations Regarding the Two Principles in
Mental Functioning" (1911), Collected Papers, 4 (New York: Basic
Books, 1959), p. 17.
7. Herbert Marcuse, Eros and Civilization: A Philosophical Inquiry
into Freud (Boston: Beacon, 1966), p. 80.
8 . Sigmund Freud, Civilization and Its Discontents (1931) (New
York: Norton, 1962), p. 92.
9. Sigmund Freud, The Future of an Illusion (1927) (New York:

Doubleday, Anchor Books, 1964), especially chapters 1 and 2.
10. Eros and Civilization, p. 35.
11. Ibid., p. 8 .
12. Ibid., p. 276.
13. Ibid., p. 48.
14. Although the instinct theory underwent dramatic changes
through the various stages of its development, its central concepts are
retained fundamentally unaltered throughout Freud’s work. When I
have relied upon concepts and theories taken from Freud’s early work
that are occasionally thought to have been discarded in his subsequent
formulations, to prove continuity with Freud’s mature ideas I shall
refer to later writings wherein comparable evidence can be found.
Original dates of publication are indicated in parentheses following
each title. On Freud’s theory of the component instincts see Sigmund
Freud, Three Essays on the Theory of Sexuality (1905) (New York:
Avon, 1971), pp. 58-63, 88-90, 95-98, 104, 107, 111, 137-141, 144;
“The Paths to the Formation of Symptoms” (1917), The Complete In
troductory Lectures on Psychoanalysis (New York: Norton, 1966), pp.
362, 374; The Ego and the Id (1923) (New York: Norton, 1962), pp.
31-32, 34, 44; Civilization and Its Discontents, p. 86; An Outline of
Psychoanalysis, pp. 8-12, 43.
15. Three Essays on the Theory of Sexuality, p. 88.
16. When describing the behavioral patterns of the instincts Freud
explains that “what we see is a great number of component instincts
arising from different areas and regions of the body, which strive
for satisfaction fairly independently of one another and find that satis
faction in something that we may call ‘organic pleasure.’ ” “Anxiety
and Instinctual Life” (1933), Complete Introductory Lectures on Psy
choanalysis, p. 562.
17. Three Essays on the Theory of Sexuality, pp. 95, 107, 138-139;
Freud speaks of instinctual fusion, defusion, alloys, blends, combina
tions, admixtures, and so forth. "The Libido Theory” (1922), Col
lected Papers, 5 (New York: Basic Books, 1959), p. 135; The Ego and
the Id, pp. 20, 31-32, 44; “The Economic Problem in Masochism”
(1924), Collected Papers, 2 (New York: Basic Books, 1959), p. 260;
The Problem of Anxiety (1926) (New York: Norton, 1963), p. 46;
“Analysis Terminable and Interminable" (1937), Collected Papers, 5,
p. 345; An Outline of Psychoanalysis, p. 43.
18. This important biological organization of the component in
stincts first occurs at the third and phallic phase and is finalized at pu
berty, the genital stage of development. I have referred to the third
(phallic) phase of biological organization as the genital stage so that
the psychological differences associated with male and female child

hood development commencing with the onset of the phallic phase but
not relevant to this discussion can be dispensed with. The overriding
concern here is simply with the biological subordination of the compo
nent instincts to the genital sphere, which is common to both sexes and
which Freud clearly argued is initiated in the third phase. He says, for
example, that “in the early phases the different component instincts
set about their pursuit of pleasure independently of one another; in
the phallic phase there are the beginnings of an organization which
subordinates the other urges to the primacy of the genitals and signi
fies the start of a coordination of the genital urge toward pleasure into
the sexual function.” An Outline of Psychoanalysis, p. 12. And, Freud
explains, “the third phase is that known as the phallic one, which is, as
it were, a forerunner of the final [genital] form taken by sexual life
and already much resembles it” (p. 11). Whenever the issue is the bio
logical subordination of the instincts to the genital sphere it has been a
common practice in psychoanalytic literature to refer to the third
phase as the genital stage of development.
20. Ibid., pp. 32-33.
21. Ibid., p. 22.
22. Marcuse acknowledges that the aggressive drives also strive for
pleasurable satisfaction. His point is considered later in this chapter
and taken up again in chapter five, pp. 243-244, 256.
25. Sigmund Freud, “Instincts and Their Vicissitudes” (1915), Col
lected Papers, 4, p. 65.
26. Civilization and Its Discontents, p. 51.
27. Sigmund Freud, “The Most Prevalent Form of Degradation in
Erotic Life” (1912), Collected Papers, 4, p. 214.
29. Sigmund Freud, Beyond the Pleasure Principle (1920) (New
York: Bantam, 1967), p. 77.
30. Herbert Marcuse, “Eros and Culture,” Cambridge Review, 1, 3
(Cambridge: 1955), p. 119.
32. Freud’s most famous statement regarding sublimation as desex-
ualization, and the one most often quoted by those who subscribe to
Marcuse’s position that sublimation is by nature a form of domina
tion, is to be found in The Ego and the Id, p. 44. But even this remark
does not support Marcuse’s contention because in this context Freud is
speaking not of sublimation in general but of a particular kind of sub
limation, “identification,”' and of particular sorts of identifications,

those that define the character of the superego.
33. Eros and Civilization, pp. 84-85.
34. Ibid., p. 86.
35. See chapter five, p. 256.
36. In Eros and Civilization Marcuse uses a great variety of terms
interchangeably to denote what he means by a “rationality of
gratification” (p. 228) —"libidinal rationality” (p. 199), “libidinal
morality” and “sensuous rationality” (p. 228), and so forth. I propose
the term "second dimension” to convey Marcuse’s intention.
38. “Eros and Culture,” p. 111.
40. Ibid.
41. Ibid., p. 166.
42. Ibid., p. 162.
43. Beyond the Pleasure Principle, pp. 68, 71.
44. Eros and Cim'lization, p. 164.
45. Ibid., pp. 168-169.
46. Beyond the Pleasure Principle, p. 21.
47. Eros and Civilization, pp. 234-235.
49. The Ego and the Id, pp. 31-32.
50. Ibid., p. 36.
52. Ibid., pp. 75-76.
53. The Ego and the Id, p. 43.
55. An Outline of Psychoanalysis, p. 7.
57. Immanuel Kant, Critique of Judgement (New York: Hafner,
1968), p. 27.
58. Herbert Marcuse, Counterrevolution and Revolt (Boston:
Beacon, 1972), p. 64.
59. Ibid., p. 68.
60. Ibid., pp. 68-69.
61. Karl Marx: Early Writings, edited by T. B. Bottomore (New
York: McGraw-Hill, 1964), p. 155.
FOUR
Civilization W ith o u t
Discontents I:
D om ination— Political
or Technological?
Fainvell, happy fields,

Where joy forever dwells! Hail, horrors! hail,
Infernal world! and thou, profoundest Hell,
Receive thy new possessor, one who brings
A mind not to be changed by place or time.
Milton, Paradise Lost
the transformation undergone by mod

M a r c u se s an alysis of
ern capitalism may seem strangely out of place in an era marked
by social decomposition and crises of a universal and unprece
dented scope. As “advanced industrial society” is described
throughout most of his later work, this new form of modern capi
talism could not have been thought to be verging on environ
mental catastrophe, crippling energy shortages, urban decay,
the deterioration of educational institutions at all levels, the dis
solution of the family, widespread psychological disorders and
retreat into the most private spheres of psychic life, crime and
drug abuse of epidemic proportions, renewed possibilities for
grave international confrontation over arms agreements and
competition for influencing the developing areas of the world,
unbridled inflation and unemployment, extensive underemploy
131
13 2 T h e Im a g in a r y W it n e ss
ment and “felt” occupational dissatisfaction, a fiscal crisis of the

welfare state threatening the provision of social services to the
poor, the disadvantaged, and the aged, as well as to the general
public, and, perhaps least to be anticipated in light of Marcuse’s
portrait, a motivation crisis translating into the individual’s u n
willingness to support a social system no longer able to guarantee
rewards and meet expectations, and a legitimation crisis charac
terized by political disaffection from the governmental and in
dustrial complex.1
In fairness to Marcuse, against this' attack on his analytical
shortsightedness there could and should be a retort to the effect
that Marcuse’s critical theory never departs from an orthodox
Marxist belief in the persistent and insoluble crisis orientation of
capitalism. Two themes, the “final crisis of capitalism” and “so
cialism or barbarism” (Rosa Luxemburg’s historically necessary
alternatives to a crisis-prone capitalist economy), endure in writ
ings spanning Marcuse’s entire career. They appear consistently
whether his focus is on capitalism, as it is in “The Struggle
against Liberalism in the Totalitarian View of the State” (1934),
Reason and Revolution (1941), and Counterrevolution and R e
volt (1972), or on advanced industrial society, as it is in One-di
mensional Man (1964).
Despite this standing prognosis of a final crisis, however, with
the exception of Counterrevolution and Revolt and the work
immediately prior and leading up to it ,2 Marcuse continually
stressed that in advanced industrial society
1. all material and intellectual sectors of the society are or

ganized to conform to a central ideological dynamic, a re
pressive rationality of material productivity;
2 . all structural contradictions and antagonisms can be
managed and contained, perhaps indefinitely;
3. individual hopes, needs, fears, and aspirations are scien
tifically determined and coordinated with the society as a
whole;
4. the great majority of people are comfortable, enjoy and
are completely unaware of being>manipulated, such that
a smooth, efficient, nonterroristic, and democratic un
freedom prevails;
Civilization Without Discontents I 13 3
5. absolutely no genuine and effective opposition to the

social order is discernible;
6 . qualitative change can be prevented for the foreseeable
future;
7. critical discussion, where it occurs, is shaped by and
limited to the norms of the established social system;
8 . tendencies eventually come to dominate that extinguish
the vital mental space for the development of individual
autonomy and critical capacities;
9. alienation among men, of man from nature, and from his
labor has become total; and
10 . the entirety of social relations has been hammered into a
totally administered, completely integrated, perfectly uni
form, pleasant, and hermetically sealed existence to which
there is no challenge and from which there is no escape.
All of these claims are elaborated and defended in Marcuse’s
theory of technological domination and one-dimensional society.
From their enormous scope and implications it is obvious that his
theory must be as complex as it appears formidable. In this
chapter and the next, my goal is to examine Marcuse’s theory
systematically and critically. In the chapter to follow, the psy
chological underpinnings of Marcuse’s theory will be the focus.
The initial half of this chapter will concentrate on the architec
ture of the theory, drawing out the basic elements of technical
reason and tracing the extension of technological rationality into
all sectors of society. It is precisely this technological enclosure of
the entire society that reduces it to a single dimension. In the
critical, second half of this chapter, analysis will unearth from
Marcuse’s theory its implicit concept of the individual, who is sup
posedly the helpless victim of the astringent ideological pressures
of modern civilization.
I will argue that underlying Marcuse’s analysis of a society he
determines to be one-dimensional is a conception of human na
ture that is itself one-dimensional. Marcuse’s analysis entails
such a minimal set of anthropological characteristics that there
can be no surprise when he declares the individual annulled, to
tally integrated into a repressive set of productive relations. Last,
the discussion will critically study many of the sectors of society
that Marcuse contends are organized by technological rationality

to conform to its ends. The objective of critical analysis is to
rediscover a subject, individuals or groups of individuals, influ
encing or able to influence the structure and outcome of social
processes wherever Marcuse has discerned only the influence of
technological reason. In other words, the overriding objective of
this chapter (and the next) is the same as that of chapters two
and three —to reinstate subjectivity, in particular the individ
ual’s critical capacity and a degree of individual autonomy, as an
active and dynamic force in social life against a theory in which
the subject continually vanishes.
Formative Influences on the Theory of Technological

Domination
Capitalism, as Marcuse understands it, has evolved into a quali
tatively new social formation. “New forms of control” have re
placed traditional methods of political and economic adminis
tration, which once preserved the frequently awkward stability
of earlier stages of economic growth. Domination has been
brought to consummate perfection through the rationality of
technological processes.
Two major influences, one of a historical and the other of a
theoretical nature, have figured prominently in the development
of this fundamental but nonetheless radical thesis of Marcuse’s
critical theory. Historically, National ‘Socialism dramatically
proved the effectiveness of a technologically resourceful and cal
culating economic organization in securing totalitarian rule.
Published in the United States during the year of its entry into
the Second World War, “Some Social Implications of Modern
Technology” is Marcuse’s first discussion of technological domi
nation. After a very brief introductory remark explaining what
he means by technology and why he considers it significant, a
passage follows that is quite instructive about what prompted
Marcuse to recognize technology to be a crucial feature of every
modern society.
National Socialism is a striking example of the ways in which a
highly rationalized and mechanized economy with the utmost effi
ciency in production can operate in the interest of totalitarian op
pression and continued scarcity. The Third Reich is indeed a form

of "technocracy": the technical considerations of imperialistic effi
ciency and rationality supersede the traditional standards of profit
ability and general welfare. In National Socialist Germany, the
reign of terror is sustained not only by brute force which is foreign
to technology but also by the ingenious manipulation of the power
inherent in technology: the intensification of labor, propaganda,
the training of youths and workers, the organization of the govern
mental, industrial, and party bureaucracy —all of which constitute
the daily implements of terror —follow the lines of greatest techno
logical efficiency. This terroristic technocracy cannot be attributed
to the exceptional requirements of "war economy”; war economy is
rather the normal state of the National Socialist ordering of the so
cial and economic process, and technology is one of the chief stim
uli of this ordering.3
When Marcuse refers to the Third Reich as a technocracy, he
is not suggesting that Fascist Germany be regarded as a society
ruled by scientists and engineers. With this initial study of the re
lationship between politics and technology, technocracy appears
as a system partially determined by “technics,” the technical ap
paratus of science, industry, the military, government, political
organization, education, communication, transportation, and so
forth. Politics, it must be stressed, in Marcuse’s estimation con
tinues to remain the decisive force in establishing the priorities of
totalitarian society. But the sweeping economic, social, and po
litical changes demanded by the totalitarian regime, which pre
vailed at the unqualified expense of all considerations for the
public well-being, required the harnessing of technological to
political power. Technical knowledge was an indispensable de
vice to sustain political control.
When taking notice that Marcuse underscores politics as the
essential factor in deciding the objectives of National Socialism,
the observation must not obscure the principal thesis regarding
the deeper nature of the relationship between politics and tech
nology as it is first expressed in the passage on National Social
ism. To be precise, technology is Janus-faced. Technics is a social
process, a materially conditioning factor in social organization.
How great a factor? Despite the obvious authority politics wields,
technics is not neutral, but it is also not unambiguously a mode
of domination in itself. In 1941 we find Marcuse retaining an im
plicit distinction between technological domination and the

power of domination inherent in technology. This distinction is
not the same as that between political ends and technological
means. Totalitarian objectives, which include universal m anipu
lation of human thought and action, could not be realized in a
framework that did not embrace technology. Offering unique
possibilities for domination, technology in the Third Reich ap
pears for the first time to be a form of control in itself.
So while National Socialism’s reliance upon technology as an
instrument of domination has long been recognized, Marcuse’s
argument breaks new ground. Once technology and totalitarian
politics are understood to be tied together indissolubly, then the
totalitarian ends derivative from technology are not ends formal
ly identical to those of National Socialism. National Socialism,
in a bizarre sense, is totalitarianism in excess. It employs a “brute
[political] force which is foreign to technology ,”4 but up to or be
yond the point at which brute force is practiced fascism contains
another political and social framework that, although not in
clined to terror, possesses an inherent disposition to universal
domination. This framework is technics itself! In his later work,
particularly in four essays exploring the psychological underpin
nings of technological domination —“Freedom and Freud’s T he
ory of Instincts” (1957), “Progress and Freud’s Theory of In
stincts” (1957), “The Obsolescence of the Freudian Concept of
Man” (1963), and “Aggressiveness in Advanced Industrial Socie
ty” (1967) —and in One-dimensional M an, this thesis undergoes
a consequential development. In a political setting whose social,
economic, and political goals and problems are defined and
solved in a technical manner, the Janus-like quality of technol
ogy is cast off and technology emerges as the relation of domi
nation, as the ideological factor that determines all other social
factors. Modern capitalism increasingly manages its affairs tech
nically and, depoliticized, becomes advanced industrial society.
Capitalism, National Socialism, and, as we shall see, Soviet to
talitarianism all hold this technical base in common. Ultimately,
Marcuse will argue that this similarity proves to be more im por
tant than their differences.
By virtue of the features of technology revealed through the
role it assumed in maintaining and extending Fascist dom ina
Civilization Without Discontents I 137
tion, National Socialism does appear as a noteworthy influence

on the development of Marcuse’s analysis of modern industrial
societies. Still, though National Socialism could not fail to dis
close the secret of its existence, Marcuse requires a theoretical
perspective to grasp the real meaning of technics.
Max Weber has certainly made the greatest single contribution
to Marcuse’s efforts. This claim may seem unusual because Mar
cuse never acknowledges the Weberian influence; indeed, one of
his better known essays, “Industrialization and Capitalism in the
Work of Max W eber,” is an attack on Weber, thus further con
cealing his debt. Yet, beginning with “Some Social Implications
of Modern Technology,” Marcuse’s writings on technology close
ly reproduce Weber’s analysis of technical rationality as domina
tion per se. Marcuse focuses, as Weber had predominantly, on
the evolution of formal rationality within the social relations of
capitalism. At the conclusion of the point by point exposition of
Marcuse’s theory of technological domination, which will follow
shortly, we will be in a position to measure the influence of
Weber on Marcuse. At that time the great similarities and few
differences between them can be discussed. For now I want only
to suggest that without Weber’s thorough and groundbreaking
examination of the relationship between capitalism and formal
rationality, it is very likely that there would have been no “stud
ies of the ideology of advanced industrial society.”5
After Weber a host of lesser and ideologically disparate influ
ences on Marcuse’s view of technological rationality can be
charted easily. Their bearing is apparent though, as with Weber,
superficially acknowledged. In fact, it is much more accurate to
say that such sources as Lewis Mumford (Technics and Civiliza
tion), Thorstein Veblen (The Instinct o f Workmanship), Oswald
Spengler (Man and Technics), Jean-Paul Sartre (The Critique of
Dialectical Reason), Martin Heidegger (Holzwege), and Gaston
Bachelard (L'Activite rationaliste de la physique contemporaine)
should be judged less as influences than as authoritative supports
for a thesis springing from Weber.
The same must be said of many of the analyses produced by
the members of the Frankfurt Institute for Social Research dur
ing the early years of its residency in America. This material is
particularly useful in getting an accurate bearing on the origins
of Marcuse’s views of technological rationality, for it corresponds

in time to the publication of “Some Social Implications of Mod
ern Technology.’’
While there are important differences among them, particu
larly centering around the issue of the nature of the Fascist state
in relation to the economic and political reorganization of capi
tal, Friedrich Pollock (“State Capitalism: Its Possibilities and
Limitations”; “Is National Socialism a New World Order?”; and
a much earlier 1932 piece, "The Current Plight of Capitalism
and the Prospects for a Planned Ecdnomic Reorganization”),
A. R. L. Gurland (“Technological Trends and Economic Struc
ture under National Socialism”), Franz Neumann (Behemoth),
and Max Horkheimer (“Authoritarian State”) all are concerned
to some degree with the advancement of technological rational
ization and its potential for domination .6 A debate that appears
to have crystallized from their studies on fascism —over whether
Fascist domination means state capitalism at the expense of the
interests of private capital (Pollock and Horkheimer), a petit
bourgeois antimonopolistic but expanding government sector
that benefits from its protectionism of profit and the power of
big business (Gurland), or a totalitarian politics that commands
and disciplines the growth of a durable monopoly capitalism
against existing business concerns (Neumann) —does not seem to
have seized Marcuse’s attention to the same degree. It is true, as
has been pointed out elsewhere, that in Reason and Revolution
Marcuse’s position on this specific issue i§ closest to that of Neu
mann. And, I would add, Neumann’s view is prefigured some
what in Marcuse’s 1934 essay “The Struggle against Liberalism
in the Totalitarian View of the State .”7
As of 1941, however, the terms of the debate begin to change
for Marcuse. No longer is he directly concerned with the possible
evolution of fascism out of the structure of capitalism during its
crisis periods, as he is in the 1934 article and in passing in Reason
and Revolution. He becomes preoccupied with the significance
of technological development. In this context all the recent stud
ies of the Institute’s members become salient regardless of theo
retical differences, for taken together they offer an excellent im
pression of the relative contributions made by capital and the
state to the development and application of technics. But quali
fication must now be added. It is important to note that a com
parison of their work with Marcuse’s “Some Social Implications

of Modern Technology” shows the latter essay to contain a far
richer discussion and deeper understanding of technological rea
son. Following that brief but important passage on the techno
cratic character of National Socialism, the article concentrates
in detailed fashion on the growth and implications of technology
within American capitalism. The Institute’s work on the Fascist
state, therefore, cannot be considered more than a minor influ
ence on the substantive development of Marcuse’s theory of tech
nological domination. Moreover, because it is clear that One
dimensional Man and the essays dealing with the psychological
aspects of technological domination continue to be informed
heavily by the first 1941 article on the social implications of tech
nology, Horkheimer’s later Eclipse o f Reason and his collabora
tive effort with Adorno, The Dialectic o f Enlightenment, both
classics dealing with the history of technical reason, had an im
pact of similar magnitude on the subsequent elaboration of Mar
cuse’s theory of technological domination.
Before examining Marcuse’s arguments about technological
rationality and domination, two Final influences on his view of
technics deserve mention. It is doubtful that Georg Luk&cs con
tributed significantly to Marcuse’s mature investigations of the
technological organization of modern society. In this area
Lukacs would have proven to be only a poor copy of his teacher,
Max Weber. Offering an analytic framework of substantially re
duced scope, History and Class Consciousness would have severe
ly eclipsed the theoretical conclusions Marcuse drew with the aid
of the more fertile Weberian system. Last, Edmund Husserl’s
Crisis o f the European Sciences informed Marcuse’s critique of
science and for that reason merits attention when considering
Marcuse’s views of the relationship between science and technol
ogy and his enigmatic conception of the “new science.”8
To summarize, National Socialism brought the implications
of technology into sharp relief for Marcuse and, as suggested,
Weber’s analysis of formal rationality provided the theoretical
tools enabling Marcuse to grasp the significance of technics.
Having attempted to ferret out the probable and ostensible in
fluences on Marcuse’s views on technology, we can now proceed
critically to explicate the essential elements of technological ra
tionality .9
Basic Elements o f Technological Rationality
Simply stated, whenever Marcuse speaks of technological ratio

nality he is referring to the modus operandi of the process of m a
terial production. He appears to construe production in the
broadest possible sense: all sectors of industrial enterprise —the
whole military-industrial complex, as well as the entire distribu
tive network of goods and services—are included. In the capital
ist countries, manufacture and distribution are co-regulated by
the state and monopolistic concerns, while the task of economic
management falls exclusively to the state within the developed
socialist and communist countries. There is a decisive point that
situates technological rationality within the noncapitalist as well
as the capitalist orbit: the gradual concentration of economic
power, in the sense that the economic mode of production be
comes the sector of society determining all other modes of activ
ity, occurs far less as an expression of capital’s interest in the
profitable elimination of competition than as a necessary result
of utilizing technological opportunities for the constant develop
ment of a productive apparatus that can create more goods more
efficiently.
The dynamics of this process can be described clearly. By its
nature, technology can be exploited most effectively as techno
logical units are progressively bound together into an organic
whole. All parts contributing to technology’s operation —indi
viduals, groups, classes, machines, corporations, conglomerates,
and so on —constitute its division of labor. In capitalist, socialist,
and communist countries, the organization of the economy is
propelled by this technological logic of concentration and unifi
cation, though under capitalism it is the motive to compete suc
cessfully that compels business to adopt the latest technologies.
But in all social systems the uniform result is the reproduction
of technological rationality on an ever wider societal scale. Ever
larger units of production are formed with labor divided accord
ing to more elaborately specialized subsystems obedient to fewer
centers of control. Regardless of ideological variations, govern
mental power follows the pattern laid down by the organization
of production. It expands, centralizes, bureaucratizes, and ra
tionalizes at a pace set by the exigencies of technologically deter
mined productivity.'Thus, the state-capital collaboration char
acteristic of modern capitalism, the totalitarian state peculiar to

contemporary communism, and the democratic state centralism
of the developed socialist societies necessarily emerge to insure
economic growth originally made possible through technological
achievements. Given just these few aspects of a technologically
ordered process of production considered at a macrolevel of
analysis, the technological dynamic that creates Marcuse’s one
dimensional society, where all relations are identical to techno
logical relations, begins to crystallize.
This dynamic assumes greater clarity when the elements of
technical logic are exposed. At first hearing, “technological rea
son” seems an odd notion. It is not customary to assign mental
powers such as thought and judgment to inanimate objects. Yet,
in certain terms that is what is implied by the expression, and it
is necessary to keep this point in mind if Marcuse’s thesis of tech
nological domination is to be intelligible.
Technological reason means that there are characteristics uni
versal to all technical processes, and these characteristics come to
prevail in society to the same extent as does technology. Essential
to technics is the discipline and control of production (“regimen
tation”), the pursual of a narrowly defined means of material
and intellectual endeavor (“specialization”), and the absolute
uniformity of all regimented and specialized labor (“standard
ization”). Regimentation, specialization, and standardization to
gether contribute to the precision, calculability, and efficiency
of production. Through regimentation all tasks are carried out
in accordance with the elaboration of precise and strictly bind
ing rules. Personal qualities, such as reflection and discretion on
matters relating to means and ends, and individual initiative are
thus removed from the production process. Their removal serves
to enhance the predictability of production. Calculability, preci
sion, and predictability increase as the units of labor and pro
duction become smaller. Efficient management of productivity
follows automatically from this specialization. Standardized tech
niques establish criteria of performance and define specific types
of refined skills and training indifferent to individual distinctions
in aptitude, knowledge, and insight. A point to be emphasized,
then, is that the concept of individuality embedded in the logic
o f technique limits human capacity to objective measurements to
which the agent must unconditionally comply if the rationality
of production is to be sustained. Thought and action are trans

formed into reflex, habit, and reaction.
Technological processes are therefore surrounded by a m atter
of factness dictating that production be approached with passive
attitudes, as though technics contained a will of its own to which
all other wills need be subordinated. Nothing that any individual
thinks or feels can affect given, determinate operations. Techno
logical rationality proposes, discriminates, judges, excludes, and
decides. Its logic establishes a universal language pattern that is
to be learned, elaborated through -extended application, but
cannot be altered.
As technics penetrates or extends to new modes of experience,
technical reason becomes ubiquitous and its objectivity com
pletely reshapes the individual subject’s activity with which it
makes contact. All those engaged in the occupations and profes
sions salient to the productive process share a framework of expe
rience rationalized by technology. Like so many atomic parti
cles, individuals are sorted into a division of labor to perform
specialized functions. Thoroughly fragmented, with his mental
and physical energies absorbed by a narrow sphere of activity,
the individual loses the ability to comprehend the underlying so
cial dimensions of the productive process. In this way the techni
cal control of production is translated into the political control
of the laborer.
Rationalization especially affects the working class in a variety
of new and significant ways. First, technologically rationalized
industry deforms the worker’s mental faculties perhaps more
than it exhausts his physical strength. In History and Class Con
sciousness, Luk^cs had argued that there is a greater opportunity
for the development of a rebellious attitude in the proletarian
than in the bureaucrat for as the worker is not occupied with
“mental labor,” as is common to bureaucratic tasks, this free
mental space leaves him susceptible to a critical perspective.10
Marcuse’s analysis, however, indicates that the technical coordi
nation of mental as well as physical skills, which also entails a de
bilitating psychological tension, paralyzes the only capacities
that could enable the worker to acquire a critical view of a re
pressive social order. As Marcuse says, “>This kind of masterly en
slavement is not essentially different from that of the typist, the
bank teller, the high pressure salesman or saleswoman, and the
television announcer. Standardization and the routine assimilate

productive and non-productive jobs.”11 This point is of great sig
nificance. Here Marcuse has indicated that the technical ratio
nalization of the productive process subjects all individuals at all
levels of production, including the working-class individual, to
the same mechanism of domination. Technological domination
becomes as ubiquitous as technological rationalization; as the
latter moves toward universality so does the former.
Second, rationalization extends the process of production into
a comprehensive technological system that alters the relation of
the working class to the means of production. As technical rea
son integrates production at all levels, the immediate process of
production increasingly falls directly under the control of man
agement. Consequently, the working class is less salient to the
operation of the productive apparatus and hence less of a politi
cally disabling threat.
Third, rationalization has reduced the overall number of work
ers in economic sectors. Increasingly reduced in numbers, the
working class ceases to be the largest class within society, and its
possible subversive impact on production further declines.
Last, modern industrial reform —from profit sharing to the
schemes of workers’ participation in management and workers’
self-management —has encouraged workers to make production
problems their problems, with the result that the class distinction
between management and labor is erased. Opposing class inter
ests are “technically” dissolved and a new common cause evolves
from technological rationalization. A feeling of well-being among
workers, and solidarity among workers, management, and capi
tal is fostered, transforming dull proletarian labor into “reward
ing activity.”
As Marcuse describes them, all the elements of technical logic
and the changes in the nature of work introduced by technical
reason retard the growth of the individual subject’s critical facul
ties and force the "historical subject,” the working class, into
precipitous decline.
Other decisive aspects of production and social relations are
transformed through rationalization. Control over the goals of
the productive process must shift from the owners of the means
of production to a location outside the plant, to the universities
and private research laboratories. Crucial decisions about what
is to be produced must* always be referred to the class of special

ists who know objectively what is feasible in terms of the attained
level of scientific knowledge and available resources. Unable to
separate the ends of production from the technical means, the
technician turns questions concerning what is to be produced
and what purposes the production process is to serve into ques
tions limited to how production must occur. The transfer of con
trol from political to technical authority precludes opposition to
the ideology of productivity for its own sake. For as their experi
ence with technology has always be£n shaped by its growth and
development, technicians are singularly inclined to propose and
approve only those projects that follow the rationality of the pro
ductive process, from the errand of refining particular tech
niques to the task of increasing the efficiency and productivity of
the overall process. The technical class is precisely the group
least able to initiate change in the mode of technological organi
zation for it has acquired a historically shaped, or “m ediated,”
nature that opposes the arrest of the technological project. Thus,
as technological rationality organizes social relations around
technical logic, technical rather than class status, the ideology of
production rather than the ideology of producers, determines all
goals. Capitalists become bureaucrats, and political domination
becomes administrative rule.
As technological rationalization is advanced, even before the
individual enters the production process his critical faculties are
affected. Already a reality in communjst countries and a visible
tendency under capitalism, all levels of education invaded by
technological rationality gravitate toward vocational training.12
Because the individual is taught by the educational system to ex
ecute only the objectively required specialized tasks of produc
tion, the growth of individual capacities is inhibited. Sculpted to
carry out simplistic technical operations devoid of personalistic
differences, individual rationality is exchanged for the rationali
ty of technics. Suffering a total loss of personal identity, individ
uals have been re-formed essentially into a crowd and emerge as
faceless members of an association cemented together and swept
along by the movement of an autonomous and self-determining
technological structure. >
Originally, technological reason operates not only in accord
ance with its own faws but equally according to the laws of mass
production. The fate of the individual and class subject, then, is
initially a political fate, determined by technological reason as it

unfolds within capitalism. Capital establishes productivity as the
goal to which all its efforts and resources must be directed. The
material standard of living is improved continually and physical
existence is made easier and more comfortable for greater num
bers of people. Overproduction, the classic economic crisis of
earlier stages of capitalism, is prevented by planned obsoles
cence, an application of technical knowledge that streamlines
and insulates the economic system against such tremors resulting
from the internal contradictions of capital. Indeed, planned ob
solescence seems to be implied by technological rationality: tech
nical reason obliges production costs to be kept to the barest
minimum, which in turn influences the types, quantity, and
quality of goods and services to be produced.
Having diminished (real) scarcity, technics also promises a
constant reduction in physical and mental labor (basic repres
sion).13 This is the secret in the perverted elimination of subjec
tivity by technological rationality. As individual reason is sacri
ficed to the hegemony of technical logic, subjectivity assumes the
purely objective properties of technics. In a strict sense, at this
point the individual subject can be apprehended only in the ab
stract, as an idea no longer having a substantive counterpart.
Yet, a progressive feature shows through the technical abolition
of subjectivity. The actual dispensability of the individual is
proved, for an apparatus that develops the logic and potential of
technics to its extreme could become fully automated. As Mar
cuse puts it, “The elimination of human potentialities from the
world of (alienated) labor creates the preconditions for the elimi
nation of labor from the world of human potentialities.”14 This
emancipatory dimension of technics, appearing in an alienated
form in capitalism, is suppressed by the scientific management
of material and cultural needs. Surplus labor is perpetuated by
the creation of artificial needs and the individual, harnessed
“voluntarily” to a semi-automated apparatus, maintains his
status as subject in abstraction.
Two processes occurring simultaneously and interrelated dy
namically have been examined. They now emerge as the key to
understanding Marcuse’s critique of the ideology of advanced in
dustrial society. First, capital develops technological rationality
as the universal medium of human labor and human exchange.
Technics becomes the historical object (goal) of a particular his
torical class subject, the bourgeoisie. Second, corresponding to

the evolution of technical reason is the gradual but steady ero
sion of the individual’s subjective capacities. Considering these
processes as one, as the class subject develops technics, the indi
vidual subject is developed by technics. Marcuse argues, for ex
ample, that “technics hampers individual development only
insofar as [individuals] are tied to a social apparatus which per
petuates scarcity.”15 Eventually, a decisive change takes place.
Technics becomes omnipresent and appears as “reason”; that is,
it acquires the rationality attributed to objectivity and universal
ity by virtue of having become both. The individual subject’s
rational capacities have receded proportionately. Technics’ ra
tional character is fully a product of its objective universality and
the recession of the subject’s capacity, not just claim, to reason.
The roles of subject and object have undergone a complete re
versal!
With regard to the working-class subject, in response to these
pressures the respective interests of the opposing classes of capi
talism have not been merely reconciled. Marcuse’s analysis of
technological society does not amount to an embourgeoisement
thesis, despite his pronounced emphasis on the scientific m an
agement of needs and the political moderation that accompanies
affluence and a rising standard of living. If such were the case,
Marcuse would offer nothing more than a sophisticated “end of
ideology” argument. His analysis, however, runs far deeper.
Technics does not impose a single collective interest that sim
ply cuts across class cleavages as though the latter would re-
emerge at any time the productive apparatus seriously faltered.
Technological rationality materially reconstitutes class society
into a single homogeneous mass. As its defining characteristic,
its technological essence makes it proper to speak of this mass as
a monolithic technical class. The traditional restriction of “tech
nical class” to those with scientific expertise, who now appear as
technics’ special managerial class, can no longer be maintained
in light of Marcuse’s critical theory. The mass become technical
functionaries in the realm of production. And, equally impor
tant, the mass become technical functionaries in the realm of
consumption, too. As mentioned, the'goal of productivity for its
own sake immediately translates into the technical manipulation
of needs, which lubricates the wheels of productivity.
As the fons et origo of technological reason, productivity had

been, without interruption, inextricably bound to technics. With
the debilitation of individual subjectivity there is no cognitive
lever, no rationality to question the necessity of this relationship.
Speculation on the employment of technology without qualifying
its every possible use by a concern for its productive output be
comes inconceivable. Technological rationality is, at one and the
same time, both means and ends. It supersedes the comparative
ly primitive instrumental rationality that implies a firm distinc
tion between means and ends and that presupposes an individual
subject able to contest the norms that technology necessarily ad
ministers. In the final analysis, technics qua productivity be
comes an end as such.
Here we are taken to Marcuse’s conception of politics. Politics
is the expression of an autonomous reasoning faculty that is able
to distinguish between the rationality of private and public
needs, interests, and norms. It is likewise the capacity to evaluate
and judge the various claims of these spheres. By eroding this ca
pacity to think critically and reflectively, which is the very es
sence of subjectivity, “technical rationality cancels politics as a
separate and independent function —political problems become
technical problems.”16 What comes to pass for politics is, in the
technical sense, political process, a ritualized series of predeter
mined operations designed to secure the efficient and periodical
exchange of leaders whose function is to pledge to maintain the
productive apparatus in peak form. The mass submit to a plebis
citary democracy wherein politics is actually a part of the techni
cal division of labor and is removed from the real political prob
lems that the plebiscitary leadership redefines in technical terms.
With universal technical guidelines at this leadership’s disposal
for managing political problems, “control of the capitalist econ
omy not only requires no special qualification, it is also to a great
degree fungible” (interchangeable).17 That technical, unlike po
litical, leaders are interchangeable in effect dispenses with lead
ers. The reduction of politics to technics, moreover, recasts poli
tics in a language that the mass, completely dependent on the
technical-administrative apparatus, cannot grasp.
Although it is certain that Marcuse’s critique of technological
rationality is clearly no end of ideology thesis, his argument takes
that position several steps further. The embourgeoisement theo
rists identify a minimal'set of ideological principles all revolving

around affluence. They demonstrate in what manner these prin
ciples constitute a unifying set of beliefs that bind modern society
together by overriding an array of socioeconomic, geographical,
religious, racial, ethnic, and cultural cleavages. The implication
of Marcuse’s theory, on the other hand, is that a society shaped
by a technological mode of production dispenses with organizing
principles whose role is to create a working equilibrium between
state and society. On two accounts the task of legitimation has
grown obsolete —in the wake of the technological unification of
society as a mechanical system of interrelated and interdepen
dent parts, which eliminates any problems that would call the le
gitimacy of the system into question, and with the disappearance
of an individual who might require justification for the norms to
which the social system is committed. Because the new elements
of societal cohesion are purely functional and structural, there is
no political and ideological hegemony “from above,” no ideo
logical domination by a state acting on behalf of a ruling class.
Technological rationality is an ideology of domination that is
rooted in a technical base co-extensive with the structure of capi
talism’s social, economic, and political relations. But technics
has substituted technical relations in their place. From the
standpoint of political rule, there is no dominant or subaltern
political class. The rulers and the ruled are now identical. The
interests of the ruling class are newly embodied in technics pre
cisely at that moment when that class’s,rule is abolished by tech
nics. Technical reason is the real historical expression of a social
class that required its self-annihilation fully to realize its inner
historical truth. Its annihilation, therefore, is an aspect of that
truth.
This discussion brings us to one other point that deserves men
tion before moving on. Marcuse’s theory of technological domi
nation questions the contemporary relevance of the Marxist the
ory of the state. Against Marx, Marcuse’s argument demonstrates
that at the more advanced stages of capitalism, the state be
comes a simple expression of the technical base. It is no longer
charged with the task, as it was during the earlier stages of capi
talism, of generating ideological principles or political solutions
that would protect the interests of the entire bourgeoisie by uni
fying a society divided by class interests. This function becomes
obsolete because the state comes to share the general fate of sub
jectivity. Depoliticized, no longer in possession of the capacity to
formulate policies other than those narrowly circumscribed by
technical reason, the state loses its quasi-independence from the
relations of production. This results from the state’s assimilation
to the universal rationality of technics. The stability of modern
capitalism, or rather of advanced industrial society, then would
depend upon the effectiveness of technical reason.
The previous discussion has focused on an exposition of the
fundamental elements of Marcuse’s analysis of technological ra
tionality as it unfolds as a mode of domination within modern
capitalism. Technological rationality is a rationality of domina
tion because it eliminates the capacity of all class and individual
subjects to form or re-form the goals of society and social rela
tions. Capitalism undergoes a qualitative change precipitated by
the quantitative growth of technology. It is transformed into ad
vanced industrial society. At this new stage, domination is a
direct function of a technologically rationalized productive ap
paratus that develops only to reproduce its ability to develop fur
ther.
It has been shown that the basic elements of technological
domination derive from the technical development of the pro
ductive process. And as indicated, these elements are repro
duced in all institutions related directly to the management of
production, such as the state and research and educational insti
tutions. But the spread of technological rationality does not end
with production and those institutions directly related to it. It
extends to all cultural and political spheres of society, as well. As
these sectors, such as language, the ideologies of political parties,
social science, and philosophy, gradually are brought under the
influence of technical reason, these forms of thought become
technical forms of social discourse. Losing all independence
from the rationality of society’s basic production relations, cul
tural and political discourse cease to be critical of the relations
and goals of a technologically organized society. All sectors of so
ciety begin to conform to the logic of technics. Consequently, the
next step in the exposition of Marcuse’s theory will be to examine
his analysis of the technological organization of the cultural and
political spheres of society. This will complete the picture of his
theory of one-dimensional society.
As a transition to this important dimension of Marcuse’s theo

ry, his analysis of Soviet society merits consideration. There are
several reasons for pursuing this course of exposition.
First, published before One-dimensional Man, Soviet Marx
ism (1958) builds upon Marcuse’s earlier work on technics and
clearly and concisely sets forth the complex relations between the
basic elements of technological rationality and the cultural
spheres of society. It is, therefore, useful as an aid to grasping se
curely the general theory of technological domination and one
dimensional society. In fact, Soviet Marxism is near to an exact
theoretical counterpart to Marcuse’s subsequent One-dimen
sional Man. In the second work, arguments occasionally are
duplicated almost verbatim from the earlier study.18 Of course,
there are theoretical differences, such as Marcuse’s concept of
“repressive desublimation,” which is fully developed in One-di
mensional M an.19 (Repressive desublimation forms part of the
psychological underpinnings of one-dimensionality and will be
discussed in the next chapter.)
Second, the analysis of Soviet domination as technological
domination explains the earlier point that according to Mar
cuse’s theory, capitalism, fascism, and Soviet totalitarianism
have a common technical base making technological domination
their common denominator. In light of what they reveal about
the nature of technical reason, as social systems their similarity is
ultimately more important than their political and ideological
differences. ,
Last, for both of these reasons Marcuse’s Soviet Marxism is an
important study in itself. It supports the dominant Western view
that Soviet domination is not simply political totalitarianism
and challenges the Soviet claim that its institutions are neither
oppressive nor anything less than a radical break with the princi
ples of capitalism. When in the second half of this chapter the
discussion critically examines Marcuse’s theory of technological
domination, the arguments of Soviet Marxism will be critically
reviewed as well. For now, the discussion shall focus on present
ing its arguments.
Soviet Totalitarianism as Technological D omination

The central thesis of Soviet Marxism is that the development of
technological rationality, beginning with the rapid industrializa
Cixnlization Without Discontents I 151
tion of the Soviet Union in the 1920s and carried out in an inter
national context marked by the antagonistic competition of the
communist and capitalist blocs, has determined all past and
present and perhaps will determine all future characteristics of
Soviet politics and society.
To consolidate the achievements of the revolution and to lay
the groundwork for an authentic communist society and a world
wide communist movement, Lenin stressed the importance of
bringing the Soviet Union to the same stage of material progress
as Western civilization. The policy of rapid industrialization
continued through the Stalinist regime. Its purpose was to create
the material preconditions for a socialist society and was there
fore consistent with Marx’s theory of the historical stages that
must necessarily be traveled on the road to socialism. During this
first phase of socialist construction, individual needs were to be
subordinated to the development of heavy industry. In this m an
ner industrialization was to occur. Only after industrialization
would there be a means to a social product that could be distrib
uted according to individual needs. The emphasis on heavy in
dustry rather than on a planned consumer economy is explained
by the second major reason for the policy of rapid industrializa
tion—the defense of the East from the danger of a capitalist on
slaught. Heavy industry was the guarantee of self-preservation.
The success of both goals required that the Soviet Union avoid
military conflict with the West, which at any time during the
U.S.S.R.’s undeveloped stage could only prove devastating to the
revolution. This respite, which Lenin declared indispensable to
industrialization, could permit the Soviets eventually to attain a
level of economic strength competitive with that of capitalism.
Once this level had been reached, the Soviet Union could relax
its political regimentation of Soviet society. A period of liberal
ization would follow. Individual rights and freedoms would be
restored, and consumer oriented industrial planning would be
developed.
Marcuse points out, though, that the introduction of the peri
od of liberalization is not so much an objective of Soviet society
while it aspires to socialism as a strategy for subverting capital
ism. Here we arrive at the third and equally important basis for
the implementation of Lenin’s policy of industrialization. The
Soviets had consistently and stubbornly rejected the possibility of
a permanent consolidation and cooperation among the capitalist
powers. Marcuse argues "that such an arrangement did emerge as

a response to the common enemy of communism. The Soviet Un
ion believed, however, that insuring its national defense by es
tablishing economic parity with the West would safely allow it to
alter its internal politics away from political and economic regi
mentation and in favor of liberalization and the satisfaction of
consumer needs. And these changes, in combination with a poli
cy of peaceful coexistence and its moderation of Western com
munist party politics, would transform communism’s aggressive
image. With the appearance of a substantially reduced threat of
communism, the capitalist countries would become inclined to
break their united anticommunist front. The capitalist powers
would then revert to their prior and “normal” relations of inter
imperialist competition requiring the construction of a powerful
war economy. The permanent war economy, while enriching
some capitalists, forces investment in war industries, thus depress
ing the standard of living and plunging capitalism into an eco
nomic crisis. This crisis sharpens class antagonisms and restores
the revolutionary potential of the international proletariat,
which potential had receded with the conservatism of trade
unions managed by a collaborative labor aristocracy. The Soviet
policy of industrialization is in this fashion linked to the ultimate
victory of world communism.
Marcuse does not proceed to analyze the weaknesses of the the
oretical interrelationship of Soviet domestic and foreign policy.
At times, however, he notes the faulty calculations of Soviet
Marxism—such as the obsolete “orthodox” economic interpreta
tion of capitalism, which blinded the Soviets to the durable and
long-range character of the international capitalist consolida
tion, and the mistaken conviction that capitalism would not be
able to maintain a war economy and a high standard of living
simultaneously. Instead, Marcuse’s examination pursued a dif
ferent and more insightful direction. His argument succeeds
brilliantly in illuminating the extent to which the Soviet policy of
industrialization and the policies surrounding it were a reflex of
the international constellation of ideological and political pres
sures. Given the danger presented by capitalism, the Soviets ap
pear to have had no choice but to concentrate all energies on
rapid industrialization through the development of heavy indus
try. Moreover, the pressures do not run in a single direction but
are viciously circular. In the face of the Soviet Union’s meteoric

ascent to a world power, capitalism accelerates its economic de
velopment in turn, and this deadlock threatens endlessly to stoke
the industrial fires of both sides.
Marcuse accounts for the repressive measures of the Soviet
state by emphasizing the priorities forced upon it as a result of
being situated within the capitalist environment. At the same
time, when evaluating the ideological status of Soviet politics, he
rejects as an analytical point of departure the labels “socialism”
and “totalitarianism.” Socialism is discarded because its concep
tual validation requires a consensus on its meaning, difficult if
not impossible to achieve. The traditional application of totali
tarianism to substantially different social systems renders that
term imprecise and ambiguous. In both cases, significant and re
vealing peculiarities of Soviet society would be excluded from
view by such conceptually guided investigations. Instead, Mar
cuse is concerned with identifying the general features of the
construction of Soviet society that have prevailed since its incep
tion. Isolated are industrialization, the collectivization of agri
culture, mechanization of labor, postponement of consumer
needs until after economic equality with the West has been
reached, the development of a work ethic and competitive effi
ciency, the elimination of elements critical of Soviet state poli
cies, and the strengthening of state, military, party, and mana
gerial institutions in order to accomplish the objective of complete
industrialization.
All the characteristics of a highly rationalized socioeconomic
and political apparatus are reproduced in the Soviet Union. Na
tionalization intensifies the centralized regimentation and stan
dardization of production, as it does the coordination of the So
viet people through the coercive organization of the mass media,
entertainment, communications, athletics, education, and so
on. In the overwhelming interest of promoting industrialization,
in effect, of developing and perfecting the technological ratio
nalization of Soviet society, the state is compelled to press all
areas of material and cultural life, without exception, into the
service of technical reason. As Marcuse describes it,
A u to n o m y a n d sp o n ta n eity are c o n fin e d to the level o f efficien cy

a n d p erfo r m a n c e w ith in the estab lish ed p attern . In tellectu a l effort
b ecom es the business o f en gin eers, sp ecialists, a g en ts. P rivacy an d

leisure are h an d led as r ela x a tio n from and p rep a ra tio n for lab or in
con form ity w ith the ap p aratu s. D issent is not o n ly a p o litic a l crim e
b u t also tech n ica l stu p id ity, sa b o ta g e, m istrea tm en t o f th e m a
ch in e. R eason is n o th in g but the ra tio n a lity o f th e w h ole: th e u n in
terrupted fu n ctio n in g an d grow th o f th e ap p aratu s. T h e e x p e rien ce
o f the harm ony betw een the in d ivid u al and th e g en era l in terest, b e
tw een the h u m a n and social n eed , rem ain s a m ere p r o m ise .20
Surveying the dynamic of Soviet politics and progress as M ar

cuse explains it in relation to the capitalist encirclement, Soviet
totalitarianism cannot be understood as the arbitrary and capri
cious power of ideologues justifying their oppressive actions
through Marxist propaganda. Soviet Marxism or, more precise
ly, basic elements of the industrial plan that have become the of
ficial communist theory of the Soviet state, along with its polit
ical and ideological offspring, emerge directly in response to the
imperatives of furthering technics and indirectly as a result of
the ever present and menacing shadow of capitalism.
Yet, the Soviet state must struggle with contradictions internal
to the rationalization of the productive process regardless of how
efficiently it is carried out.
For example, on the one hand the critical disposition of the
Marxist dialectic can be suppressed as theoretical discourse is
brought into conformity with the objectives of the Soviet indus
trial plan. Marxist theory is divided into ‘'dialectical” and “his
torical” materialism. The standard tex^ for this revision of the
dialectic is Stalin’s Dialectical and Historical Materialism, which
follows the guidelines of Engels’s Dialectics o f Nature. Both
works crudely stress the formal-logical and natural law-like char
acter of the dialectic. “Dialectical materialism” dictates the
values and goals of Soviet society. In this capacity, the dialectic is
transformed from a mode of critical thought into an unchanging
and universal Weltanschauung with inflexible rules and regula
tions. Thus construed, the dialectic can be bent to sanction the
role of the party as historically necessary and as the authoritative
interpreter of the “objective” unfolding of Soviet society. Free
dom, rather than the conscious and deliberate cognitive activity
of the subject, as it was for Marx and Hegel, is assimilated to his
torical necessity and emerges “for” the subject. Systematized, the
Soviet dialectic becomes an inverted caricature of Hegel’s dialec
tic. Unlike Hegel’s, Soviet dialectical logic is no extrapolation of
the historical process but rather elucidates history through pre

conceived formal and rigid categories. Substituted for reality,
these categories exclude and repress aspects of the historical
process standing in contradiction to the official “scientific” view.
“Historical materialism” is restricted to a compartment in the
ideological division of labor. For Marx, however, historical ma
terialism is the expression of the historical process, and its theoret
ical integrity is preserved only to the degree that history is under
stood to contain a higher truth than does any concept or category
derived from it. With its Soviet compartmentalization, though,
historical materialism becomes “applied dialectical material
ism,” technically engineering Soviet society to conform with the
dialectical vision whose practice and policies it thus justifies.
On the other hand, these ideological acrobatics must ulti
mately confront the growing contradictions between the rela
tions and forces of production. As the Soviet Union develops
technologically, possibilities arise for lessening the regimentation
of Soviet society. But they are suppressed through further revi
sions of the dialectic, which are intended to conceal the fact of
progress beyond the established state of Soviet affairs. Contrary
to Marx, history need no longer develop through the explosion of
material contradictions. The distinction between “antagonistic”
and “nonantagonisdc” contradictions is introduced, the former
insoluble, catastrophic, and endemic to capitalism, the latter a
feature of socialist societies and manageable through state inter
vention. As an ideological weapon, the Soviet distinction justifies
postponement of the period of liberalization and concern with
the needs of the individual. Where this ideological persuasion is
an inadequate means to insure compliance, it is frequently sup
plemented by outright repressive measures. Eventually, however,
the Soviet state is obliged to meet its commitment to introduce
changes commensurate with the progress of industrialization.
Just as the revisions of the dialectic and political repression were
mandated by the original plan of industrialization, this same
complex rationale for the draconian measures taken to develop
Soviet society technologically commands the Soviet state to pur
sue the transition to a higher stage of social organization, to a
liberal and consumer oriented society.
As Marcuse’s analysis of Soviet Marxism develops, its central
thesis is without a doubt striking and unique among interpreta
tions of Soviet politics. By virtue of Soviet society’s basic commit
ment to industrialization, its ideological and theoretical machi

nations can be neither explained completely nor dismissed simply
as propaganda. The revisions of the dialectic are not merely ideo
logical props for an oppressive political system. And they are not
a means of pronouncing the Soviet Union a socialist society so as
to refute claims to the contrary. According to Marcuse’s argu
ment the situation is far more complicated. Once institutional
ized, the plan of technological development acquires its own
momentum and defines its own objective requirements. The in
fringements on personal, intellectual,*and artistic freedoms, the
domestic and foreign policies of the Soviet Union, the national
ization of the Soviet state, the regimentation and standardization
of work, and the aggregation of power to the party apparatus are
all measures induced by rationalization rather than imposed by
political repression.
This argument is extended to the intrabureaucratic politics of
the state. The bureaucracy, although in technical control of the
productive apparatus, must consistently defer its decision-making
power to the social control by the party. Comprised of represent
atives from the highest levels of the various bureaucratic institu
tions, the party clearly does not represent homogeneous political
interests. And while one bureaucratic interest occasionally may
prevail over others in certain policy matters, or at other times
there may be an adjustment of all interests to a suitable compro
mise, the outcome must always “ultimately succumb to the gen
eral policy [of technological development] which none of the spe
cial interests can change by virtue of its special power.’’21 The
bureaucracy taken as a whole, Marcuse concludes, is therefore
representative of Soviet society because the latter’s general inter
est is objectively rooted in the emancipatory promise of the tech
nical base whose development the state, as overseer of the forces
of production, is obliged to carry out lest the very technical foun
dations from which its power is derived be undermined.
The Soviet Union having reached the stage of heavy indus
trialization within the decade after the Second World War, the
technical prerequisites of the general industrial plan continue to
override the particular interests within the state and determine
that it must proceed to the second phase of liberalization and
care for individual needs. With the dramatic new technological
possibilities for the'creation and distribution of a social product,
Cixrilization Without Discontents I 157
the contradictions between the relations of production and the

forces of production, between the priorities and power of the
state and the progressively unnecessary sacrifices of the individ
ual, can be sustained no longer. The technical basis of Soviet so
ciety drives it to the stage of democratization! Technical reason
thus has shaped each of the phases of Soviet development —the
phase of the oppressive mobilization of Soviet material and intel
lectual culture and its democratic successor.
Marcuse is quite specific in his characterization of the nature
of the Soviet tendency toward freedom. A basic economic trend
marking an "increasing use of the growing productivity for con
sumers’ needs” would “generate a corresponding political trend,
that is, liberalization of the repressive totalitarian regime.”22
This would mean a “continuation of ‘collective leadership,’ de
cline in the power of the secret police, decentralization, legal re
forms, relaxation in censorship, liberalization in cultural life.”23
After completing his examination of national and international
developments that lead to this second phase of Soviet socialist
construction, Marcuse makes a serious move. He evaluates Soviet
progress from the critical perspective of his earlier analysis of
technical rationality and offers a prognosis that qualifies the op
timism of his discussion of Soviet development.
The new developments of a consumer oriented light industry
require a technical and bureaucratic administration equal to
that of heavy industrialization. Inevitable is an entrenched bu
reaucratic class whose power and privilege are reproduced not as
a result of any deliberate preservation of self-interest but as a
function of this class’s technical indispensability to the produc
tive process. At the same time, there is no shift away from a pol
icy of heavy industry, as was originally predicated by the logic of
Soviet Marxist theory. The initial theoretical formulation called
for an ideological metamorphosis. After reaching the stage of
heavy industry, the aggressive Soviet image would be trans
formed by liberalization and by diverting technology largely into
a consumer economy. The normalization of international capi
talism would then ensue, paving the way for communism in the
West. After Stalin’s death, however, this formula was rejected,
but no theoretical alternative was devised to push capitalism into
its final crisis and remove the threat to the East. In fact, the sec
ond phase of Soviet development actually spurred the growth
and productivity of capitalism and contributed to its interna

tional stabilization.24 The result is the indefinitely prolonged
deadlock between the two blocs. And with no visible relief in in
ternational stress, heavy industry continues to receive priority
and the democratization of Soviet society becomes a definite by
product of its development.
With the unequal co-development of heavy and light industry,
technological rationality evolves into a universal practice of Sovi
et society and begins to reproduce the features of technical rea
son earlier described as accompanying" the rationalization of cap
italism. No sooner do the modest democratic gains of the second
phase appear, than they, by establishing the material precondi
tions for an expanded technical administration, together with
the international pressures to emphasize heavy industry, corrupt
any opportunity for a future transition from socialism to com
munism. Subjectivity collapses under the weight of technics and
individual reason suffers the same fate under communism as it
had under capitalism. With the entire population and the politi
cal and administrative sectors geared to increasing productivity,
all levels of conceptual thought bow to the hegemony of techni
cal reason. In the absence of cognitive levers to reorient Soviet
society from the tendency to one-dimensionality, “administrative
control is secured, and the past is safely transferred into the fu
ture.”25 Domination through repressive political practices is ex
changed for domination in a technologically liberalized form.
Marcuse’s foreboding conclusion is not his final statement on
the future of Soviet society. The second edition of Soviet Marx
ism (1961) is unrevised except for an important preface in which
Marcuse not only emphatically dissociates himself from his origi
nal verdict but is suddenly optimistic about the prospects for
breaking the technological convergence of East and West. Mar
cuse’s newly born enthusiasm was inspired by the liberal reforms
and availability of consumer amenities in the short period since
Soviet Marxism was first published, which to others, as well, ap
peared to inaugurate a new era in Soviet politics.
Marcuse’s interpretation of these progressive measures is
unique in an important respect. He views them not merely as the
rewards of de-Stalinization. De-Stalinization was a product of a
more fundamental tendency emerging “through basically differ
ent social institutions” from those of Western capitalism, “which
are designed to make for a different development.”26 In other

words, although the original text of Soviet Marxism remains un
touched in 1961, Marcuse’s preface alters its central thesis by in
verting the relationship between "ideas” and structural (techni
cal) factors. Now Marcuse believes that the Marxist character of
Soviet institutions, particularly the commitment to economic de
velopment without profit and waste, sets objective limits to tech
nical growth and works against the thrust of technical reason
toward domination by reshaping it to correspond to the realiza
tion of the emancipatory potential of technological rationality.
Marcuse goes so far as to argue that "in eschatological terms, So
viet society contains a qualitatively different society.”27 Marxism,
he argues, even in its rudimentary appropriation by Soviet insti
tutions and despite its ideological abuse by Soviet authorities,
can very likely override the repressive capabilities of technics.
Marcuse’s eschatological characterization of Soviet progress
must not be seen as a Hegelian maneuver to draw communism
into an evolutionary framework where it would appear as the
"unfolding of the idea in history.” On the contrary, his intention
is to stress the ethical tradition that has legitimated Soviet poli
tics and which for that reason has considerable influence on the
course of Soviet history if and only if the international pressures
on Soviet communism are relieved. From the Soviet vantage
point, achieving economic parity with the West had been an im
portant first step in effecting such a change. It endowed the Sovi
ets with a power that made capitalism seem less formidable and
menacing and that allowed for the passage to the second phase.
Beyond this, Marcuse consistently underlines the stabilization of
deadlocked relations between capitalism and communism. The
deadlock continues to postpone the transition from socialism to
communism and sustains the danger of technological domina
tion in both realms.
This theme is carried over intact into One-dimensional Man.
But here, in a very brief analysis of Soviet society,28 we again dis
cover the tensions between the prospects for domination and
those for freedom and social change, which had been the subject
of Soviet Marxism — the specter of technical reason and the opti
mism of the new preface. The single difference between the two
works is that One-dimensional Man adds an expression of con
cern about the Soviet bureaucracy. Moving away from his earlier
position, Marcuse finally concedes that the Soviet bureaucracy

may deliberately retard further progress toward a qualitatively
different communist society for the purpose of exploiting its tech
nical control of production and also to secure its position in the
established hierarchy of social relations. Yet, even this bureau
cratic extortion depends on an international situation justifying
the perpetuation of the technological administration of Soviet
society. Thus, whether technological domination will advance as
socioeconomic and political exigency or through the calculations
of entrenched bureaucracies, the international deadlock be
tween capitalism and communism appears unfailingly for Mar
cuse as the determining factor. In One-dimensional M an, Mar
cuse offers a summary of his analysis of Soviet society. It should
be taken as the statement concluding a significant body of theo
retical work.
T h e fatefu l in terd ep en d en ce o f the on ly tw o “so v ereig n ” so cia l sys
tem s in the con tem p orary w orld is expressive o f th e fa ct that th e
co n flict b etw een progress and p olitics, b etw een m a n and his m a s
ters has b eco m e to ta l. W h en cap italism m eets th e c h a lle n g e o f c o m
m u n ism , it m eets its ow n cap ab ilities: sp ecta cu la r d e v e lo p m en t o f
all produ ctive forces after the su b o rd in a tio n o f th e private interests
in p ro fitab ility w h ich arrest su ch d e v e lo p m en t. W h en co m m u n ism
m eets the ch a lle n g e o f c a p ita lism , it too m eets its ow n c a p a b ilities:
sp ecta cu lar com forts, lib erties, and a llev ia tio n o f th e b u rd en o f life.
B oth system s have these c a p a b ilitie s d istorted b eyon d r ec o g n itio n
a n d , in b oth cases, th e reason is in th e last analysis th e s a m e — th e
struggle against a form o f life w h ich w ou ld dissolve th e basis for
d o m in a tio n .29
Ultimately, it seems that the prospects for terminating this

continuum of mutual intimidation and spiraling technological
domination lie within the Soviet domain —and there only as
purely theoretical contingency, as a critical, humanist ethic strug-
gling against its political patron, its ideological opponent, and
the hegemony of a Faustian rationality promising in the end to
level all vital differences among political systems.
Having drafted an analysis that narrowly forecloses genuine
possibilities for change within the Soviet Union, Marcuse then
reaches for unlikely candidates to cut the Gordian knot. He spec
ulates that the pretechnological ethos of the Asian civilizations,
the antithesis of the values associated with technological ratio
nality, may prove sufficiently sturdy to prevail through industri

alization. It then could reassert itself as fertile ground for the
exploitation of the emancipatory potential of technology after
industrialization has been accomplished.30 At a later time, Mar
cuse looks to the student movement of the Vietnam years as a re
medial program. However, in light of Marcuse’s analysis of the
indomitable power of technical rationality, there is no reason to
expect, and every reason to doubt, that either area of resistance
could admit of the success Marcuse denies to their historical and
revolutionary predecessors. Before Marcuse can discover an
agency to master technical reason, he first must alter his position
on technological rationality as a “new form of control.” In less
than a decade following One-dimensional Man Marcuse will do
precisely that, as later we shall see.31
The exposition of Marcuse’s analysis of Soviet Marxism has
moved the discussion an important step beyond that reached
earlier with the examination of the elements of technological ra
tionality as they shaped the process of capitalist production. It
graphically illustrates the tendency for modes of discourse not at
all related in an obvious way to production, such as the Soviet re
vision of the dialectic, to become coordinated with the rational
ity of technics. Perhaps the term “centripetal” would be useful
for expressing the nature of this tendency. It captures Marcuse’s
notion of relatively independent thought steadily gravitating
toward a technical center of modern society. As the centripetal
force of technological rationality increases with the development
of technics, the critical and reflective capacity of thinking is ex
changed for the logic of technical reason.
To conclude the explication of Marcuse’s thesis of technologi
cal domination, attention must now be focused on his analysis of
these centripetal pressures in capitalist society, on the impact of
technical reason on its cultural and political spheres. Here, Mar
cuse’s view of the social sciences, ordinary language, linguistic
philosophy, the administration of work, the welfare state, the
party systems of the European political left, and aspects of neo-
Freudian theory and Marx’s philosophy will be considered.
(Marcuse’s analyses of art and science will be postponed until
later discussions; they are significant for additional reasons and
should appropriately be treated in other contexts.32) At this
point, Marcuse’s conception of one-dimensional society will have
received thorough elucidation, and the discussion can assume a

critical stance toward his theory of technological domination
and one-dimensionality.
A M ind Not to Be Changed by Place or Time
Social Science as T echnical R eason

Marcuse’s analysis of modern social science demonstrates that it
incorporates the conservative traits of *conventional positivism,
which he discussed previously in Reason and Revolution.33 Social
science research artificially contracts the empirical world to sets
of observations manageable and analytically relevant to an in
quiry. An example not chosen by Marcuse, but one that should
be considered first because it ties his criticism of the social sci
ences to his analysis of technical reason more accurately than the
illustrations he selects (for reasons to be made clear in the critical
section), is the political scientist concerned to explain “democra
tic stability,” with an end, perhaps, to predicting or, more realis
tically, to generating expectations about the probable future sta
bility of a democratic regime. In this instance, the social scientist
must first specify what is meant by democratic stability. As the
concept must lend itself eventually to empirical testing, at the
outset of the investigation its definition is based on the example
of a democratic society judged to be of a stable variety. The sur
face characteristics of this particular social system are forged
into indicators used to evaluate and account for the degree of
stability or instability of other political systems. Concepts formed
along these lines are referred to as “operational definitions.”
By identifying the phenomenon of democratic stability with
characteristics of a specific society, the operational definition be
comes committed implicitly to the form of social organization
that has produced that stable political system. If Western indus
trial societies furnish the conceptual guidelines for democratic
stability, as has been the case frequently,34 then the operational
definition of democratic stability is as much associated with the
values of capitalism as with the raw features of industrialization.
Evidently, the operational equation of “industrialization and sta
ble democracy” conceals a strong bias in favor of a particular ex
perience of industrialization and of a particular type of stability
and democracy. Capitalism, productivity for its own sake, and

technological rationality emerge, albeit surreptitiously, as the
necessary preconditions for democratic stability. Under the pre
tense of objective and value-free social science, the methods of
modern social science have restricted the meaning of the concept
democratic stability to the established social organization of
democratic capitalism. Technically, the operational method
cannot penetrate beneath the superficial manifestations of dem
ocratic stability. Terminating with surface characteristics, with
out inquiring into the social structures or the ideology of the
structures that have given rise to them, the analysis is methodo
logically purged of any sign of the social and ideological context
in which the characteristics are socially constituted. Since its
concepts mirror the prevailing social order and present the mir
rored image as an evaluative standard, social science reduces
thought to the passive exercise of registering and approving the
given and inadequate forms of existence. Reason, unable to pass
beyond the sophistical boundaries of the fixed society, becomes
its ideological handmaiden.
Hence, we can understand why Marcuse has stressed that the
methodological a priori of operationalism dictates a political a
priori. Stated differently, his claim is that operationalism repro
duces the ideology of technical reason in two ways: first, the value
of technological rationality is affirmed implicitly by the substan
tive framework (valuational criteria) of an operational concept;
second, and most important, technical reason determines that
the social sciences proceed according to a logic of technique, ac
cording to operations that insure that the correct solution to a
problem (e.g., what is democratic stability and which are the
stable democratic regimes?) is by definition the technical solu
tion. The second point is especially significant for its explanation
of the conservatism of contemporary social science. Marcuse
does not contend that social scientists are conservative, by virtue
of their class interests, for example, and that they deliberately set
out to produce results supporting their political beliefs. If he had
done so Marcuse would have contradicted his thesis that domina
tion is rooted in technical reason rather than in politics. Though
he would argue that in many cases private inclinations do rule
theoretical views, for Marcuse the general rule is that regardless
of the ideological orientations of social scientists, their research is
driven by operational methods into a position affirming the

status quo. In advanced industrial society, reliable knowledge is
obtained through science and science is realized only where
thought is married to technical reason. Technique, by defining
conceptual processes as a logic that substitutes its own propensi
ties for that of the subject (in this case the social theorist), disposes
over scientific activity, over its conceptual form. It consistently
returns thought to a social reality constituted by technological
rationality because the historical factors that gave birth to tech
nics and that could call it into question remain forever beyond
the purview of the conceptual operations of technical reason.
Technical reason is self-validating and self-perpetuating.
In One-dimensional Man Marcuse examines two studies by
political scientists whose explicit objectives were to determine
whether electoral processes in the United States have been demo
cratic35 and the extent of political activity among various sectors
of the American public.36 In the first study, Marcuse argues, the
criteria for democracy, used as the basis for evaluating elections,
are drawn from the electoral processes themselves. Since the
evaluations of the elections surveyed cannot pass beyond the cri
teria of the operational definition of democracy, electoral proc
esses, evaluated on their own terms, necessarily prove to be demo
cratic. In the second study, the operational definition of political
activity excludes from consideration the political influence of
corporate elites and of the mass media. The first study restricts
the meaning of democratic to the familiar, accepted, and estab
lished conditions and practices of electoral politics. And the sec
ond study’s notion of political activity distinguishes only com
monplace forms of influence. Broader conceptualizations of
democracy would have called into question the democratic char
acter of elections, while a broader conception of political activity
would have uncovered types of political influence making com
monplace political activity seem far less efficacious than is shown
by the second investigation. The critical concepts of democratic
elections and political influence, Marcuse insists, are rejected be
cause they cannot be operationalized. In operational social
science, therefore, “the criteria for judging a given state of af
fairs are those offered by . . . the given sfate of affairs,” such that
“the analysis is ‘locked’ ” and “the range of judgment is con
fined within a context of facts which excludes judging the con
text in which the facts are made, man-made, and in which their
meaning, function, and development are determined.”37 Like
wise, the critical, “determining, constitutive facts remain outside
the reach of the operational concept.”38 By its very technical
nature operationalism inhibits conceptualization and obstructs
criticism.
Do modes of discourse other than empirical social science de
velop concepts critical of advanced industrial society either by il
luminating the technologically organized context shaping hu
man experience or by articulating possibilities for change that
would not reproduce the domination of technical reason? With
regard to “a whole branch of analytic philosophy,” linguistic
analysis, whose method has “shut off the concepts of a political,
i.e., critical analysis,”39 Marcuse has clearly answered in the neg
ative. The conservative traits he associates with operational so
cial science are duplicated in linguistic philosophy. To under
stand this argument, it is first necessary to consider Marcuse’s
view of ordinary language, the object of analysis of linguistic
philosophy.
O rdinary L anguage as T echnical R eason
The positivist temperament spawned by the universality of tech
nical reason not only infects specialized, theoretical modes of dis
course, such as the social sciences, but also penetrates deeply into
our everyday, ordinary language and thought. Critical faculties
are eroded as the vehicle of conceptualization and expression,
language, becomes entrapped within the fixed meanings pro
moted by the ideology of technical rationality. The manipulation
of commercial and political language through the media reduces
ideas to associations that occur and recur with such invariable
regularity that word patterns are created that assign inflexible
meanings to concepts. The method engendering false associa
tions is again technical. Language is operationalized.
Marcuse refers to this linguistic operationalism as the func
tionalization of language. The things of which ordinary lan
guage speaks are understood only in terms of their behavioral,
functional counterparts. Marcuse cites several types of linguistic
operationalism. This process occurs where the public is condi
tioned to accept a single set of conceptual properties in place of
reason’s office to exercise judgment between alternative concep
tual meanings. “In the West,” Marcuse notes, “the analytic pred
ication [of freedom] is in such terms as free enterprise, initiative,
elections, individual; in the East in terms of workers and peas
ants, building communism or socialism, abolition of hostile
classes.”40 Moreover, the ideologically imposed characteristics do
not describe the real state of affairs. The individual is thus bur
dened with an illusion, but he is comfortably adjusted to it as the
capacity of reason to dispel the illusion is muted. The manage
ment of political discourse is also secured as it acquires seductive
and intimate overtones. Elected representatives, public institu
tions, merchandise—the sum of political and commercial arti
facts—“are presented ‘especially for you,’ ” causing individuals
personally to identify their needs, aspirations, and self-interest
with the technologically rationalized general interest. Last, the
“hyphenized abridgement” of language fuses potentially differ
ent enterprises in an image that obscures their separate qualities.
The phrase “science-military dinner,” which Marcuse takes as an
instance of this sort of manipulation, suggests that science is
bound analytically to military imperatives and finds its most nat
ural function in that specific relation. The nonmilitary, emanci
patory potential of science, for example, is suppressed.
In these and in other cases that Marcuse examines, concepts are
identified with the features of organized, repressive, and admin
istered institutionalized practices and procedures of the techni
cal social order. The operational grammar thus enjoins language
to celebrate productivity, affluence, the general social needs and
political objectives that foster ever greater rationalization. Once
learned, standardized popular usages become habitual, sponta
neous associations accepted and reproduced without reflection.
Individual reason is powerless to break through the thoughtless
repetition of ideological meanings structured by a technical fa
cade, to a conceptual universe that would prompt a critical inter
pretation of social existence.
Moreover, the behavior prodded by the linguistic socialization
validates the distorted conceptual meanings. Functionalized lan
guage first suppresses knowledge of the internal contradictions of
advanced industrial society. Then as individual expectations and
technologically molded social relations increasingly harmonize,
not only knowledge of the contradictions but also the contradic
tions themselves virtually disappear. Welding reason to the pre
vailing institutions, language becomes the most effective means

of drafting the individual to support, preserve, and perpetuate
the social order.
L anguage A nalysis as T echnical R eason
As Marcuse would have it, the task of any analysis of ordinary
language should be the critical examination of the ideological
context within which everyday meanings and usages are formed.
It is this project that linguistic philosophy neglects. Marcuse con
siders the tradition of language analysis that began with Wittgen
stein and that includes other notable proponents such as Austin,
Ryle, and Hare. Common to their work, as Marcuse understands
it, is the principle that philosophical problems arise from the
misunderstandings of ordinary language and that the analysis of
language’s commonplace uses would dissolve such problems. It is
the philosophers and not ordinary people who are guilty of m ud
dled thinking, and the precise description and classification of
meanings in everyday speech would erase all confusions. At the
heart of this principle stands the unexamined assumption that
ordinary language is a perfectly suitable means of communica
tion and insight into reality. Although Marcuse proceeds to at
tack the work of Wittgenstein, Ryle, and Austin exclusively, he
intends, unmistakably, for his indictment to apply to the entire
movement of linguistic philosophy.
Marcuse’s examination of language analysis sifts out the same
characteristics he uncovers in his critique of empirical social sci
ence and ordinary language. By restricting the meaning of con
cepts to the domain of everyday speech, linguistic philosophy ex
cludes from view the social relations determining these meanings.
Since ordinary language is manipulated by social factors that it
cannot express, by refusing to pass behind everyday speech into
this ideological context and while, instead, allowing meaning as
it appears to common sense to act as the basis for meaning as
such, in effect language analysis equates correct meaning with
ideology and affirms the dominant social structures. Conceptual
discourse critical of the established order and of the society that
speaks in its language ipso facto is declared meaningless. Reduc
ing the scope of philosophy to the terms of ordinary language re
pels criticism and condemns it, at worst, as metaphysics, as un
scientific jargon, and, at best, retains it at a safe distance as
poetry. One more example of the coordination of thought with

the status quo, the operationalism of linguistic analysis leaves the
social order intact and contributes to the reproduction of its
technical relations.
It should be mentioned that at one point Marcuse does seem to
qualify this critique by warning that the ideological character of
language analysis should not be prejudged by a demonstration of
its conservative features. There is a place, Marcuse appears to be
saying, for the general aims of linguistic philosophy: “The treat
ment of thought in linguistic analysis i&its own affair and its own
right.”41 Its ban on nonsense, meaninglessness, and metaphysical
specters is salient to any philosophy or social theory.42 By his de
fense of critical thinking, Marcuse does not want to be misinter
preted as celebrating muddled thinking. Yet, ultimately he
retracts all concessions and stresses that language analysis, what
ever its aims, can avoid ideological sanctions of the prevailing
order only by adopting a sociological perspective. And to insist
on an essential distinction between philosophy and sociology is
“to make the established division of academic labor into a m eth
odological principle.”43
Wherever present, operationalism plays a “therapeutic” role.
Within the social sciences, ordinary language, and linguistic
philosophy, thought is “cured,” or relieved of its power to heed
the contradictions of advanced industrial society. By the thera
peutic adjustment, the symptoms of human decay are repressed,
the general illness is safeguarded, and the mind suffers none of
the anxiety accompanying knowledge of the need for resistance
to a social order whose decadence thought camouflages with the
good conscience of scientific procedures authored and authorized
by technical reason. Brought into line with the rationality of pro
duction, thinking displays positive attitudes as it becomes posi
tivistic.
T he A dministration of W ork as T echnical R eason
The therapeutic power of operationalism shows forth transpar
ently where technical reason is converted into an explicit method
of social control. Such is the case, Marcuse argues, with the tech
niques of industrial psychology and sociology. Discontents aris
ing from the social organization of work in technological society,
whose just remedy demands a fundamental reorganization of so
cial and economic relations, are translated into technical prob

lems that can be addressed and solved with the available re
sources as they are defined. The technical reformulation of the
grievance (e.g., general dissatisfaction with essentially uninter
esting and unfulfilling labor is diagnosed as fatigue) turns the
universal problem into a personal difficulty. Or the technical re
formulation is taken as an acceptable definition of the prosaic
character of a certain task, which directs attention away from
the technological organization of labor to a particular kind of
work, cancels the indictment of the larger social organization of
human potential in repressive and alienating labor, and artfully
reduces the problem to one manageable within the perimeter of
established institutions.
The operational translation of the grievance thus suppresses
the real problem. By that act it eliminates criticism of the social
order and substitutes a counterfeit problem, implying that all
problems are accidental and temporary properties of a not yet
perfected productive apparatus. With available resources, the
technically defined problem then is resolved in a fashion satisfac
tory to the grieved parties, thus completing a procedure further
rationalizing productivity and developing the rationality of sci
entific management.
T he W elfare State as R ationalized A dministration
With no form of thought, no mode of discourse appearing to ex
press opposition to technical reason, a coherent and internally
consistent ideological universe materializes that provides a fric
tionless medium through which technological rationalization
continues unobstructed. Carried along by its own inertia, auto
mation appears to be inherent in technological progress. There
is a natural momentum to push beyond partial automation (the
coexistence of automated, semi-automated, and nonautomated
labor) and completely to rationalize the productive apparatus.
Although automation would unleash the greatest potential for
productivity, at the same time it threatens to displace the work
force at many levels of technical organization. A twofold contra
diction then emerges.
First, the tendency toward the extreme of technological ra
tionalization jeopardizes political stability “at the present stage
of advanced capitalism,” that is, at the point where class rela
tions have not yet been'totally reorganized as technical relations.

Creating high levels of unemployment, automation collides with
labor, whose hostility to automating the productive process “may
weaken the competitive national and international position of
capital, cause a long range depression, and consequently reacti
vate the conflict of class interests.”44 It is only by extending the
organizational reach of the welfare state, Marcuse proposes, that
this contradiction can be resolved. Through a state-capital part
nership negotiating measures that would insure the mutual in
terests of political stability and economic growth by expansive
planning and compensating labor with benefits guaranteeing a
prosperous livelihood, rationalization can proceed to its techni
cal limits without opposition.
Second, the result is that the enormous production of goods
made possible by automation must be marketed so economic
growth can be maintained, and the free time unintentionally
made available to individuals by the technical obsolescence of
human labor must be repressively utilized. If the free time cre
ated by automation were not organized by the social system, in
dividuals released from the technical relations of production
might begin to spend their time “unproductively.” They could
develop interests and capacities contrary to the interests and ca
pacities of a system geared to productivity.
To manage this aspect of the contradiction the social order
must resort to “intensified efforts to impose the requirements of
the apparatus on the population, to get? rid of excess capacity, to
create the need for buying the goods that must be profitably
sold, and the desire to work for their production and promo
tion.”45 Planned obsolescence protects markets, the scientific
management of needs stimulates demand and creates new p at
terns of consumption by the manipulation of language and com
mon sense through advertising, and work that is to occupy the
free time of the technologically unemployed would be provided
by the welfare state, Marcuse argues, through “public works on a
grand scale.” In partnership with private capital the welfare
state nurtures technological growth and successfully harnesses
the individual to the technical apparatus —with all its conse
quences for the deterioration of human reason and subjectiv
ity-w hile promoting the goal of rationalization. Thus, the di
mensions and functions of the welfare state, and the private
institutions guiding the production of artificial needs, are re

quired and shaped by technological rationalization and its prior
ities. Whether the impetus for productivity is ostensibly competi
tion between communism and capitalism or the profit motive,
the primary ideology of social organization is technology, not
capital. Its relations of domination lay reason to waste and dis
pense with domination by political coercion. A “new form of
control,” the new ideology of technical reason swells into a total
ly administered system of thought and action that is obedient to
its desideratum.
Politics W ithin the L imits of R eason
Even the organized left is not exempt from the jurisdiction of to
tal administration. Without feeling compelled to undertake an
analysis of the situation of radical political parties in Western so
cieties, Marcuse offers an impressionistic account of their con
servatism. The programs of all parties along the ideological spec
trum have become virtually indistinguishable. In the United
States, labor has tied its interests to those of corporate power.
The German Social Democratic party has long rejected Marxism
in exchange for the respectability and rewards of a moderate po
litical stance. The British Labour party supports a mixed econo
my but is largely indifferent to socialist aims such as nationaliza
tion. On the far left, the Italian and French communist parties
favor the security of permanent and legal opposition through
minimal parliamentary game plans.
Marcuse removes the blame for this widespread conservatism
from party leadership and collaborative labor aristocracies.46
Moderate politics is the strategy necessary to retain a conserva
tive mass, the once politically heterogeneous electoral base as
similated into a homogeneous social order. Preserving its ideo
logical integrity, the left would rescue criticism only to disable
the party, while a steady compromise with the status quo saves
the party at the expense of articulating a qualitative difference.
Adopting the second alternative, the dilemma of the left merely
“testifies to the depth and scope of capitalist integration.”47 The
left is pulled toward the center by the centripetal pressures of
technical reason.
In concluding this exposition of Marcuse’s analysis of techno
logical rationality, the few remaining expressions of theoretical
and cultural discourse ihcluded in his anatomical portrait of ad

vanced industrial society should be considered. Obtaining a com
posite of his theory presents it at its strongest, lays the ground
work for sound criticism, and conveys the analytical range of
Marcuse’s work.
N eo -Freudian T echnocrats
Regardless of the criticisms made of Marcuse’s interpretation of
Freud in the preceding chapter, there; is not a doubt that his in
tention was to develop the critical significance of Freud’s discov
eries by remaining loyal to the most speculative notions of the in
stinct theory and metapsychology. Marcuse creatively unearthed
their solemn truth, that the fundamental antagonism existing
between the nature of man and the manmade “nature” of mod
ern institutions can be resolved in favor of a new dimension of
human experience rooted in human nature. Its errors notwith
standing, Marcuse’s reading of Freud opened a new dimension
for social theory.
As Marcuse views it, contemporary psychoanalytic theory bears
no such promise. Examining the neo-Freudian revisionism of
Karen Horney, Harry Stack Sullivan, and Erich Fromm, Mar
cuse emphasizes the ideological conservatism that stems from
their understanding of the relationship between psychoanalytic
theory and psychotherapy.
Freud consistently stressed the irreducible tension between
theory and therapy. The conception of human nature embedded
in his metapsychology means that therapy always implies thera
peutic adjustment. The terms of membership in a civilized soci
ety spell compromise, leaving the individual’s needs frustrated to
some degree. “Discontent,” neurosis, or some other and perhaps
more serious psychological disorder is the price exacted by civili
zation. As psychoanalysis has no power to change the society
to accord with the theoretical view of human nature —and, of
course, Freud’s image of man is not so sanguine as to suggest that
such a change would be entirely desirable —therapeutic practices
at least resign the individual to personal sacrifice in the interest
of a comfortable existence within the limits of social reason.
Theory continues to defend the right of the individual, but in
principle only, for the imperatives of social order are irrecon
cilably opposed to those of psychic order. Mental health becomes

an unattainable ideal.
Marcuse’s criticism of the Freudian antinomy (psychic order
versus social order), revealing the sociological elements of the
theory, the historical limits of the established reality principle,
and the possibilities for a higher, libidinal rationality, is turned
into purely academic exegesis by the neo-Freudian dismissal of
much of the metapsychology as metaphysics and by its interpre
tation of other aspects of the theory to end its breach with
therapy. Lacking a materialist framework that would provide a
grasp of the historical content of Freud’s metapsychology, the
neo-Freudians reject the instinct theory as a species of biological
determinism. By this move the depth dimension of Freudian psy
chology, the id, libido, pleasure principle, the formative signifi
cance of the stages of psychosexual development, is excluded,
and theoretical attention is focused exclusively on the ego. Hav
ing lost the substance that gives it an integrity apart from and
against the norms of social order, the personality is redefined as
an entity that grows in response to social pressures instrumental
to its fullest development.
The neo-Freudians do differentiate between positive and neg
ative features of society affecting the personality, but with a the
oretical view that maintains that society has shaped the decisive
aspects of human nature, the undesirable features are distin
guished from the desirable in terms of the prevailing institu
tional values. The measure of psychological health then becomes
the ability of the individual to transform social pressures into
personal strength and psychic growth. Once
h e a lth , m a tu rity , and a ch iev em en t are taken as they are d efin ed by
th e g iv en society . . . this “o p e r a tio n a l” id e n tific a tio n o f m en tal
h ea lth w ith “adju stive su ccess” an d progress e lim in a tes all the reser
vation s w ith w h ich Freud h ed g ed the th era p eu tic ob jective o f a d
ju stm en t to an in h u m a n society and thus co m m its psychoanalysis to
this so ciety far m o re th an Freud ever d id .48
With all standards of excellence and psychological stability be

ing originally social standards, it follows that the individual must
be held responsible for his conflicts with social order. And since
the society is no longer implicated in the cause of individual mis
fortunes, the individual’s struggle against society cannot be seen
as political but rather as a moral contest wherein individual

needs and rights become mere self-interest opposed to the gener
al welfare. Not only illness but all forms of personal and political
rebellion, too, are interpreted theoretically as violations of uni
versal ethical codes rather than of the particular values of a par
ticular society.
Beyond the rejection of the biological and sexual aspects of
Freudian theory, neo-Freudian psychology eliminates all other
conceptions “that are unverified and unverifiable in accordance
with accepted scientific standards.”49 For instance, Freud’s death
instinct (Thanatos), and with it Marcuse’s elucidation of its im
plications for comprehending the dynamics of aggression in ad
vanced industrial society,50 is methodologically omitted from se
rious consideration by the revisionists. Such “wild” hypotheses
are shut out, together with the insights they produce, which
question a psychological theory having no doubts about the ob
jective of therapeutically adjusting the individual to modern so
ciety. In the final analysis, the scientistic purge of the metapsy
chology by the neo-Freudians brings theory into conformity with
the requirements of therapy. Theory is revised to complement
the designs of therapy or, more precisely, of technique — a pro
cedure whereby the individual is made functional to society,
whereby individual functions become identical to social func
tions. Theory and therapy, theoretical, practical, and individual
reason are united by the logic of technics. Technical reason not
only effaces the psyche through its organization of the cultural
and material process of production but invades even the disci
plines that treat those who would resist such coordination.
Marx as T echnocratic H umanist
Marcuse is also careful to examine aspects of his own theoretical
moorings for signs of technical reason. At the conclusion of the
last chapter, I pointed out that Marcuse distinguishes his con
cept of human emancipation from that of Marx. He argues that
Marx’s notion of unalienated labor preserves the characteristics
of the active, practical appropriation of nature. As such, Marx’s
theory is closely allied with an ideology of domination, specifical
ly with repression (for Marcuse, “sublimation”). If Marcuse had
pressed this criticism within the context of his analysis of techni
cal reason, perhaps'he would have claimed that Marx’s concep
tion of unalienated labor is inadequately sensitive to the dangers

of an anthropology that bases the prospects for human develop
ment on the unfettered use of technology. The impact of Marx
ism on contemporary social theory could very well encourage
progressive theorists to incorporate the Marxist anthropology
and thus to seal the technological fate of the individual while op
posing capitalism on his behalf.
In fact, Marcuse does offer a similar indictment of Marx.
Though Marx discovered the material laws of historical develop
ment, his thesis in the Poverty o f Philosophy and the German
Ideology that the hand mill gave birth to feudalism and the
steam mill rise to capitalism, fails to grasp that the technological
mode of production responsible for capitalism, and which was to
be developed further under socialism to create the material pre
conditions for communism, was also responsible for advanced in
dustrial society. Hence Marx did not (or could not) perceive the
most serious form of domination latent in capitalism, which
could prevent all further human progress. Given his emphasis on
the emancipatory significance of technology under socialism and
communism, Marx did not take notice of the technological dom
ination that would come to prevail in those societies, of which
Soviet Marxism may be judged one version.
Other facets of Marx’s anthropology conform to the ideology
of advanced industrial society. In the Economic and Philosophic
Manuscripts, the German Ideology, and Capital, Marx spoke of
the individual who once freed from socially necessary labor could
develop his capacities to their fullest extent. Free time would be
invested in developing human potential through a great variety
of activities. Marcuse suggests that Marx’s all-round individual
can be assimilated into the repressive fabric of modern civiliza
tion. Today, free time is actually manipulated leisure time,
wherein diversity of activity, in avocations, hobbies, and so on, is
managed by the culture industry. Likewise, within the produc
tive process such advances as polytechnical education give the
semblance of all-round development. The standardization of
tasks makes individuals as interchangeable as any part of the
productive apparatus. Consequently, Marx’s image of protean
man "pertains to a stage when the intellectual culture was still
divorced from the material culture.”51 In other words, it con
forms to a historical period when the representatives of higher
culture could not imagine their creative privileges universalized

in a perverted form by technical reason.
T he T echnical M anipulation of D eath as the T echnical
M anipulation of L ife
There is no aspect of life so private that it does not fall within the
domain of technological rationality, as Marcuse’s concern with
the “ideology of death” proves. The ideological interpretation of
death, exaggerating its terror, emphasizing its horror as the end
of all things, intensifies the anxiety over the reality of death and
transforms life into a means for deriving all the gratification one
can from existence. But as existence is socially organized exis
tence, gratification turns out to be the repressive satisfactions of
fered by modern society. The culturally manipulated view of
death thus serves to make the impoverished material and spiri
tual offerings of advanced industrial society appear pleasurable
and rewarding. As Marcuse puts it, “The power over death is
also the power over life.”52
One-dimensional Society
By recalling the earlier discussion of Marcuse’s evaluation of the
role played by technology in National Socialism, we acquire a
clear insight into Marcuse’s conception of one-dimensional soci
ety. The politics of brute force was the decisive tool of Fascist
totalitarianism, and technology was ^n indispensable though
partial factor insuring its “success.” Common to fascism and ad
vanced industrial societies, including the Soviet Union, is a tech
nical base. From the standpoint of comprehending the nature of
technological rationality, the crucial difference among these so
cial systems lies in the weight technics assumes in each. With fas
cism, politics unleashed the powers of domination inherent in
technology. Before technology could become the predominant
factor in totalitarian rule, however, fascism was defeated and the
evolution of Fascist totalitarianism concluded with politics as its
primary force. In advanced industrial societies the reverse is
true. As Marcuse declares,
In this society, tech n ics is not o n e p a rticu la r fa cto r or d im en sio n
a m o n g others, but is the a p rio ri o f all reality an d rea liz a tio n . T h e
rela tio n b etw een th e te c h n o lo g y an d th e p o litic s o f a d v a n ced in d u s

trial so ciety is not that of an external force brought to bear upon a
purely technical ensemble. [T h e tec h n ic a l e n se m b le is] n o t on ly th e
m ed iu m in w h ich th e social co n tro ls are exercised in a n d over th e
in d iv id u a ls b u t also an a p p a ra tu s o f social co n tro ls in its ow n
r ig h t.53
Technological rationality determines that the “era tends to be

totalitarian even where it has not produced totalitarian states.”54
Clearly, for Marcuse the essence of totalitarianism is technical
reason. Embodying this rationality in their productive base, fas
cism, modern capitalism, and Soviet Marxism tend toward the
elimination of all vital political differences such that the distin
guishing characteristic among these systems ultimately is time —
the duration permitted for technological development. Once
technological rationality progresses to the point of becoming the
ubiquitous basis of production, as it never did under National
Socialism, all social relations become the organized domination
relations of technical reason. The implication is that having had
the historical opportunity, fascism would have evolved into a
qualitatively different form of domination. Or, turning this point
around, one-dimensional society is fascism minus brute force.
Grasped in all its manifestations within the material and cul
tural process of production, the relationship between politics
and technology as it emerges from Marcuse’s analysis leads to a
precise understanding of what is meant by one-dimensionality.
Marcuse’s conception of subjectivity views the individual as the
potential architect of his own history. The potential freely to dis
pose of his own fate, rationally to judge the society, and autono
mously to order it according to the standards of reason remain
the ideal prerogative of the individual. It is this capacity for rea
son, the critical faculty, the “power of negative thinking,” the es
sence of subjectivity, that is eroded by technological rationality.
All potentiality is now projected by technics. Technical rational
ity is the single dimension of human experience.
S ociety is to ta lly m o b ilized ; every sector o f society a n d every field o f

h u m a n a ctivity is in volved . In tellec tu a l an d m a teria l c u ltu r e , p u b
lic a n d p rivate life , m in d an d so u l, th o u g h t an d la n g u a g e — all these
are ad ju sted to fit in w ith th e n eed s o f the a p p a r a tu s.55
The Theory of One-dimensional Society as a

One-dimensional Theory, or the Lim its to Domination
T he A pproach of C ritical A nalysis
On the surface, there appears to be no obvious passage of entry
through which to initiate criticism of Marcuse’s theory of techno
logical domination and one-dimensional society. By Marcuse’s
account each and every aspect of advanced industrial society
shares identical features, and all verify his thesis and extend its
reach. Those with special interests in* any of the areas Marcuse
attacks could take issue with a particular analysis, offer an op
posing view, and be satisfied that the rebuttal defended that
sphere of society from implication in one-dimensional practices.
Such a focused critical approach, however, either would leave
standing the remainder of Marcuse’s theoretical edifice or, re
produced point counterpoint, would chip away at the entire
structure, thus proving that the greater part or perhaps the total
ity of the social order has not fallen prey to the hegemony of
technological rationality.
Beginning in this manner, however, criticism would have little
value insofar as the underlying suppositions of Marcuse’s central
thesis would remain uncontested. If his argument that techno
logical rationality is a new and virulent form of domination
passes unchallenged, refutations of the order “linguistic philoso
phy, or social science, or ordinary language, and so forth, does
not confine its conceptual possibilities,to the limits of technical
reason, uncritically embrace a technologically rationalized socie
ty, and contribute to the reproduction and perpetuation of its in
stitutions” can be disarmed as they are turned into qualified dis
claimers—“has not yet become rationalized and coordinated
with a repressive social organization of social relations, though
given time the logic of technics will compel it to do so.” M ar
cuse’s thesis allows for this sort of theory saving caveat because of
its emphasis on the historical tendency toward one-dimensional
society. Consequently, criticism is paralyzed and discussion is re
duced to speculations on the future, unless the central thesis is
somehow questioned.
Restating this problem, a challenge to Marcuse should avoid
moving within the framework of his analysis. There should be no
debate about “Domination —Political or Technological?” Posing
the issue “is technical reason closing or has it closed the material,
cultural, and political universe of discourse?” is prima facie ac
ceptance that technological domination is a correct notion, even
though proof may have been offered that it is not immediately,
or is only potentially, a menace. A critique that does not leave
Marcuse’s thesis intact must test the conviction that technologi
cal rationality can be a mode of domination, as Marcuse de
scribes it, under any circumstances.
With this objective in mind, the critical approach adopted in
the remainder of this chapter will be to pursue answers to varia
tions of a single question: what is the nature of an individual who
can be so completely dominated by technical reason? This ques
tion is designed to draw out the concept of the subject implicit in
Marcuse’s theory of technological domination and one-dimen
sional society. If, in fact, the concept of the individual implicit in
his theory appears untenable, then there would be grounds for
suggesting that a different concept of subjectivity may define
firm limits on the extent to which technical reason could become
a rationality of domination, as Marcuse understands it, under
any circumstances.
The first concern of this critical analysis is the nature of the in
dividual engaged at all levels of technically organized processes
of production. Later, the results of this analysis will be developed
into a critique of Marcuse’s view of the relationship between
technological rationality and the cultural and political spheres of
society. It is highly appropriate to begin the analysis by consider
ing Marcuse’s relation to Weber, as will become clear shortly.
W eber for and against M arcuse
Marcuse’s relationship to Weber is not ambiguous in the least.
As can be appreciated readily from the foregoing exposition of
Marcuse’s analysis of advanced industrial society, although there
is an incidental difference in the specific empirical targets of
their analyses, on the whole Weber’s theoretical model of the de
velopment of formal rationality is duplicated in a striking man
ner by Marcuse. Drawing out the parallel, it clearly extends to a
common emphasis on the progress of technical reason within the
historical context of industrialization, to a concern with the im
pact of mechanization, routinization, the calculability of rules
and results, standardization, depersonalization, and a highly
specialized division of'labor. Both theorists are concerned, as

well, with the rationalization of education, bureaucratic struc
tures and the superiority of technical elites, the centralization
and rationalization of authority and planning, plebiscitary de
mocracy, obedience to authority and depoliticization, factors
obscuring class and power relations, the penetration of technical
reason into the cultural spheres of society, cumulative technolog
ical rationalization and the universality of instrumental norms in
the public and private sectors, the comprehensive “disenchant
ment of the world,” and the disappearance of all elements that
cannot be rationalized (which for Marcuse translates, for exam
ple, into a consideration of the implications of operationalism,
specifically, the positivist debunking of metaphysics and the gen
eral elimination of transcendent concepts). Last, Marcuse and
Weber are similarly interested in the servitude accompanying
the rise of welfare institutions, the uniformity of life under mod
ern capitalism, and the unification of politics, economics, and
culture into an administered apparatus upon which the entire
society depends and that produces a streamlined social organiza
tion ideally marked by the absence of tension and conflict. In the
broadest sense, it is quite evident that the major features of Mar
cuse’s analysis first appear in Weber’s work. It is not stretching
the truth to say that the theoretical foundations of Marcuse’s
technological domination thesis were laid by Weber, nor is it an
exaggeration to claim that without Weber Marcuse’s work in this
area cannot be imagined. ,
Equally significant, and decisive to a critique of Marcuse, is
his departure from Weber. In the social formation Marcuse has
labeled advanced industrial society there is no distinction be
tween formal and substantive rationality. In other words, “for
mal,” technical rationality is ideological, a rationality of domina
tion. Weber had argued, however, that although once developed
formally rationalized institutions appear virtually indestructible,
in principle they remain the administrative means for those in
political control of the technical apparatus. Weber left as an
open question, of course, the issue of whether technological and
bureaucratic rationalization at some future time would prevail
over substantive political directives; he had insisted that within
any particular social structure the weight that formal rationality
acquires cannot necessarily be regulated despite the objectives
and the power of the society’s political masters. Hence, Weber’s

position regarding the ultimate relationship between formal and
substantive reason, technology and politics in modern society,
does seem ambivalent and, in fact, as often as not the ambiva
lence appears resolved in the direction of means elevated to the
status of ends —which is to say that the ambivalence is not re
solved at all.
At times, Marcuse also states that the technical apparatus is
controlled by men and that at bottom domination is the conse
quence of political manipulation. For Marcuse, though, after
the early stages of capitalist development the distinction between
technological and political domination cannot be solidly estab
lished. At the advanced stage of capitalism, the political deter
mination of ends begins to decline and technical rationality be
gins to predominate. To this point, Marcuse could yet be judged
quite plausibly to have followed Weber’s lead in the examination
of the means-ends relation because he appears to sustain Weber’s
ambivalence. The crucial step undertaken by Marcuse is his
analysis of the erosion of subjectivity. With this thesis Marcuse
moves far beyond Weber’s treatment of the possible dominance
of formal rationality and the possible elimination of substantive
reason, to the substitution of technical for human reason through
the gradual but sweeping eclipse of the individual’s critical,
“substantive”faculties. Weber’s nearest approximation to such a
radical thesis as the reduction of thinking to a single dimension
comes in such references as “the settled orientation of man” for
keeping to the formal rationality of administration.56 For We
ber, technical reason is habituating, but politics, values, and
their subjective basis are not dissolved. Rather, they continue to
exist beside the apparatus and often in conflict with it.
Further differences between the two theorists are illuminated
by Marcuse’s own critical essay on Weber. In “Industrialization
and Capitalism in the Work of Max W eber,” Marcuse argues that
Weber’s conception of formal rationality is too closely aligned
with the rationality of capitalism. Particular historical practices
of capitalism —specifically, free enterprise, continual profit op
portunities for capital in order to allow for the general satisfac
tion of the public’s material needs, the separation of the means
of production from the worker, and the selling of labor power for
wages—become necessary to the development of formal reason
and are idealized and elevated to the status of reason as such by

Weber. Evaluated according to the (operational) criteria of for
mal reason, the irrationality of capitalism emerges as the very
embodiment of universal rationality, as being truly rational.
And, since Weber is unaware that his concept of formal rational
ity is tied to substantive capitalist rationality, through Weber’s
theory, formal, technical reason must then appear as a form of
domination. Recapturing the historicity of Weber’s formal ratio
nality, Marcuse severs the equation of formal and capitalist ra
tionality, to which Weber is blinded, and the emancipatory
potential of technics is brought to the surface. Freed from the or
ganization of social relations in the interest of profit and produc
tivity, formal reason can be seen to have established the material
preconditions for human emancipation —the elimination of
scarcity and the reduction of work to the barest minimum rela
tive to basic repression. Once formal reason is purified of its
ideological content, the irrationality of modem capitalism
stands out distinctly.57
While Marcuse’s criticism of Weber is basically accurate, it
does tend to be one-sided. Weber is not so sanguine about formal
rationality that its highest expression in modern capitalism
would leave it free of blame. He is extremely critical of the dan
gers to democracy and personal freedom constituted by formal
reason and aware of the threats to human happiness presented
by the routinization of an oppressive, religiously inspired work
ethic. Moreover, although Weber’s definition of formal reason
incorporates many of the essential characteristics of capitalist ra
tionality, it contains an insight that may very well explain the
origin of Marcuse’s theory of technological reason. Marcuse’s ar
gument that historically the rationality of capitalism becomes
embodied in technical reason, that is, modern capitalism is
transformed into a qualitatively new social formation, advanced
industrial society, is prefigured by Weber’s concern with the fu
ture of freedom, democracy, arid happiness in a fully rational
ized society. Although Weber reproduces many of the features of
capitalism in his concept of formal reason, his concept and criti
cisms of formal reason unwittingly recognize it as the advanced
historical form of capitalism. Weber’s formal rationality thus
anticipates and may have suggested to Marcuse the notion of ad
vanced industrial society. Consequently, Weber’s error, as Mar
cuse has described it—the confusion of formal and capitalist ra

tionality-m ay have been the germ of Marcuse’s theory.
Nevertheless, however suggestive Weber’s concept and criti
cisms of formal reason may be of Marcuse’s theory of advanced
industrial society, a firm dividing line between the two must be
drawn. Weber and Marcuse part company on the final status of
the subject in a totally rationalized society. This crucial differ
ence cannot be explained in terms of their analyses of the univer
sal organization of social relations by technical reason because
their frameworks parallel each other so closely. Marcuse’s diver
gence from Weber lies not in Marcuse’s structural examination
of technics but in the anthropological assumptions that underlie
and inform his theoretical analysis and its conclusions regarding
the fate of subjectivity. This all-important difference between
Weber and Marcuse brings us to the decisive question: what is
the nature of an individual who so utterly collapses under the
pressures of technical reason that he can be transformed into
“one-dimensional man”?
O ne -dimensional A ssumptions
Consider these assertions.
W ith all its r a tio n a lity , th e W elfare State is a state o f un freed om b e
ca u se its total a d m in istra tio n is system atic restriction o f . . . the in
te llig e n c e ( conscious and unconscious) capable of comprehending
a n d rea lizin g th e p ossib ilities o f se lf-d e te r m in a tio n .58
reaches into
T h e c o o rd in a tio n o f th e in d ivid u al w ith his society
those layers of the mind where the very concepts are elaborated
w h ich are d esign ed to co m p reh en d the estab lish ed r ea lity .59
B ut this rad ical a c ce p ta n c e [by lin gu istic analysis] o f the em p irical
[ord in ary la n g u a g e] violates the em p irica l, for in it speaks the m u ti
la te d , “abstract" in d ivid u al w ho exp erien ces {and expresses) only
that which is given to him {given in a literal sense), w ho has only the
fa cts a n d n o t th e factors, w hose behavior is on e-d im en sio n a l and
m a n ip u la te d . By virtu e o f the factu al repression, the exp erien ced
w orld is th e result o f a restricted e x p erien ce, and th e positivist clean
ing of the mind brings the mind in line w ith the restricted e x p e ri
e n c e .60
Quite evident in these passages, and in many others that could

be cited, is the image of the inner world of the mind assuming
the shape of the outer social world. Yet, what is extraordinary is

that nowhere in Marcuse’s analysis of the impact of technical
reason on mental processes is there an analysis of the mental proc
esses themselves. We are furnished with a finished portrait of
subjectivity after formal rationality has completed its work, but
there is no examination of the actual individual to determine
whether he corresponds to the theoretical concept of one-dimen
sional man. Immediately it will be objected that Marcuse in fact
has examined the psychological basis of one-dimensional thought
and has studied the internal dynamics of the mind as much as
the dynamics of technics in relation to it. This project will be
considered in due course. Despite that project the objection is in
valid, however, for his discussions of the psychological basis of
one-dimensional thought, including the notion of repressive de
sublimation, either focus on the earliest stages of psychological
development or are restricted to biological-instinctual forms of
domination, which Marcuse fails properly to relate to mental
functioning. In the event that this objection is pressed further,
the argument of the following chapter shows that Marcuse’s the
ory of the psychological underpinnings of one-dimensionality is
incorrect. It is, in fact, a theory that views all mental capacities
as developing and taking shape in direct response to and con
formity with social pressures and social requirements.
Marcuse’s theoretical omission is of great consequence. W ith
out a view of the empirical subject after he has been reduced to
the one-dimensional state, it must be assumed that prior to that
condition the nature of the mind was such that its aggregate dis
positions held the possibility for total assimilation to technolog
ical rationality. If this assumption were not implicit in Marcuse’s
conception of one-dimensional man, if there were essential fea
tures, or “dimensions,” of human reason distinguishing it from
technical reason, then regardless of the universal scope of tech
nics and the strain under which it placed the mind, mental proc
esses could never be exhausted by technical processes. The essen
tial differences would have introduced an antagonism between
the logic of the mind and the logic of technics. In Marcuse’s
account of this important relationship, no such tension is appar
ent. Indeed, what is emphasized without equivocation is the cor
respondence, conformity, coordination, and harmony of the ob
jective spheres of structural intercourse and the subjective
spheres of human discourse.
Where, then, does this conception of the mind’s nature under-

lying the theory of one-dimensional man originate? The implicit
anthropology of mental processes disposed to total objectifica
tion through technical rationality bears a strong resemblance to
the concept of reason embedded in technics. When we consider
the evidence Marcuse offers for the dramatic redefinition of
thought, we are consistently referred to a description of the logic
of technical reason. The mind is inferred not from its own phe
nomenology but rather from elements that lie outside the mind.
Mental processes are derivative. Marcuse seems to have extrapo
lated his notion of subjectivity from the constitution of struc
tures. Mental features not peculiar to technological rationality
also do not pertain to the manipulated individual. Having no
prior knowledge of Marcuse’s extensive work on Freud, or for
that matter on Hegel, a reader of Marcuse’s analysis of techno
logical rationalization could conclude appropriately that his crit
icisms of modern society notwithstanding, he has produced a
theory whose psychological presuppositions not only allow for
but are verified by the individual’s comfortable and functional
relationship to the behavior required by technical reason. This
interpretation would be intelligible and plausible for in his criti
cal analysis Marcuse never probes the inner world of the subject
within advanced industrial society but inherently conceives of
this world as it is projected from one-dimensional behavior and
the technical, structural logic of one-dimensional society.
Behaviorism, then, and a variety of the most radical sort, is
not a methodology alien to Marcuse’s critical theory. The empir
ical subject’s attitudes, dispositions, capacities, personality, and
character are inferred from the social behavior of the individual.
Certainly, Marcuse has another conception of human nature
that cannot be reduced to its behavioral counterpart. But this
concept belongs to the rationalistic framework of critical theory,
carefully removed from any empirical referent in the established
social universe and preserved in the abstract as a free, autono
mous, and rational subject. And in view of Marcuse’s critique of
neo-Freudian psychology, his behaviorism is truly ironic. The
revisionists discarded those aspects of Freud’s theory that ques
tioned the therapeutic aim of adjusting behavior to prevailing
norms. Marcuse, in a similar fashion, develops a theory of one
dimensional man whose implicit theoretical assumptions about
the nature of the psyche anticipates the one-dimensional behav
ior that the neo-Freudians sanction. At a later point it will be

asked whether Marcuse’s slide into behaviorism is related to his
interpretation of Freud, specifically to that part of the interpre
tation that establishes the psychological underpinnings of the
one-dimensionality thesis.
Intimately related to Marcuse’s behaviorist tendencies are
quite visible signs of what could be properly called “epiphenome-
nal reductionism,” or, to use an older, similar, and somewhat
more familiar term, “materialist determinism.” These phrases,
however awkward, adequately express1the idea that one-dimen
sional thought occurs as a direct result of or reaction to a one-di
mensional technical apparatus. A one-way causal relationship
holds between the mind and the rationalized organization of
production. And since Marcuse fails to consider any mental
events that accompany the impact of structural factors upon the
mind, mental behavior appears to be nothing but material be
havior. It is an epiphenomenon, a mere shadow of material
processes. Marcuse turns the mind into a dependent variable, a
black box passively processing information. The mind is identi
fied with the functions it performs, which in turn are identical to
technical functions.
Marcuse’s determinism situates his critical theory near to the
orthodox Marxist framework of historical materialism. Although
Marx clearly was not the crude economic determinist of the or
thodox Marxist school many of his interpreters have claimed him
to be, there are quasi-determinist features to Marx’s theoretical
work. While it is unnecessary to take up the debate about Marx’s
so-called determinism as it might be associated with many facets
of his social theory, in the context of the present discussion brief
attention to two of its aspects will aid in clarifying the nature of
Marcuse’s much stricter technological determinism.
M arx against M arcuse
In the German Ideology, the text that perhaps goes the furthest
in establishing the nature of Marx’s determinism, history is de
scribed as a history of generations one after another confronting
predetermined sets of objective material conditions. These ob
jective factors place a limitation upon'the orientation of m an’s
intellectual and physical energies in that human faculties and
capacities must be'brought to bear and concentrated upon the
material means of production. The subject of historical develop

ment, be it individual, class, or society, is structurally limited,
not strictly determined by material conditions. Within the realm
of necessity and beyond it a realm of choice is open, containing a
variety of possible human projects circumscribed by material
conditions, yet sufficiently broad to allow for a degree of auton
omy and discretion and, most important, for politics. The possi
bility of choice and political contest would be meaningless unless
Marx had supposed a subject, sketched philosophically and an
thropologically in the Paris Manuscripts, able to dispose over his
torical opportunities. Subjectivity is always bound by the mate
rial limits to historical change, but at the same time the subject’s
capacities are greater than the material possibilities already real
ized in the forces and relations of production.
Marx’s conception of a semi-autoriomous subject appears in a
different form in the relation of “base and superstructure.”
Whether the focus is on the state, science, religion, art, or phi
losophy the superstructure always maintains a semi-independent
relationship to the material basis of production. Ideology can no
more be reduced to material factors than the latter can fully ac
count for the origin and substance of ideology. The semi-autono
mous status Marx grants to the subject in fact prompts Marcuse
to argue that Marx’s materialism has a concept of a “reduced”
material basis of society because it "undervalues” the impact of
science and technology in forming and determining “man’s be
ing and consciousness.”61 For Marcuse, in other words, ideology
no longer receives emphasis, as it did with Marx, as a repressive
means of organization and socialization. Rather, “by virtue of
the way it has organized its technological base, contemporary in
dustrial society tends to be totalitarian.”62 The reciprocal rela
tionship of base and superstructure as conceived by Marx is
altered by Marcuse decisively in favor of an all-pervasive and all
determining material basis encroaching upon, manipulating,
and coordinating ideology until there ceases to be any difference
between base and superstructure, ideology and reality, subject
and object. By underlining the greatly expanded role of tech
nological rationality in modern civilization, Marcuse corrects
Marx’s “error,” inflates the influence of technical structures on
the subject, and bestows upon subjectivity the characteristics of
technical reason. Marcuse’s theory emerges as a caricature of the
determinism falsely imputed to Marx. Weber’s theory of the de

velopment and implications of formal rationality has thus led
Marcuse to a revision of Marxism. Important to recall, however,
lest it be inferred that I am suggesting that Weber’s and Mar
cuse’s theories of rationalization share similar anthropological
assumptions, Weber’s view of man in technological society pre
serves a complexity that Marcuse’s has implicitly denied. Weber
maintains a distinction between “internal states and external de
mands.”63 Ideas, attitudes, and dispositions cannot be equated
with those implied by the performance of required behavior.
Needless to say at this point, Marcuse’s theoretical categories are
not those of human thought and action but categories —struc
tures—standing outside of and determining both.
In fairness to Marcuse, there is an element of truth to his cri
tique of Marx: Marx did underestimate the forces of social inte
gration and cohesion deriving from science and technology. Yet
it is important to remember that for Marx the subject of histor
ical development beyond capitalism was the proletariat. If the
thrust of Marcuse’s critique is the obsolescence of the revolution
ary proletarian class subject, Marcuse’s indictment of Marx is
valid. That, however, is not Marcuse’s point. Marcuse’s critique
breaks down when he suggests that Marx was wrong in underval
uing the impact of technics on “man's being and consciousness.”
Against Marcuse, however, the depth and complexity of Marx’s
anthropology would have enabled him to place technical reason
in its proper theoretical perspective. Iq other words, for Marx
man includes all forms of subjectivity, not merely the proletar
iat, and being and consciousness refer to man’s entire nature, his
cognitive, emotional, and biological constitution. If Marx had
feared or even foreseen the possibility of the integration of the
proletariat, as is sometimes indicated in his writings, would he
have interpreted that development as the erosion of all aspects of
subjectivity associated with man and, therefore, with the work
ing class? Marx’s notion of the subject, of which the revolution
ary working class, with its revolutionary capacities, is but one
concrete historical expression, would have prevented such a con
clusion. Revolutionary capacities of the subject would have been
assimilated, perhaps, but not all humafi critical capacities. Now
a similar question must be put to Marcuse: in view of the behav-
iorist and determirfist implications brought to light by revealing
the underlying anthropological assumptions of the theory of one

dimensional man, what would correctly evaluating the effect of
science and technology on man, as the universal human subject,
mean for Marcuse?
A complete agreement between social being, the composite
traits of the individual’s private and public existence, and social
(technical) consciousness would have to occur, a perfect psychic-
social fit. The relationship between the individual and the social
role he occupies would entail an absence of tension and conflict.
At no level of conscious or unconscious existence would there be
expressions of discontent, frustration, hostility, and apathy in re
sponse to the submissive, passive, dependent, and powerless sta
tion to which the individual would have become accommodated.
Nor would there be the least perception of such enslavement. No
longer applicable to individual psychology would be the Freud
ian dynamic that a necessary concession to an ungratifying or
otherwise repugnant social demand, in effect, to the reality or
performance principle, would cause emotional distress or a neu
rotic symptom of some sort. Furthermore, as the society became
progressively rationalized, as production units became less com
plex to increase their manageability, there could be no expecta
tion of an intensifying contradiction between individual needs
and abilities and structural requirements. As different and as
complex as individuals are, they would be standardized by ra
tionalizing their technical roles. The question of the limits of hu
man tolerance to rationalization would never arise.
Marcuse’s behaviorism, determinism, and, by allusion, "role
theory”64 clearly neglect highly significant areas of resistance to
a rationalized social organization of production. Only a notion
of subjectivity richer than that implicit in Marcuse’s theory of
one-dimensional man would heed signs of discontent, which, no
m atter how primitive, constitute a source of opposition. A criti
cal theory whose underlying assumptions suppress recognition of
these signs also suppresses a basis for politics and forecloses the
possibility of the intervention of political movements or organi
zations in social life. It is guilty of a fundamental hostility to poli
tics. No doubt that at the bottom of Marcuse’s implicit anthro
pology is the mistaken tendency to evaluate the modern subject
in terms of Marx’s revolutionary subject and from the standpoint
of the rationalistic structure of Marcuse’s critical theory.65 Con
sequently, a grave injustice is done to the far less politicized but

no less alienated figure of modern man. With presuppositions
excluding any but a positivist conception of subjectivity, that is,
an image of the individual merely reflecting the a priori concept
of subject rooted in technological rationality, Marcuse’s critical
theory is depoliticized in advance of further analysis. It thus con
tributes to the very process of integration and to forms of politi
cal mobilization it abhors. If critical theory is to move beyond a
one-dimensional society, it must first move beyond a theory
laden with one-dimensional assumptions. Once it does, the cate
gories of critical theory will no longer be anchored in the laws of
history but rather in the laws of human nature.
Reinstating subjectivity against its suppression in Marcuse’s
critical theory restores a basis for politics and at the same time
qualifies considerably the possible impact of technics upon the
individual. Discovering the limits to technological domination as
it affects the individual within the process of production forces
the next question: are there also firm limits to its influence on a
subject engaged in activities removed from those sectors of socie
ty directly related to production processes? Now the concern is to
determine whether Marcuse is correct in arguing that the critical
distance between the cultural and political spheres of advanced
industrial society and technical reason can be attenuated com
pletely or, contrary to Marcuse, whether a degree of subjectivity
and a critical dimension remain and will continue to remain in
tact. This final part of the critical examination will focus only on
those spheres of society for which Marcuse’s analysis appears to
make the strongest case for his theory. Social science, ordinary
language, linguistic analysis, the administration of work, and
political parties are the pertinent areas to be considered. The
discussion will conclude with a critical look at Soxriet Marxism.
O perational ™ in Social Science
When the evidence is considered, there is not the slightest indica
tion that Marcuse has correctly grasped operationalism as it has
been used methodologically in the social sciences. This is the
mildest criticism that can be made of his indictment of empirical
social science. For if he does correctly understand operationalism
in a manner not revealed by his work, then it must be concluded
that by offering critical expositions distorting social science re
search, Marcuse has deliberately misrepresented operational

analysis to make it appear the crudest sort of ideological
thought. These serious accusations are confirmed by reexamin
ing the studies Marcuse selects as illustrations of the rationalized
coordination of the social sciences with the technical basis of pro
duction.
Marcuse, we recall, argues that operadonalism is committed
to a technical conceptual framework that necessarily evaluates
societal relations in terms of criteria extracted from societal
practices. Analysis becomes “locked” within the given ideological
universe of established institutions. By means of operational
methods social science can do nothing but affirm a repressive so
cial order. Marcuse’s argument is based upon his examination of
two empirical investigations by political scientists who inquired
into the democratic character of elections and the extent of po
litical activity and influence among different sectors of the
American public.
In discussing a study by Morris Janowitz and Dwaine Marvick,
“Competitive Pressure and Democratic Consent,” Marcuse
claims incorrectly that “a set of three criteria is offered” to judge
the degree to which the 1952 presidential election produced a
process of consent or manipulation. He cites the authors’ crite
ria, which define what they refer to as the “competitive theory of
democracy,” as follows.
(1 ) A d em o cr a tic e le c tio n requires c o m p etitio n betw een op p osin g
c a n d id a tes w h ich pervades the en tire con stitu en cy. T h e e le c
to ra te derives pow er from its ab ility to ch oose b etw een at least
tw o c o m p etitiv ely o rien ted can d id ates, eith er o f w hom is b e
lieved to have a reason ab le ch a n ce to w in.
(2) A d e m o cr a tic e le ctio n requires both [I] parties to en g a g e in a
b a la n c e o f efforts to m a in ta in estab lish ed votin g blocs, to re
cru it in d e p e n d e n t voters, and to gain converts from the o p p o si
tion parties.
(3 ) A d e m o cr a tic e le ctio n requires both [!] parties to be en gaged
vigorou sly in an effo rt to w in the current election ; b u t, win or
lo se, b o th p arties m ust also be seek in g to e n h a n ce their chances
o f success in th e n ex t an d su b seq u en t e le c tio n s.66
After quoting Janowitz and Marvick’s criteria, which he expli

citly states were used to assess the effects of electoral competi
tion, Marcuse remarks that since “these definitions describe pret

ty accurately the factual state of affairs in the American elections
of 1952, which is the subject of the analysis,”67 then the actual
electoral practices constitute the basis for evaluating the elec
tions, “the investigation becomes circular and self-validating,”
and the electoral “process is democratic prior to the results of the
investigation.”68 Criteria other than those employed by the
authors to judge the election, Marcuse argues, and which would
have contributed a genuinely critical perspective and proven the
election to be far less democratic th&n the authors concluded,
could have been furnished by some other definition of democ
racy. Such a concept was at Janowitz and Marvick’s disposal, but
they rejected this classical “mandate” theory of democracy,
which postulates that "the process of representation derives from
a clear-cut set of directives which the electorate imposes on its
representatives,” because “it assumed a level of articulated opin
ion and ideology on the campaign issues not likely to be found in
the United States.”69 Marcuse notes this explanation for rejecting
the mandate theory but contends that the “precise” reason for
the authors’ rejection lay in the concept’s “non-operational”
status.70 Concepts belonging to a critical theory, Marcuse is say
ing, “remain outside the reach of the operational concept.”71
Several important objections to Marcuse’s treatment of the
Janowitz and Marvick article must be raised. First, the authors
provided not three criteria but five.
I. T h e Q u ality o f an E lection D ep en d s on th e D eg ree to w h ich
C o m p etitio n P rod uces H igh Levels o f C itizen P a rticip a tio n
a m o n g A ll Social G ro u p in g s.72
II. T h e Q u ality o f an E lection D ep en d s on th e E xten t to w h ich
C itizen P a rticip a tio n Is B ased on P red isp osition s o f H ig h P o lit
ical S elf-C o n fid en ce as w ell as the T r a d itio n a lly E m p h asized
Self-Interest in th e O u tco m e o f E le c tio n s.73
III. T h e Q u ality o f an E lection D ep en d s o n th e E x ten t to w h ich
C o m p etitio n stim u la tes E ffective P o litica l D e lib e r a tio n on th e
Issues and C an d id ates and C reates a M ea n in g fu l B asis on
w hich C itizens C an M ake T h eir V o tin g D e c isio n s.74
IV . T h e Q u ality o f an E lection D ep en d s on th e E x ten t to w h ich
L im ita tio n s O p erate P reclu d in g E ither S id e from M o n o p o liz
ing or Even Êxercising Pervasive In flu en ce by m ea n s o f th e
M ass M e d ia .73
V . T h e Q u a lity o f an E lection D ep en d s on th e E xten t to w h ich the

In flu en ce E xercised by In terpersonal Pressures O perates S u b
sta n tia lly In d ep en d en t o f th e In flu en ce exercised by th e M ass
M e d ia .76
Second, obviously none of their operational criteria bears any

resemblance to those that Marcuse lists. Those Marcuse identi
fies as evaluative criteria were never used by the authors to deter
mine the election’s democratic stature. The authors did not
argue that those three conditions, which certainly do factually
describe the election, were met, ergo democracyl Their objective
was to consider whether, in spite of these conditions, the election
was undemocratic, because competitive party activities—which
these three conditions served only to outline—may have gener
ated pressures that ultimately involved manipulation of the pub
lic and inhibited a process of consentl
Third, as the article makes clear, of the five criteria devised
for the investigation the “fifth criterion, involving the patterns of
interaction between the impact of the mass media and interper
sonal pressures, isolated a political process with important m a
nipulative potentials and some observed manipulative conse
quences.”77 Taken together, through their operational criteria
the authors
p o in t to a series o f w eaknesses in the A m erica n e le ctio n process;
they d e lin e a te co n d itio n s u n der w h ich such w eaknesses w ou ld b e
c o m e e x a ce rb a te d . M oreover, these w eaknesses are clearly p r o
fo u n d e n o u g h to w arran t th e co n clu sio n th at con stru ctive m easures
are req u ired to preven t th e grow th o f th at type o f c o m p etitio n
w h ich ca n on ly result in in creased an d d an gerou s m a n ip u la tio n .
T h er e is little g ro u n d for b e lie v in g th at these d efects are likely to
co rrect th em selves m erely in the "course o f e v e n ts.”78
Clearly, the analysis hardly can be said to be uncritical of Ameri

can elections. Yet, when the study concludes that “in planning
for and assessing future elections, it would be a grave error to
deny that these manipulative pressures were present,”79 Marcuse
dismisses this warning as “a hardly illuminating statement be
yond which the operational analysis cannot go.”80
Marcuse’s sarcasm leads to a fourth and final objection. In the
first place, even if Marcuse is correct in arguing that a critical
examination cannot be properly accomplished through opera
tional methods, his sarcastic response to the authors’ conclusion

is unwarranted. Showing, as did Janowitz and Marvick, that m a
nipulation was a profound factor in the 1952 election, particu
larly as it was related to the mass media, a topic in which Mar
cuse is supposedly interested, is a significant finding. It is highly
unlikely, however, that Marcuse could have recognized or dis
puted the significance of their findings so long as he neglected
the authors’ real operational criteria, especially the fifth crite
rion, and, most important, was mistakenly convinced that oper-
ationalism excludes critical perspectives a priori.
As it stands, Marcuse’s comprehension of operationalism is as
poor as his reading of the essay. He contends that through an op
erational analysis the authors “cannot raise the decisive question
whether the consent [which the investigation claimed was far in
excess of manipulation] itself was not the work of m anipula
tion.’’81 Only the so-called nonoperadonal mandate theory, or by
implication nonoperational concepts in general, Marcuse sug
gests, could have posed the crucial issue whether the electorate
that some view as free and autonomous is actually indoctrinated.
While it is true that the competitive theory of democracy is less
critical than the mandate theory, Marcuse’s argument is never
theless false in an important respect. In principle any concept
can be operationalized, including theoretical terms such as clas
sical definitions of democracy, for example, the mandate theory.
To understand this rather basic point, operationalism must be
conceived broadly, as it has been in social science, to denote not
merely physical operations but mental, particularly verbal, oper
ations, too. Marcuse unduly restricts operationalism to purely
physical operations. Janowitz and Marvick did not reject the
mandate theory of democracy because it cannot be defined oper
ationally. On the contrary, levels of articulateness, consent as
manipulation, and so forth, can be operationalized quite easily.
Their choice between the competitive and mandate theories was
not a choice between an operational and a nonoperational con
cept but rather a choice between alternative operational defini-
tions. The reasons for Janowitz and Marvick’s selection of the less
critical concept must be sought elsewhere than in a universally
objective requirement to provide scientific analyses that end by
imposing a strictly technical exclusion of authentically critical
notions.
Further evidence for Marcuse’s confusion about operational-

ism appears in his examination of “Political Activity of Ameri
can Citizens,” by Julian Woodward and Elmo Roper. Marcuse
argues that the operational criteria that the authors used to mea
sure political activity —“(1) voting at the polls; (2) supporting
possible pressure groups . . . (3) personally communicating di
rectly with legislators (4) participating in political party activity
. . . (5) engaging in habitual dissemination of political opinions
through word-of-mouth communication”82—cannot identify the
influence of business on government and that of the mass media
in the formation of public opinion. Regarding this particular ar
ticle, this criticism is, of course, true. It is one that would also
come as no surprise to the authors of the study because they
made the same point.
It has not b een m a in ta in e d th at the “top ten th ” [o f those sam p led]
are a ctu a lly th e m ost in flu en tia l gro u p o f p eop le in d eterm in in g the
cou rse o f p o litica l e v e n ts.83
A n d it is o f course also possible th at the kinds o f activity covered in
th e In d ex [o f p o litica l activity] are not g o o d m easures o f p olitical
influence at all an d th at som e oth er ap p roach . . . m igh t be m ore
fr u itfu l.84
N o d o u b t m ost p o litic a l scien tists w ou ld m ake som e ad d ition s to or
su b tra ctio n s from th e list [o f o p era tio n a l criteria] . . . T h ere m ay be
m a n y d ifferen t tests for p o litica l a ctiv ity .85
Woodward and Roper were careful to point out that there are
forms of political activity and types of political influence that
this study did not consider but that may be as significant, if not
more so, than the focus of their analysis. The activity of elites
and the influence of the mass media, which other social scientists
have studied extensively and with which Marcuse is concerned,
could be included among possible inquiries. Most important, the
authors recognized that an investigation producing results more
critical than theirs does not “remain outside the reach of the op
erational concept” but lies within the method’s conceptual do
main. This is the point Marcuse consistently misunderstands.
It is still true that Woodward and Roper, like Janowitz and
Marvick, opted for operational definitions that contributed find
ings less critical of elections, political influence, and political ac
tivity than other concepts and criteria would have yielded. A de
19 6 T h e Im a g in a r y W it n ess
cisive question must now'be posed: if domination, in this case the

exclusion of critical concepts, is not asserted through the hegem
ony of technical rationality, in other words, if the technique of
operationalism does not in itself explain how criticism is repelled
or reduced to the terms of the prevailing ideology, what other
than Marcuse’s fetishized view of social science methodology can
offer an explanation?
In One-dimensionalMan, Marcuse refers to Percy Bridgeman’s
Logic o f Modern Physics (1928) for the authoritative statement
on the meaning of operationalism.86 Bridgeman had stressed the
use of physical operations in that text. Marcuse also acknowledges
Bridgeman’s subsequent revision of operationalism to include
“pencil and paper’’ (types of mental) operations.87 However,
Marcuse seems to assume that Bridgeman’s continued preference
for physical over mental operations determined that the former
would become the dominant trend in social science, as though
modern social science based its methodological orientation upon
Bridgeman’s original 1928 Logic.
Consequently, it appears as though Marcuse either is unfamil
iar with or is deliberately ignoring the significant debates about
operationalism among social scientists and philosophers lasting
for nearly three decades after the publication of Bridgeman’s in
fluential book.88 Though these debates cannot be discussed in
any detail, what they immediately disclose is that social scientists
and philosophers feuded over the general implications of opera
tional analysis for the social sciences, oyer the relative merits of
physical versus mental operations, the relationship between social
theory and operational methods, and the possibility and desira
bility of ever agreeing on the definition of any single operational
concept. At the very least, these debates indicate that physical
operationalism was not the dominant tendency in social science.
And, most important, where mental operations were to be em
ployed widely in social science research, the key issue remained
the validity of any particular operational concept. Validity could
never be guaranteed through objective, technical operations ex
cept where physical operations were concerned. Physical opera
tions, however, allowed for the formulation of only the most ele
mentary social science concepts, those that would be of little use
to social science (e.g., to the studies conducted by Janowitz and
associates). Theoretically significant concepts were to be con
structed through mental operations, and their validity depended

upon prior agreement on criteria of validity by the members of
the social science community. To put it differently, personal,
professional, and political values and beliefs were tied to the for
mulation of operational concepts and to evaluations of their sci
entific validity. As is well known, the relationship between the
norms and commitments of the scientific community to scientific
truth emerged controversially in the wake of Thomas Kuhn’s
Structure o f Scientific Revolutions, but this issue was as central
to the earlier debates about operationalism.89
From this analysis of Marcuse’s views of operationalism and so
cial science an important conclusion can be drawn. When it is
recognized that operationalism as it is broadly conceived in the
social sciences does not exclude concepts of a critical nature by
virtue of a methodological a priori, then technical reason cannot
be held directly responsible for the conservatism of modern so
cial science. The affirmative character of any particular (men
tal) operational definition must be referred back to the values
and beliefs of the individual social scientist, and eventually if the
concept is generally acknowledged as valid, its validity must be
explained by reference to the values and beliefs of the social sci
ence community that agreed on its scientific status. Yet, even a
passing familiarity with social science literature would pay testi
mony to the fact that most terms of significance, such as those
Marcuse underscores, do not enjoy such credibility. Definitions
are contested, data are disputed, and alternative concepts and
criteria are proposed. If the time does arrive when contest sub
sides, critical terms are abolished, and a single paradigm emerges
as dominant, as has happened occasionally throughout the his
tory of social science, it will occur as an act of consensus by what
ever forces constitute or influence the social science community.
In short, it is not technical reason, not a methodological a
priori, but subjective reason, in the last analysis politics, that an
imates social science and accounts for its coordination with the
technological organization of social relations. Both the existence
of a subject and its political, ideological expressions are missed
by ignoring decisive differences between technical rationality
and the rationality that informs social science methodologies.
Once more Marcuse seems to have made an assumption, albeit
explicitly in the case of social science, that blinds his theory to
factors that limit the domination by technical rationality. The

assumption is that social science continues to attempt to repli
cate the model of natural science,90 or, more exactly, that opera-
tionalism in social science is identical to physical operationalism
in the hard sciences. By making such an assumption, Marcuse
joins the diminishing ranks of those few social scientists, throw
backs to an age of an obsolete and untenable positivism that col
lapsed under its own weight, who represent the most negligible
tendency in social science today.
O rdinary L anguage
At one point Marcuse does seem to have supposed a concept of
subjectivity allowing a margin of individuality to survive the
onslaught of technical reason. On the perimeters of ordinary lan
guage there are expressions of discontent, small pockets of resist
ance opening it to criticism. Against the one-dimensional, func
tionalized speech of everyday life “the popular language strikes
with spiteful and defiant humor . . . Slang and colloquial speech
have rarely been so creative.”91 Here subjectivity possesses the ca
pacity to reassert itself by designing a specialized vocabulary of
new and extended meanings that fall outside the restrictions of
conventional usage.
Besides these extralinguistic elements, whose critical spirit de
rives from a cynical or idiosyncratic temperament, Marcuse also
suggests that there exists a critical dimension within ordinary dis
course. Marcuse refers to the work of Karl Kraus, whose analyses
of the uses of the basic components of language, such as gram
mar, vocabulary, and syntax, disclosed the real social and politi
cal context of values and beliefs that lies behind and is concealed
by the surface meanings of the spoken and written language.
The critical elements revealed through Kraus’s analyses were
originally hidden, but not completely. Marcuse suggests that
these deeper, critical layers of meaning enter “with various degrees
of awareness and explicitness, into the individual communica
tion."92 The depth layers, or what Marcuse refers to as the “m ul
ti-dimensional universe” of meaning, are critical, “antagonis
tic,” yet “interrelated,” “merged,” and “overlapping]” with the
ideologically distorted surface communication. Marcuse chooses
Kraus’s work for an important reason. It is Marcuse’s example of
the sort of linguistic analysis after which contemporary language
analysis ought to be modeled. The implication is that it is just as

possible today to “make the established language itself speak
what it conceals or excludes, for what is to be revealed and de
nounced is [still] operative within the universe of ordinary dis
course and action.”93 In other words, our universe of discourse is
at least as open as that during the period before and after the
First World War, when Kraus wrote.
Marcuse’s consideration of these critical features of language
incorporates a threefold set of implicit themes: (1) it suggests
that the deeper layers of meaning, the extralinguistic terms and
the meaning buried within the structure of ordinary discourse,
reveal the ideological aspects of officially established meanings;
(2) it affirms that linguistic analysis cannot hope to clarify mean
ings by enlisting as its final interpretive standards those ideologi
cally distorted meanings of ordinary language; (3) it implies that
the universe of ordinary discourse is not totally closed to negative
elements and that critical and affirmative elements are not two
entirely different worlds of meaning. Rather, they cohabit the
same speech acts in the sense that criticism to some degree is
manifested within (“interrelated,” “merged,” and “overlap
p in g ]” with) the positive, uncritical language of common af
fairs. This last theme certainly emerges from Marcuse’s second
example (of Kraus) relating depth to surface meanings. It like
wise emerges from his first illustration if slang is taken to be an
addition to ordinary language and colloquial speech is taken to
be a revision or extension of established meanings. Both forms of
unconventional discourse, then, are integral to rather than re
moved from ordinary language.
All three points stand together inseparably and are extremely
significant, particularly the third. They are indicative of a view
of ordinary language to which Marcuse, if I am correct in dis
cerning their presence within his discussion of meaning and lan
guage, nearly subscribes. This view, in some form held in com
mon by interpretive, hermeneutic, and intersubjective modes of
inquiry, maintains that linguistic meaning is formed within a
network of social relations, is shared by all individual partici
pants, and that meaning can be grasped by regarding its various
layers not as independent of one another but as internally re
lated; that is, one set of meanings cannot be explicated without
reference to another set. Meanings are internally related and can
be so comprehended because they all originate in the general

practices of a social context that involve its participants or, to
put it differently, because they are constituted intersubjectively.
Since from the standpoint of the concept of intersubjectivity
all meaning springs from the thought and action of the (individ
ual and collective) subject, even ideological meaning engineered
by institutions within the social system must share at least p ar
tially the linguistic meaning of intersubjective terms. This shar
ing of intersubjective meanings, which derive from the practical
social basis of language, which in turn establishes the internal re
lation of meaning, makes it possible for ordinary individuals crit
ically to grasp the ideological distortion of surface meanings by
reference to other and internally related deeper layers of m ean
ing. Hence, in terms of the concept of intersubjectivity, in princi
ple as well as in practice the authors of speech acts permeated with
ideological content should be able to comprehend the deeper
meaning, which clarifies the real meaning of the ideologically
distorted expression, because these layers of meaning are inter
nally related. The significance of intersubjectivity is clear. Even
a subject totally submerged within ideology is potentially able to
move beyond it to become a critical subject.
Just as this view of language, the conception of intersubjective
ly constituted meanings, with its implications for critical subjec
tivity, begins to crystallize in Marcuse’s discussion of the m ultidi
mensionality of ordinary language, his analysis ends prematurely.
Although his discussion touches upon the many decisive aspects
of ordinary discourse, specifically the concern with layers of
meaning and their internal relations (that a knowledge of the
deeper meanings is required for a correct exposition of ideologi
cal meanings), and though he insists all along that the social con
text of meaning receive attention, he fails to push the notion of
social context to a concept of an intersubjectively constituted con
text of meaning. For Marcuse, social context appears to mean
social structures or political institutions that create ideological
meanings completely independent of the language and meaning
constituted by the activity of the society’s members. The prag
matic ideological meanings, pragmatic in the sense of being
functional to the social system and to the individual who must
live and work in it, are learned but apparently bear no resem
blance to the linguistic meanings formed by the participants in

the social process. It is as though the individual comes to know
two entirely different languages, one constituted intersubjective-
ly and the other structurally determined, neither of which can be
understood in the least in the other’s terms. Only such a struc
tural theory of the formation of the “prevailing universe of dis
course” could explain how ideological meanings are closed to
critical perspectives.
Marcuse’s view of ordinary language is thus ambiguous. On
the one hand, he maintains that discourse is relatively open.
Slang, colloquial speech, and the deeper, “concealed” meanings
which Kraus addressed, all to a greater or lesser extent enter con
sciousness and introduce a critical edge to subjectivity by calling
into question the internally related meanings of ideological dis
course. On the other hand, Marcuse argues that critical access to
ideological meaning is blocked; the universe of discourse is closed.
This ambiguity can be rendered intelligible in the following
way. Because he failed to develop his view of ordinary language
to include a concept of intersubjectively constituted meanings,
for Marcuse meaning beyond ideologically distorted language
cannot be accessible to the members of society from whose social
practices meaning originates. But since he develops his argu
ment to the level of a concept of internally related meanings, the
universe of discourse does remain open, yet if not for the individ
ual then for whom? —for the theorist or analystl Thus, underly
ing what initially appears to be an ambiguous view of ordinary
language is a rather consistent and ultimately objectionable the
ory of the relationship among subjectivity, language, meaning,
and ideology. Since Marcuse has a conception of internal rela
tions but lacks a concept of intersubjectivity, it is no paradox that
the ideas within what the individual thinks and says are critical
though the individual is not. On the contrary, according to Mar
cuse ordinary consciousness is imprisoned within the “straight-
jacket of common usage,” within a “totally manipulated and
indoctrinated universe” characterized by a “purged and impov
erished language.” Establishing the true meaning of whatever is
thought or spoken —in effect, establishing the connection be
tween a repressive social order and the ideological meanings it
manufactures to conceal the relations of domination —“is not the
job of ordinary thought in ordinary speech.”94 The authoritarian

implications of this statement by Marcuse, and of the theory of
meaning that lies behind it, are all too transparent. The tragedy,
and an irony for a theorist whose critical framework should have
included a more adequate concept of (inter-)subjectivity, is that
these implications could have been avoided.
A critical subject about to be born through an analysis stress
ing the multidimensionality of ordinary language is thus aborted
just as it stirs beneath the surface of an argument having a fore
shortened conception of subjectivity. It is not as though intersub
jectivity were a concept with which Marcuse could not have been
familiar. It is central to the phenomenological tradition, for ex
ample, in the philosophy of Hegel, Heidegger, and Husserl, three
figures crucial to Marcuse’s theoretical development, and more
recently it is present in analytic philosophy in such texts as Peter
Winch’s Idea of a Social Science (1958), though Marcuse’s antip
athy to analytic thought would blind him to the significance of
the latter contribution. As we saw in chapter two, the plight of
critical theory in the historical context of fascism compelled an
interpretation of Hegel that emphasizes the logical structure of
the dialectic and the “universal.” Such an interpretation led
Marcuse elsewhere than to the concept of intersubjectivity and
the critical subject associated with it. And as we saw in chapter
one, in his early work Marcuse rejects Heidegger, a rejection no
doubt obscuring as well the important intersubjectivist dimen
sions of Heidegger’s philosophy. With regard to Husserl no such
excuse can be provided. For in One-dimensional Man, Marcuse’s
critique of science relies heavily on Husserl’s Crisis o f the Euro
pean Sciences. In this work by Husserl intersubjectivity Figures
prominently. Furthermore, there was another and immediate
opportunity at Marcuse’s disposal for developing a view of criti
cal subjectivity very similar to that implied by the concept of in-
tersubjectively constituted meanings. This source is particularly
relevant to the present argument.
In One-dimensional Man there is a brief but important discus
sion of the Platonic dialectic that occurs within a broader con
text exploring the differences between pretechnological and
technological rationality, dialectical and formal logic, critical
and one-dimensional thought.95 Marcuse recognizes and draws
out the significance of a decisive aspect of Plato’s dialectic.
Civilization Without Discontents / 203
T h e e x p e rien ce o f a d iv id ed w orld finds its logic in th e P la to n ic d ia

lec tic . H ere, the term s “B e in g ,” “N o n -b e in g ,” “M o v em en t,” “the
O n e an d th e M a n y ,” “Id e n tity ,” and “C o n tra d ic tio n ” are m e th o d i
ca lly kept o p e n , a m b ig u o u s, not fully d e fin e d . T h ey have an o p en
h o rizo n , an en tire universe o f m ea n in g w hich is gradually struc
tured in the process of communication itself, but which is never
closed. T h e p rop osition s are su b m itted , d ev elo p ed , and tested in a
dialogue, in w h ich th e partner is led to question the normally un
questioned universe of experience and speech, and to enter a new
dimension of discourse —otherw ise h e is free an d the discourse is a d
dressed to his fre ed o m . He is supposed to go beyond that which is
given to him—as the speaker, in his proposition, goes beyond the
initial setting of the terms. T h e se term s have m an y m ea n in g s b e
ca u se th e co n d itio n s to w h ich they refer have m an y sides, im p lic a
tio n s, and effects w h ich c a n n o t be in su lated and sta b iliz e d .96
This passage is striking for many reasons. First, in his refer

ence to “meaning which is gradually structured in the process
of communication itself, but which is never closed,” Marcuse
describes a Platonic conception that has as its implicit presuppo
sition a notion closely approximating that of intersubjectively
constituted meanings. Meaning can be structured, that is, recon
structed through dialogue (communication), because it is as
sumed that meanings are formed and shared by the participants
in the larger social process even before they enter into a critical
dialogue. While Plato does not suppose so precise a concept of
intersubjectivity, its characteristics are very nearly embodied in
his theory of knowledge as “recollection,” that that which has
been learned in the context of social life and then forgotten un
der the constraint of public opinion can be recalled through dis
course.97 The significance of recollection is comparable to that
of intersubjectivity. Both locate the critical elements of meaning
within the cognitive experience of the subject and as such are ac
cessible to the individual. Although the philosopher appears to
have the authoritative edge in guiding the evolution of the dia
logue, in principle he does not formally teach the participants.
Rather, the individual’s acquired meanings are learned through
speech because they were already contained within the rich and
varied network of socially constituted meanings. The potentially
critical disposition of the subject and the nonauthoritarian role
of the theorist in relationship to the individual are two points
central to Plato’s dialectic and should have occurred to Marcuse

in light of his familiarity with the doctrine of recollection and his
exposition of the structure of the dialogue (“the partner is led to
question . . . ”).98
Second, Marcuse makes it clear that the purpose Plato attrib
uted to dialogue is to engage participants in a critical exami
nation of their commonplace beliefs and, through a private or
public discussion that poses questions and possible answers, to
eliminate the distortions of opinion and to arrive at a truer under
standing of the object of inquiry (virtue, justice, the good, etc.).
For Plato, in other words, although discourse is constrained and
structured by the social system, these constraints can be shat
tered through dialogue. By revealing what has been hidden from
conscious awareness and reflection, by disclosing what the partic
ipants in discussion already know at a deeper level of conscious
and unconscious existence, by making explicit what is implicit in
the fabric of socially constituted meaning, Platonic discourse is
at the same time a highly politicized discourse. Marcuse senses
this aspect of the Platonic dialectic when he says that the partner
is not only led to question ideological meanings but by so doing
“enters a new dimension of discourse.” Yet, when it comes to de
veloping his own view of the relationship between thought and
meaning, Marcuse’s insights into Plato’s dialectic are neglected.
For Marcuse has neither a concept of politicized discourse nor a
concept of a critical subject disposed to politics.
Marcuse’s theory, therefore, could have benefited from the
opportunity to seize the critical dimensions inherent in Plato’s
dialectic. In fact, the opportunity actually had been present in
an early essay perhaps more emphatically than in One-dimen
sional Man. Discussing the bearing of the Platonic dialectic of
the later dialogues (Theaetetus, Sophist, Philebus) on Hegel’s dia
lectic, Marcuse says of the former that “the truth of being is dis
covered and preserved in human speech (Logos, legein). Human
speech is essentially talking with another about something; only
in discussion ( Durchsprechen) with another can [speech, the dia
lectic] fulfill its discovery and preservation function.”99 The lan
guage is more abstract than that of One-dimensional M an, but
the thesis is clear. Knowledge of the true nature of existence, in
cluding “socially organized existence,” is “preserved” (deeply
embedded) in everyday meaning and can be “discovered and
preserved” (consciously grasped) only through practical human

discourse.
Marcuse takes a further step and contends that philosophical
inquiry is able to be dialectical, that is, critical, only when it is
grounded in the concrete activity of speech (Konkretion fu r das
menschliche Miteinander-reden).100 Following Plato, Marcuse
indissolubly joins language, meaning, speech, and critical sub
jectivity. Here it is not, as it is with Marcuse’s own view of the re
lationship between ordinary language and the individual in One
dimensional Man, the philosopher (theorist, analyst) claiming
truth by abstracting in an authoritarian manner the critical ele
ments of discourse. Rather, it is the individual philosophizing
through discourse. Plato certainly did not restrict philosophizing
to the philosopher —only the slave (excepting the slave of the
Meno) was limited in this capacity. But the slave, unlike the or
dinary individual, could not become a critical subject because he
lacked the faculty o f reason. If Marcuse consistently views the
universe of meaning as relatively open but in his later work
maintains that the individual is limited in his awareness to the
surface meanings of ideologically distorted language, then Mar
cuse’s subject, like Plato’s slave, is incapable of reason. Marcuse’s
individual would not have the capacity for critical insight, much
less a critical perspective on society. This analogy thus produces
conclusions consistent with the earlier argument that Marcuse’s
theory of one-dimensional society contains assumptions about
the nature of the individual that dispose him to complete domi
nation by technological rationality.
In fact, Marcuse may even believe meaning to be open to a de
gree greater than is indicated by his discussion of extralinguistic
terms and the multidimensional universe of meaning within ordi
nary language. At one point he remarks of the one-dimensional,
functionalized language that ‘‘people don’t believe it, or don’t
care, and yet act accordingly.”101 Here it seems that the subject is
not so credulous as to be caught within the web of ideological
discourse. The subject preserves a critical detachment. From the
perspective of the individual, established meanings are pragm at
ic but false. It would seem reasonable to conclude, though Mar
cuse draws no such conclusion, that the interpretation the in
dividual has of his social behavior and of the operation of the
social system derives its meaning not from the prevailing and
institutionalized modes of discourse but from some other and

perhaps critical standpoint. Consequently, an open universe of
meaning is potentially an open universe of dialogue and involves
potential contests between the ideologically dominant meanings
and layers of meaning that challenge established norms. It in
volves, as well, a potentially critical and politicized subject. As
long as Marcuse maintains, to any extent, the openness of m ean
ing, as he does clearly in several ways, he is obliged to return the
problem of meaning to the subject, for whom it must be most
meaningful, if criticism is to mean anything more than critical
theory.
L inguistic A nalysis
Now turning our attention to linguistic analysis, we discover that
that “whole branch of analytic philosophy,” which Marcuse re
gards as an essentially conservative discipline, preserves a defi
nite critical edge in its orientation to ordinary language. For in
stance, in his essay “When Is Ordinary Language Reformed?”
(1961), Manley Thompson argues that ordinary language incor
porates erroneous beliefs even after false but well-established
beliefs have been proven wrong because language will lag be
hind alterations in belief systems. 102 People continue to speak in
ways that express mistaken beliefs although they have come to
hold others. Ordinary language is “pretheoretical” and is to be
accepted as valid only until inquiry suggests reasons to change
beliefs. Thompson’s points are significant. They underline the
inadequacy of ordinary language, indicate that beliefs can con
tradict the prevailing universe of meaning, and that one of the
tasks of philosophical inquiry is to question beliefs expressed in
ordinary discourse. Implicitly, he inserts a distance between
what the individual believes to be meaningful and the impover
ished established meanings of spoken and written language. At
the same time, emphasizing the pretheoretical status of ordinary
language dissociates theoretical language from the given ideo
logical terms and clearly rejects the latter as the final criteria of
truth and falsehood.
Similar views are expressed elsewhere and differently by a wide
range of analytic philosophers. To note other examples, in his
article “Moore and*Ordinary Language” (1942), Norman Mai-
colm argues that the use of ordinary language frequently entails

a view of the world that is linguistically correct but empirically
false.103 Alluding to the time when the common view was that
the world is flat, he declares that “it is perfectly possible for
everyone to say what is wrong .”104 On this claim, Marcuse and
language philosophy are in agreement; indeed, Marcuse main
tains an identical position. The entire one-dimensional society
speaks in the language of established meanings, meanings that
are linguistically correct, appropriate in terms of the criterion of
ordinary meaning, but otherwise profoundly wrong. And con
cluding an argument that ordinary language does not have the
philosophical significance many philosophers attribute to it,
Roderick Chisholm writes in “Philosophers and Ordinary Lan
guage” (1951) that there is “sufficient reason for believing [the
statement that] ‘any philosophical statement which violates ordi
nary language is false’ ” is itself false.105 Moreover, in “Philosoph
ical Discoveries” (1960), R. M. Hare praises the Socratic method
of arriving at knowledge through dialectical (1) analysis.106 The
dialectic reveals the incorrect use of words and moves toward a
truthful understanding of concepts. Provisionally, he concurs
with the metaphysicians (1) that philosophy must contain state
ments that conform neither to the actual use of words (ordinary
discourse) nor to philosophers’ decisions about how words ought
to be used. In other words, philosophy must contain statements
that refer to possible levels of empirical existence other than
those expressed by the simple facts, or “mere data,” of immedi
ate experience .107
Virtually endless are the instances of philosophers’ locating, or
rather relocating, the boundaries of meaning far beyond the
universe of ordinary discourse. One final illustration is Stuart
Hampshire’s “Interpretation of Language: Words and Concepts”
(19 57) .108 Here it is argued that the task undertaken by linguistic
philosophers to distinguish among and to describe the various us
ages of language should properly and primarily include a histori
cal dimension. Since the meaning of concepts changes gradually
from one historical period to the next, it is quite misleading of
linguistic analysts to speak generally about language as though
an entire range of discourse could be founded on the restricted
study of a few terms. Insisting on the historical character of con
cepts, Hampshire also questions the disposition of philosophers
to judge as meaningless those concepts whose conditions of appli

cation no longer exist. Indeed, concepts having no corresponding
reality can be understood and used meaningfully and correctly
in ordinary speech even if that to which they refer is historically
remote. With its all-important emphasis on history, Hampshire’s
argument retains an antipositivistic region of experience against
which the prevailing social system may be evaluated. T hat is, it
opposes the efforts of some linguistic analysts to close the m ean
ing of concepts around established and simplistic functional def
initions. Opening conceptual discourse to the rich and varied
historically evolved meanings is simultaneously an opening to a
critical perspective. Recalling what decisive philosophical con
cepts have meant in the past is to question implicitly how and
why they have acquired their newly formed meanings within the
present social order.
All published before One-dimensional M an, the examples I
have selected portray linguistic philosophy in a radically differ
ent light from that of Marcuse’s characterization. Obviously,
Marcuse’s view of ordinary language philosophy is exaggerated;
more than adequate evidence was available to him demonstrat
ing that, at the least, linguistic analysis does not subscribe to the
principle that ordinary language offers sound criteria for differ
entiating between truth and falsehood. Furthermore, the cri
tique I have provided is deliberately modest though it is suffi
cient to establish Marcuse’s error. An elaborate investigation of
language analysis would reveal many additional critical ele
ments .109 And while linguistic philosophy does not engage in the
sort of sociological analysis Marcuse demands of it, its refusal to
equate meaning per se with ordinary meaning raises questions
about meaning that can be examined sociologically. To make
this point more strongly, linguistic philosophy does not exclude
critical sociology but implies sociological theory as the comple
tion of its own enterprise.
T he A dministration of W ork
As an example of the therapeutic operationalism of industrial
psychology and sociology, Marcuse chose the study of labor rela
tions of the Western Electric factory in Hawthorne, Illinois, con
ducted by Elton Mayo. Though this is an old and classic study
(late 1920s), in Marcuse’s opinion the “substance and function
[of its methods] have remained the same” in the considerably

refined operational techniques of scientific management devel
oped since that time .110 Certainly, there is a sense in which Mar
cuse is correct. Research continues, at what must be described as
a furious pace, to seek newer and more sophisticated technical
procedures for therapeutically adjusting the needs of the worker
to the goals of organized production. Surveying the voluminous
writings of organizational theorists since Taylor and Mayo (re
search produced through the collaboration of private industry,
private consulting firms, the academic establishment, and fre
quently governmental agencies) ,111 it is easy to be impressed by
the extent to which scientific management has reached ever
higher levels of technological perfection. Technical reason cer
tainly appears to be servicing the goals of rationalization and
productivity. But this supposed tendency toward more efficient
domination through the application of technical reason to prob
lems in labor relations can be evaluated from another, and I be
lieve more insightful, perspective.
At one point in the development of industrial management
schemes, and it is difficult to ascertain when the “breakthrough”
occurred because the literature is massive, it was discovered that
the worker is not simply an infinitely pliable entity who can be
reshaped to mesh with the productive process any time he ex
presses some sort of dissatisfaction or recalcitrance. In 1960, for
example, we find The Human Side o f Enterprise, a text by
Douglas McGregor that reconceptualized the worker in terms of
Abraham Maslow’s “hierarchy of human needs.”112 At least from
the period marked by its publication, industrial psychology ac
knowledged that the employee’s needs are substantially more
complex than was assumed by the management models of either
Taylor or Mayo. To begin with, in the long range the veteran
techniques had never been successful. Now, in the fully modern
ized world they were clearly obsolete. Newer techniques —“job ro
tation,” “job enlargement,” “participative management,” “work
teams,” “human relations training,” “sensitivity training,” “job
enrichment,” “encounter groups,” and even the philosophies of
the East (Taoism, Buddhism), just to name a few —were devel
oped and underwent variation in organizational theories that
multiplied at an exponential rate to take into account not only
the complexities of the worker’s rational abilities but his emo-
tional needs, as well. Employees were suffering from one or more

maladies caused by rationalization —frustration, feelings that
their work was meaningless, psychological failure, reduced out
put, errors, postponement of difficult decisions, daydreaming,
impatience, aggression against and conflict with subordinates
and superiors, and so forth .113 As rationalization progresses, so
does the scope and intensity of these ills. And workers in the
plant and on the assembly line were not the only group targeted
for research; rationalization also affected white-collar employees
positioned all along the organizational hierarchy. “Personality
and Organization (P and O)” theory, for example, stressed tech
niques fostering “growth needs” and “self-actualization.”
Marcuse would interpret these developments, whose “sub
stance and function have remained the same” as the methods of
the classical studies, as so many examples charting the progress
of domination through technical rationalization. An alternative
interpretation, however, is suggested by the very proliferation of
these technical theories and practices. Adjustive, therapeutic
methods of labor management continually and rapidly evolve
not because of the administrative success of technical procedures
but because of their failure .114 “Irrational” human factors in
creasingly appear in response to rationalization as it moves for
ward. What is therefore indicated by the almost frenetic rush
and dispersal of theoretical energies invested to reshape the “hu
man side of enterprise” is a fundamental contradiction between
human nature and the nature of work.in a technological society
that scientific management cannot eliminate. Human nature
apparently reaches a threshold of socialization beyond which the
technical administration of work can no longer bend human n a
ture to an alien logic. What this suggests is that the increasing
rationalization of production results not in more extensive domi
nation but in increasing resistance to domination. Technological
domination may therefore reach its limits long before total ratio
nalization has been consummated, and at the highest stages of ra
tionalization this process may be sowing the seeds for its reversal.
The contradiction between human nature and the nature of
work in a rationalized society cannot be identified through Mar
cuse’s theory. On the contrary, for MaVcuse the operational tech
niques applied to adjust the worker’s needs to the imperatives of
productivity completely reshape the subject to accord perfectly
with the ongoing process of rationalization. According to Mar
cuse, when forming operational definitions the researcher mere
ly follows “the worker’s own translations” of his general griev
ances. 115 In other words, the worker has no conception of his own
needs apart from those most suitable to the technician and the
organization (and society) on whose behalf the technician works.
Yet, the opposite seems to be the case. Old techniques are dis
posed of, new techniques proposed, each attempting, without
compromising the ends of production, to meet the needs of the
worker, which always seem to defy the inventiveness of technical
reason. With needs and dispositions more complex than can be
translated into operationally defined behavior, the individual
subject is in permanent opposition. Technological rationality is
frustrated by the rationality of subjectivity.
This remains true even where the anthropological model of
the subject that informs the development of new techniques and
operational translations is only as complex as Maslow’s hierarchy
of needs. The irony is that Maslow’s model itself is an operational
conception of man in that it severely underestimates the com
plexity of human nature, but even its anthropological character
istics (human needs, capacities, etc.) cannot be operationally
translated and adjusted technically to the most advanced tech
nological mode of production. If Maslow’s concept of human na
ture, or more exactly the human needs to which it refers, cannot
be technically translated into the operational terms of functional
behavior without leaving a significant residue of discontented,
frustrated, and alienated subjectivity, then an adequate anthro
pological account of human nature, as is represented by Freud’s
metapsychology, would reveal the actual depth dimensions of
subjectivity that surface in resistance to all technical translations.
Scientific management, however, can never embrace a Freudian
psychology because it establishes firmly the absolute limits to
technical reason —that human needs and the needs of a technolog
ically advanced society whose substantive rationality is capitalist
are ultimately incompatible. If Marcuse’s theory of technological
domination and one-dimensionality had taken Freud’s metapsy
chology as its analytic point of departure, as we would have ex
pected, instead of a minimal set of anthropological assumptions
that are intrinsically behaviorist, or if he had even assumed a
concept of human nature derived from Maslow’s or a compara
ble theoretical view, he'would have begun to identify the limits

to domination and to define the subjective basis for critical the
ory and political practice.
P olitics
Just as a study of the travails of the management sciences of labor
relations implies an anthropology far more complex than is as
sumed either by organizational theorists or by Marcuse, a consid
eration of the tendencies of electoral and party politics in ad
vanced industrial societies will shed further light on the actual
nature of subjectivity. Marcuse’s explanation for the conserva
tism of political parties on the left is superficial in an important
sense. This is not necessarily to say that the increasing modera
tion of left party politics is not ultimately a response to a progres
sively conservative electoral base, but rather that merely assert
ing this as a brute fact of rationalization belies analyses of the
real conditions influencing electoral conservatism. These anal
yses reveal a highly politicized process where Marcuse believes
politics simply to have receded in the face of technological ad
vancement. Higher standards of living, reflected in the income,
wealth, and status of the newly affluent worker, and a mass cul
ture industry engineering false needs, in Marcuse’s estimation
are sufficient to account for the movement away from radical
ideologies. Mass support for the system is rooted in its ability to
deliver ever greater quantities of material goods and services.
“Mainstream” or “bourgeois” social science, however, has done
an excellent job in demonstrating that the matter cannot be ex
plained in such elementary terms. The studies to which I allude
either were designed explicitly to test the validity of the end of
ideology thesis or bear directly upon it. Quite generally, the end
of ideology argument is that material deprivation precipitates
extremist ideological views and radical, if not revolutionary, po
litical practice; whereas ameliorated economic conditions m iti
gate conflict by altering its basis and gradually but inevitably
lead to a consensus on the legitimacy of the social system in
which all major classes come to participate democratically .116 As
we have seen, Marcuse’s analysis of advanced industrial society is
substantially more complex than this argument, which is cer
tainly crude in comparison. Nonetheless, to a limited extent,
specifically and only with regard to electoral conservatism, Mar
cuse does focus on material rewards as the factor most influential

in determining the possible erosion of class based party loyalties.
This erosion occurs if parties fail to moderate their ideological
and programmatic elements in favor of a consensual politics,
that is, in favor of the established economic order and of the po
litical institutions under which it flourishes. Against Marcuse,
however, numerous studies have shown that political attitudes
are not strictly a function of material conditions but are shaped
by a wide range of factors other than, although frequently asso
ciated with, economic development. Three examples of these
studies will be adequate to demonstrate their important impli
cations.
In The Affluent Worker: Political Attitudes and Behavior,
J. H. Goldthorpe, D. Lockwood, F. Bechofer, and J. Platt re
jected the view that a large segment of the British working class
supported the Tories as a result of improved socioeconomic con
ditions . 117 They conceded that the period after the Second
World War, especially during the 1950s, was characterized by a
marked increase in the number of families receiving a middle-
class income. These same years saw undisputed dominance of
the Conservative party. At the same time, there were indications
that in the most progressive economic areas the Labour party
lost electoral support. Was affluence per se responsible for the
decline in the Labour vote, or was some other factor or set of fac
tors at work?
The workers studied were in many ways what could be re
ferred to as the “well-to-do lower strata,” meaning that they were
middle class in terms of income and material advantages despite
a working-class occupation and education. The authors’ findings
invalidated the thesis that as things get better materially, and
even are perceived to have improved, these differences have an
effect on party allegiances. Their findings specifically indicated
that, although clearly affluent by comparison with lower middle-
class white-collar and other blue-collar workers, the sample as a
whole was strong and stable in its allegiance to Labour. This was
the most significant aspect of the study and it falsifies the thesis
that improved economic conditions completely break down class
based parties. Instead, it was shown that the social structure in
which the worker lives and works influences, or “mediates,” po
litical convictions. Everything the worker is exposed to in his en
vironment at work and &t leisure reinforces convictions and iso

lates the worker from social pressures that could alter them. The
central factor at issue is the worker’s environment, that is, socio-
psychological factors.
This last point is supported in Political Change in Britain, by
David Butler and Donald Stokes.118 Noting that the impact of
class affiliation on electoral behavior differs from region to re
gion in Britain and has done so for decades, the authors sug
gested that variations among regions may be explained through
a ratio of regional class composition in relation to a degree of
persuasiveness in the formation of political attitudes, opinions,
and party allegiances. From their complex empirical investiga
tion it seems that the higher the ratio of class composition in a
particular region, the greater the expectancy that the electoral
support for the party of the dominant class in that region will ex
ceed the simple ratio of class composition. Electoral support, in
other words, does not merely reflect class composition but ex
ceeds it by a Figure related to the magnitude of the ratio. If the
ratio of working to middle class in region X is three to one and in
region Y two to one, electoral support for the dominant class
based party in both cases is greater than the ratio of classes, and
just how much greater is a function of the size of the ratio. The
magnitude of the ratio is a measure of the intensity with which
the concentration of a given class acts as a persuasive force that
attracts electoral support for its party from other classes in the
region. Once again, the factors directly affecting party alle
giance are primarily sociopsychological.
Both of these studies bear an interesting theoretical resem
blance to Richard Hamilton’s Affluence and the French Worker
in the Fourth Republic. 119 Hamilton’s express aim was to exam
ine the validity of the end of ideology thesis. As a test case he
took Fourth Republic France during a period (1950s) in which a
relatively high rate of economic growth was experienced. During
the same period the vote for the French Communist party re
mained stable. Hamilton demonstrated that socioeconomically
improved conditions had little effect in pulling French workers
away from radical commitments and convictions. Rising stan
dards of living made no significant difference in the basic p at
tern of workers lives. Under the influence of factory and neigh
borhood communists and party workers, material improvement,
in short affluence, was interpreted largely within a left-wing

frame of reference. The key variables that account for the per
sistence of working-class support for the French Communist par
ty are sociopsychological and organizational, that is, underlying
group pressures and a highly structured interpretive frame of
reference influencing political attitudes and behavior. Hamilton
pointed out, in fact, that with certain forms of social organiza
tion economic development is accompanied by an increase in
radicalism and not by the usually anticipated conservatism. An
instance from Hamilton’s study concerns the worker who mi
grates from a rural to an urban sector to take advantage of eco
nomic opportunities. He becomes exposed to a communist mi
lieu, a veritable subculture, extending from the factory to the
neighborhood. He comes to live in an insular workers’ world,
psychologically removed from the impact of moderating cross-
pressures as the latter are critically interpreted through radical
norms and standards.
Each of these studies carries an important set of implications,
and the full significance of these implications is brought out
most clearly in Hamilton’s project. In each case considered, socio
psychological factors played a decisive role in shaping political
opinions and electoral behavior. The specific content of such in
fluences would change, of course, with changes in socioeconomic
conditions. As Hamilton indicated, for example, changes in in
come can be accompanied by changes in employment, working
conditions and experience, residence, organizational affiliation,
informal communications channels, reference groups, and other
standards of comparison. The worker’s environment is the para
mount factor in influencing political attitudes, although they
could be swayed in a variety of directions by an altered surround
ing. Of very great significance, therefore, is the shape of this in
fluence, the texture of the environment, which can be designed
organizationally. Consequently, Hamilton’s study takes the im
portance of environmental factors a step further by underscoring
the place of party structure —its organizational network, strat
egies, and tactics —which, if present, possibly can counter the
conservative influence of affluence.
In a double sense these studies, particularly Hamilton’s, offer
a perspective critical of Marcuse’s explanation of the centripetal
movement of left political parties. First, communist and socialist
parties are not simply coerced by the progress of technological

society to tailor their programs to a pace keeping with the sup
posed conservative dispositions of their class bases; rather, they
must do so insofar as competing environmental pressures prove
more effective than organizational influences in shaping opin
ion. Hence, such a necessity arises only where party organiza
tional structure is weak. Second, where party organizational net
works are extensive and disciplined at all levels, as they have
been in Italy during the past decade, the abandonment of rad
ical ideologies thus must lie with the party leadership. Such party
leadership would then resemble the classical model of social
democratic reformism and gradualism.
The problems with Marcuse’s thesis are obvious. It ignores the
highly politicized nature of the formation of attitudes influenc
ing electoral behavior, emphasizing instead purely technical-
economic factors. Stressed are affluence, an ideology of material
progress, and the impact of the mass culture industry on the de
termination of needs and beliefs favoring the perpetuation of the
status quo; neglected are the political-psychological dimensions
of this process, which outline the prospects for the intervention
of political organizations. In the final analysis, which refocuses
attention on the motivation of the party rather than on the em-
bourgeoisement of the working class, Marcuse’s account of left
party electoral reformism serves as an apology for social demo
cratic labor bureaucrats who have imposed a course of social in
tegration upon Marcuse’s working-class subject.
Soviet Marxism
Soviet Marxism is one other context in which technological ra

tionalization acquires an apologetic cast. As we learned earlier,
according to Marcuse all facets of Soviet leadership were con
strained and justified by the commitment to industrialize the
Soviet Union as quickly as possible. Rapid industrialization was
justified in turn by a vision of socialism that viewed a highly de
veloped technical base as its essential precondition, by the neces
sity to construct an adequate system of military defenses to ward
off threats from the West, and by the theory that a liberal second
phase of Soviet socialism resulting from technological progress
would transform the image of an aggressive communism, break
the international consolidation of capitalist powers, and plunge

them into normalized relations issuing in a final capitalist crisis.
This overriding objective of the rationalization of Soviet society
shaped its domestic and foreign policies, aggregated power to a
centralized party apparatus, placed the bureaucracy in a posi
tion to become an independent power base, promoted the com
prehensive regimentation of work and education, and fostered
the curtailment of political, cultural, and personal freedoms.
Once fully industrialized on a parity with the West, Marcuse ar
gued, the rationale for these measures would have become obso
lete and the Soviet leadership would be obliged by the logic of its
technical plan to introduce political decentralization, reduce the
power of the secret police, initiate a liberal phase ending all
censorship and the repression of freedoms, and continue the col
lective leadership. This new stage would occur despite the con
tinued emphasis on the development of heavy industry. For lib
eralization was contingent only upon industrialization and, as
Marcuse recognized, the achieved level of technical progress af
ter the Second World War could bear the weight of the simulta
neous development of heavy and light (consumer oriented) in
dustry.
Marcuse’s predictions or, more precisely, his projections of
what must necessarily occur given the logic of technical rational
ity as he believed it was to unfold within the Soviet Union have
proven to be false. While the political power of the secret police
has declined, its administrative power has increased consider
ably. What this means is that high ranking political and admin
istrative officials in the party and bureaucracy are no longer sub
jected to arbitrary and brutal purges, as they had been under
Stalin, but the ordinary citizen, intellectual, artist, and so forth,
have become the unhappy victims of threats, exile, unemploy
ment, and a variety of other less and more subtle forms of ad
ministrative harassment. Decentralization of decisionmaking cer
tainly has not taken place. For a brief period beginning in 1962
Khrushchev attempted a partial decentralization and division of
industrial and agricultural functions, but this move was made
for administrative reasons and ended abruptly with his ouster in
1964. Collective leadership has continued though in itself is
hardly evidence of a progressive and democratic form of govern
ment, particularly as the basic domestic policies of the Soviet
Union have not changed in the past twenty years. Most important,
it cannot be claimed that Soviet society has become less repres
sive. The state management of cultural life and the suppression
of individual freedoms have risen steadily.
Needless to say, “liberal” or “liberalized” are not terms descrip
tive of contemporary Soviet society, as Marcuse thought that
they would be. A single change has been the attention to con
sumer needs, such that "welfare-state totalitarianism” or “wel
fare-state authoritarianism” far more accurately describe this re
pressive social system that abides a limited consumer ethic .120
The absence of liberalization in Soviet politics questions funda
mentally the validity of Marcuse’s thesis that Soviet development
was and is constrained within the parameters of a technological
project. Clearly, the failure of the liberal phase to materialize af
ter industrialization was accomplished is proof that in the con
temporary period politics operates independently of the re
straints imposed by an ideology of rationalization and technical
progress. Suppression by political means, in other words, contin
ues beyond the point at which, according to Marcuse, it could be
justified by technical considerations.
Only in the contemporary period? Since political domination
can be judged now to have escaped what initially appeared to be
technical constraints, it is necessary to inquire retrospectively
whether the plan of technological rationalization ever could ex
plain and justify the forceful coordination of Soviet society with
that goal. The answer must be that it cannot, for although it is
possible to conceive of the justification for the regimentation of
those sectors of Soviet society directly related to the rationaliza
tion of material productivity, no theory of socialist development
could defend the legitimacy of the suppression of cultural and
individual freedom that characterized the first phase of socialist
construction. One that would attempt to do so, such as Marcuse’s
thesis of the technical determinants of Soviet politics, would con
stitute an apology for an oppressive state apparatus. Yet, suppos
ing that Marcuse’s theory of a technical justification for total sup
pression could be defended, the more basic question is whether
technical factors did actually constrain Soviet politics during the
first phase. To this question it must be responded that if the
achieved Stage of industrialization obviously has not altered Sovi
et political practices, which indicates that politics is now inde
pendent of technical pressures, there is every reason to assume

that politics has always been independent of technical logistics.
On these grounds two final points can be made. In light of the
truly repressive political nature of Soviet institutions, it is rather
doubtful that, as Marcuse contended, they are progressive in a
way that would allow Soviet society to harness a fully rationalized
technological base to realize a Marxist humanism. Second, since
political domination is required despite the benefits of material
progress and, most important, despite what is becoming a com
prehensively rationalized technological society, it seems as though
technical reason has not succeeded in introducing a qualitatively
new form of domination that renders repressive political mea
sures indispensable. This last and crucial point reveals the true
relationship between political and technological domination,
which in its Soviet form is actually an exaggerated expression of
the relation as it prevails within advanced industrial societies of
the West.
S ummation
The criticisms offered of Marcuse’s theory of technological domi

nation each captures in a different way the defectiveness of Mar
cuse’s theory, and each in its own way is meant to contribute to
reinstating subjectivity. Where a subject can be discovered ac
tively participating in the formation of the rationality of social
order, or where a subject appears in opposition to a fully consti
tuted technical rationality, there also survives a basis for a critical
theory with a critical political practice. Reversing the sequence
of analysis, a few summary remarks are in order.
The analysis tried to show that Marcuse is incorrect about the
relationship between politics and technology in the Soviet Union.
Recent developments there have proven that domination is polit
ical rather than technological, and the evidence for this view also
questions whether tendencies toward technological domination
in fact ever existed. Furthermore, the very clear and precise func
tion of Soviet politics discloses the secret of the actual relation
ship between politics and technics in the advanced industrial so
cieties generally and indicates that an evaluation of the role of
politics from the standpoint of an apparently universal technical
logic veils the hegemony of politics together with its irrationality.
My examination of electoral and party conservatism argued

that technological rationality is a poor explanation for both and
that in light of the significance of sociopsychological and organi
zational factors in the formation of political attitudes, the politi
cal reformism of left-wing parties is more likely the cause rather
than the effect of a moderate electoral base.
The inability of technical rationality to transform the individ
ual into an expression of its own logic stands out clearly in an ex
amination of the difficulties scientific management encounters
in a progressively rationalized social ovder. It seems that more
rather than fewer characteristics of subjectivity appear in the
course of rationalization, suggesting a tendency toward a thresh
old beyond which rationalization cannot at the same time mean
the socialization of the individual to complement technical norms,
procedures, and objectives. The subject gradually reappears, so
to speak, behind the back of rationalization.
Even a modest appraisal of linguistic analysis proves that it
does not simplistically equate conceptual meaning with the m ean
ing assigned to concepts within the prevailing universe of dis
course. The manner in which such a distinction appears within
language philosophy implicitly raises questions that can be inves
tigated properly through sociological analysis. If it is then claimed
that by not explicitly incorporating a sociological framework lin
guistic analysis thus assumes such a benign critical stance toward
the established universe of meaning that it becomes affirmative,
it must be countered that by virtue of thqir specialized (aesthetic,
philosophical, sociological) "forms,” or "modes,” of presenta
tion, each mode of discourse offers a unique critical perspective
that must be preserved.
An examination of Marcuse’s view of ordinary language dem
onstrated that his position is ambiguous —that the universe of or
dinary discourse is both open and closed and that the ambiguity
is resolved as the critical dimensions of language are open to the
theorist but closed to the ordinary individual. Moreover, if M ar
cuse had had a notion of subject and of context from which he
could have developed a conception of an intersubjectively consti
tuted context of meaning, then the deeper and critical layers of
meaning embedded in language woulcf have been accessible to
the individual. Opportunities had been available to Marcuse to
develop such a theoretical conception, specifically from his read
ings of Hegel, Heidegger, Husserl, and even Plato. His interpre
tations of their thought prevented him, however, from stressing
the significance of the quasi-autonomous spheres of subjectivity
for which in different ways their writings establish grounds.
At least as far as operationalism is concerned, within the social
sciences there is no identification of reason with technique.
While technical (operational) criteria guide the researcher’s con
ceptual and empirical investigations, these are not criteria whose
validity already has been established independently of the dispo
sition of the social scientist or social science community. Opera
tional methods for determining conceptual criteria are neither
chosen by nor imposed upon social science by virtue of the aura
of an objective and universalistic model of science. It is the na
ture of positivist scientific rationality to suppress values and sub
stitute (an equally substantive) technical logic. But what has oc
curred within social science around the operationalism debate is
the emergence of a definite self-consciousness about the explicit
relationship between technical norms and criteria and the inter
ests of social science research. Through operationalism, tech
nique expresses rather than suppresses values in every instance
and apparently and deliberately so (as evidenced by the ex
amples discussed earlier). Consequently, the rationality or irra
tionality of social science through operationalism lies not with
technical reason but with the subjective rationality self-con
sciously underlying the logic of this research conducted by indi
viduals or groups within the social science community.
Finally, laying bare the behaviorist and determinist assump
tions implicit in the theory of technological domination establishes
one-dimensionality as an untenable thesis. Although proposing
an analysis intended to discern the extent to which technological
rationality has come to supplant and to prevail over all other
forms of reason that would otherwise continue to animate the
thought and action of the subject, Marcuse, in his investigation,
presupposed a minimal anthropology determining in advance
that modern society and, most important, the individual within
it are one-dimensional. As it has been conceptualized by Mar
cuse, the validity of technological domination depends upon the
validity of a behaviorist and determinist anthropology. Any an
thropology or philosophical anthropology that posits a quasi-au
tonomous or quasi-transcendental subject would sustain, at the
very least, a theory of ttoo-dimensional man and society, though

it could very well be compatible with a notion of one-dimen
sional behavior. Thus, both the theory of one-dimensional man
and the tendency toward, one-dimensionality are plausible only if
Marcuse’s limited anthropology is accepted. In that event, tech
nical reason would be victorious by default.
We have now to ask whether Marcuse’s slide into an uncritical
anthropology is related to his interpretation of Freud and to the
rationalistic conceptual framework critical theory adopted in re
sponse to fascism. This question leads’directly to a consideration
of the psychological underpinnings of one-dimensionality.
Notes
1. Marcuse will eventually revise his theory of advanced industrial
society to take account of many such crises. See chapter seven of this
volume.
2. See chapter seven.
3. Herbert Marcuse, “Some Social Implications of Modern Tech
nology,” Studies in Philosophy and Social Science [Zeitschrift fiir So-
zialforschung], 9, 3 (New York: 1941), p. 414.
4. Ibid.
5. Herbert Marcuse, One-dimensional Man: Studies in the
Ideology of Advanced Industrial Society (Boston: Beacon, 1964).
6 . For an extended analysis offering a somewhat different interpre
tation of these works see Martin Jay, The Dialectical Imagination
(Boston: Little, Brown, 1973), pp. 152-167\.
7. Jay points to the similarity of Neumann’s view and Marcuse’s po
sition in Reason and Revolution. Ibid., p. 155.
9. The discussion of the basic elements of technological rationality
is based upon, in addition to the works cited, a consideration of Mar
cuse’s “Some Social Implications of Modern Technology." Perhaps
more than any other work, this essay presents the fundamental aspects
of technological reason as Marcuse understands them.
10. Georg Lukacs, History and Class Consciousness (Cambridge:
MIT Press, 1971), p. 172.
11. One-dimensionalMan, p. 25.
12. “Some Social Implications of Modern Technology,” p. 427.
13. See chapter 3, pp. 94-97.
14. Herbert Marcuse, Eros and Civilization: A Philosophical In
quiry into Freud (Boston: Beacon, 1955), p. 105.
15. “S om e S ocial Im p lica tio n s o f M odern T e c h n o lo g y ,” p. 4 3 6 .

16. H erb ert M arcuse, “ L a n g u a g e and T e c h n o lo g ic a l S o c iety ,” Dis
sent, 8, 1 (N ew York: 1961), p. 74.
17. H erb ert M arcuse, “In d u strialization and C ap italism in the
W ork o f M ax W e b e r ,” Negations: Essays in Critical Theory (Boston:
B e a co n , 1968), p. 221; orig in a lly p u b lish ed as “In du strialisierun g und
K a p ita lism u s im W erk M ax W e b e rs,” Kultur und Gesellschaft, 2
(F rankfurt: S u h rk am p , 1965), p p . 1 0 7 -1 2 9 .
18. C o m p a re, for e x a m p le , M arcuse’s analysis o f the m a n ip u la tio n
o f ord in ary la n g u a g e in One-dimensional Man, pp. 9 0 -9 2 , w ith his
e x a m in a tio n o f the sam e p ractice in Soviet Marxism: A Critical Anal
ysis (N e w York: R a n d o m H ou se, V in ta g e Books, 1961), pp. 7 0 -7 2 ; all
c ita tio n s from Soviet Marxism are draw n from this ed itio n , w hich is
d istin g u ish ed by a p reface ad d ed three years after the work was First
p u b lish ed (N e w York: C olu m b ia U niversity Press, 1958).
19. One-dimensionalMan, p p . 5 6 -8 3 .
2 0 . Soviet Marxism, p. 69.
2 1 . Ib id ., p. 100.
2 2 . Ib id ., p. 158.
2 3 . Ib id ., p. 159.
2 4 . For e x a m p le , M arcuse ex p la in s that "the two social system s are
lo ck ed in a g lo b a l stru ggle in w h ich the ren u n cia tio n o f socialist v io
len ce is fo u n d to stren g th en the realm o f cap italist e x p lo ita tio n .” “S o
cia list H u m a n ism ? ” in Socialist Humanism, ed ited by Erich From m
(N e w York: D o u b led a y , 1965), p. 108.
25. Soviet Marxism, p. 168.
26. I b id ., p. x ii.
27. Ib id ., p. xiv.
28. One-dimensional Man, p p . 3 9 -4 5 , 5 2 -5 5 .
29. Ib id ., p. 55.
30. Soviet Marxism, p p . x v -x v i.
31. See ch a p ter seven o f this volu m e.
32. O n scien ce see ch a p ter six, p p . 2 8 2 -2 8 3 ; on art see ch ap ter
e ig h t.
3 3 . See ch a p ter tw o, p p . 7 3 -7 6 .
3 4 . T h e classic stu dy in this area is Seym our M artin L ipset, “Som e
S o cia l R eq u isites o f D e m o c r a c y ,” American Political Science Review,
5 3 , 1 (W a sh in g to n , D .C .: 1959), p p . 6 9 -1 0 5 .
3 5 . By M orris Jan ow itz an d D w ain e M arvick, “C om p etitive P res
su re a n d D em o cr a tic C on sen t," in Political Behavior, ed ited by H . Eu-
la u , S. J. E ldersveld, an d M orris Janow itz (N ew York: Free Press,
1 9 5 6 ), p p . 2 7 5 -2 8 6 ; see One-dimensional Man, pp. 1 1 3 -1 1 8 .
3 6 . By J u lia n L. W ood w ard an d E lm o R op er, “P o litical A ctivity o f
A m erican C itizen s,” in Political Behavior, pp. 1 3 3 -1 3 7 ; see One-di

mensional Man, p p . 1 1 8 -1 2 0 .
3 7 . One dimensional Man, pp. 1 1 5 -1 1 6 .
3 9 . Ib id ., p. 181.
4 0 . Ib id ., p. 88.
4 1 . Ib id ., p p . 1 7 0 -1 7 1 . B ut elsew h ere M arcuse su ggests th a t by e x
ercisin g this righ t, th at is, by restrictin g itse lf to th e “c la r ific a tio n o f
p articu lar th ou gh ts and sp eech acts w h ich are u n clear," a n a ly tic p h i
losop hy is g u ilty o f an “arrogan t m o d esty ” ( iiberheblicher Beschei-
denheit). “Zur S tellu n g des D enk en s h e u te ,” in Zeugnisse: Theodor
W. Adorno zum 60. Geburtstag, u n der the sp on sorsh ip o f th e In stitu t
fur S ozialforsch u n g, ed ited by M ax H ork h eim er (F rankfurt: Euro-
p aisch e, 1963), p. 47.
4 2 . M arcuse argues th at “ex a ct th in k in g , th e lib er a tio n from m e ta
physical spectres and m ea n in g less n otion s m ay w ell be co n sid ered en d s
in th em selv es.” One-dimensional Man, p. 170.
4 3 . Ib id ., p. 195.
4 4 . Ib id ., p. 37.
4 5 . Ib id ., p. 35.
4 6 . H erbert M arcuse, “T h e O b solescen ce o f M arxism ?” in Marx
and the Western World, e d ited by N ik o la u s L ob k ow icz (N o tr e D am e:
U niversity o f N otre D a m e Press, 1967), p. 4 1 1 .
4 7 . One-dimensional Man, p. 21.
4 8 . Eros and Civilization, pp. 2 5 6 -2 5 7 .
4 9 . H erbert M arcuse, "T heory and T h era p y in F re u d ,” Nation,
185 (N ew York: 1957), p. 200.
5 0 . M arcuse’s analyses o f aggression in a d v a n ced in d u strial so ciety
are con sid ered in ch a p ter three, p p . 9 5 - 9 6 , 1 0 7 -1 0 8 , a n d in ch a p te r
five, pp. 2 4 3 -2 4 4 , 256.
5 1 . “Socialist H u m an ism ?” p . 112.
5 2 . H erbert M arcuse, “T h e Id eology o f D e a th ,” in The Meaning of
Death, ed ited by H erm an F eifel (N e w York: M cG raw -H ill, 19 5 9 ),
p. 76.
5 3 . H erbert M arcuse, “T h e P rob lem o f S ocial C h a n g e in th e T e c h
n o lo g ica l S o c iety ,” in Le Developpement social, e d ite d by R a y m o n d
A ron and Bert F. H oselitz (Paris: M ou ton , 1965), p p . 1 4 8 -1 5 0 ; v o l
u m e prin ted for lim ited d istrib u tion ; address p resen ted to a U N E S C O
sym p osium on social d e v e lo p m en t, M ay 1961.
5 4 . Eros and Civilization, p. xxvii.
5 5 . H erbert M arcuse, “S ocialism in th e 'D e v e lo p e d C o u n tr ie s,” In
ternational Socialist Journal, 2, 8 (R o m e: 1 9 6 5 ), p. 144; o r ig in a lly
p u b lish ed as “P erspektiven des Sozialism u s in der e n tw ick elte n In du s-
tr ie g esellsch a ft,” Praxis, 1, 2 - 3 (Zagreb: 1 9 6 5 ), p p . 2 6 0 -2 7 0 .
5 6 . From Max Weber, ed ited by H . H . G erth and C. W right M ills

(N e w York: O xford U niversity Press, 1972), p. 229.
5 7 . M arcuse does n ot con trad ict h im self by arguing that te c h n o lo g
ica l ra tio n a lity is both a form o f d o m in a tio n in itself and the m ean s for
esta b lish in g the p recon d ition s for freed om . T e ch n o lo g ic a l ration ality
is p u rified o f its id e o lo g ic a l c o n ten t, or rather its ration ality o f d o m i
n a tio n is n eu tralized or co n ta in e d , on ce the society ceases to develop
a lo n g th e lines o f tech n ica l reason, tech n o lo g ica l progress is arrested,
a n d social relation s are organ ized accord in g to a new princip le o f rea
son th a t d oes n ot c o m p el the in d ivid u al to en g a g e in labor for th e sake
o f p rod u ctivity. T e ch n o lo g y b ecom es ration al to the exten t that it p er
m its freed om from work, from scarcity, and from further tec h n o lo g i
cal p ro d u ctio n . T o do this tech n o lo g ica l progress m ust be advan ced —
a n d th en su sp en d ed . See ch ap ter six, pp. 2 8 2 -2 8 6 .
5 8 . One-dimensional Man, p. 49 (italics ad d ed ).
5 9 . Ib id ., p. 104 (italics ad d ed ).
6 0 . Ib id ., p. 182 (italics ad d ed ).
6 1 . H erbert M arcuse, “T h e C on cept o f N eg a tio n in the D ia le c tic ,”
Telos, 8 (St. Louis: 1971), p. 131: origin ally pu b lish ed as “Zum Be-
g r iff der N e g a tio n in der D ia lek tik ,” Filosoficky casopis, 15, 3
(P ra g u e: 1967), p p . 3 7 5 -3 7 9 .
6 2 . One-dimensionalMan, p. 3.
6 3 . From Max Weber, p. 62.
6 4 . S tan ley A ronow itz was correct w h en he called a tten tion to the
sim ila rity b etw een M arcuse’s theory and P arsonian “role th eo ry .” See
False Promises (N ew York: M cG raw -H ill, 1974), pp. 5 7 -5 8 .
6 5 . For an analysis o f the ration alistic structure o f M arcuse’s criti
cal theory see ch a p ter tw o.
6 6 . One-dimensional Man, p. 115; M arcuse is q u o tin g from Jano-
witz an d M arvick, “C om p etitive Pressure and D em ocratic C o n sen t,”
p. 276; th e e x c la m a tio n m arks are M arcuse’s. I have consu lted the
o rig in a l a rticle in all cases.
6 8 . Ib id ., p. 116.
6 9 . “C o m p etitiv e Pressure and D em o cra tic C o n se n t,” p. 275.
7 1 . Ib id ., p. 119.
7 2 . " C om p etitive Pressure and D em o cra tic C o n se n t,” p. 276.
7 3 . Ib id ., p. 2 7 8 .
7 4 . Ib id ., p. 280.
7 5 . Ib id ., p .2 8 2 .
76. Ibid.
77. Ibid.
7 8 . Ib id ., p .2 7 6 .
7 9 . Ib id ., p. 2 8 5 . '
8 1 . Ib id ., p. 116 (brack ets a d d ed ).
8 2 . Ib id ., p. 119; M arcuse is q u o tin g from W o o d w a rd an d R o p er,
“ P olitical A ctivity o f A m erica n C itize n s,” p . 133.
8 3 . “P o litica l A ctivity o f A m erica n C itize n s,” p . 137.
8 4 . Ibid.
8 5 . Ib id ., p . 133.
8 6 . One-dimensionalMan, p. 13.
8 7 . Ib id ., p. 12, n. 5.
8 8 . A partial listin g in c h r o n o lo g ic a l ord er follow s. S. S. Steven s,
“T h e O p era tion al D efin itio n o f P sy ch o lo g ica l C o n c e p ts ,” Psychologi
cal Review, 4 2 , 6 (W a sh in g to n , D .C .: 1 9 3 5 ), p p . 5 1 7 -5 2 7 ; A . C . B e n
ja m in , “T h e O p eration al T h eo r y o f M e a n in g ,” Philosophical Review,
4 6 , 6 (Ith a ca: 1937), p p . 6 4 4 -6 4 9 ; P. W . B r id g em a n , “O p e r a tio n a l
A n a ly sis,” Philosophy of Science, 5, 2 (E ast L an sin g: 1 9 3 8 ), p p . 1 1 4 -
131; R. H . W alters an d L. A . P en n in g to n , “O p era tio n ism in P sychol-
o g y ,” Psychological Review, 4 5 , 5 (W a sh in g to n , D .C .: 1 9 3 8 ), p p .
4 1 4 -4 2 3 ; H orn ell H art, “O p eration ism A n alyzed O p e r a tio n a lly ,” Phi
losophy of Science, 7, 3 (E ast L an sing: 1 9 4 0 ), p p . 2 8 8 -3 1 3 ; G eorge A .
L u n d b erg, “O p era tio n a l D efin itio n s in th e S o cia l S c ie n c e s,” Ameri
can Journal of Sociology, 4 7 , 5 (C h icago: 1 9 4 1 -1 9 4 2 ), p p . 7 2 7 -7 4 3 ;
Frank E. H artu n g, “O p era tio n a lism : Id ealism or R ea lism ? ” Philos
ophy of Science, 9, 4 (E ast L ansing: 1942), p p . 3 5 0 -3 5 5 ; S tu art C.
D o d d , “O p eration al D efin itio n s O p era tio n a lly D e fin e d ,” American
Journal of Sociology, 4 8 , 3 (C h icago: 1 9 4 3 ), p p . 4 8 2 -4 8 9 ; Frank E.
H a rtu n g , “O p eration ism as a C u ltu ral S u rv iv a l,” Philosophy of Sci
ence, 1 1 , 4 (East L ansing: 1941), p p . 2 2 7 -2 ^ 2 ; H . Israel a n d B . G o ld
stein , “O p eration ism in P sy ch o lo g y ,” Psychological Review, 5 1 , 3
(W a sh in g to n , D .C .: 1944), pp. 1 7 7 -1 8 8 ; “S ym p osiu m o n O p e r a tio n
is m ,” Psychological Review, 52, 5 (W a sh in g to n , D .C .: 1 9 4 5 ), p p .
2 4 1 -2 9 4 ; P. W . B rid g em a n , " T h e O p e ra tio n a l A sp ect o f M e a n in g ,”
Synthese, 8, 3 ( 6 - 7 ) (D ord rech t: 1 9 5 0 -1 9 5 1 ), p p . 2 5 1 -2 5 9 ; “T h e P res
ent State o f O p e r a tio n a lism ,” Scientific Monthly, 7 9 , 4 (W a sh in g to n ,
D .C .: 1954), pp. 2 0 9 -2 3 1 .
8 9 . For e x a m p le , G id eon Sjob erg, “O p e ra tio n a lism an d S o cia l R e
se a r c h ,” in Symposium on Sociological Theory, e d ite d by L lew ellyn
Gross (N ew York: H arp er, 1959), p p . 6 0 3 -6 2 7 .
9 0 . "In th e a c a d e m ic tr a d itio n ,” M arcuse argu es, “th ese d ic h o to
m ies [e .g ., m a n u a l versus in te llec tu a l w ork, lab or versus leisu re, n e c e s
sity versus freed o m , o p era tio n a l versus n o n b p er a tio n a l th o u g h t] o n c e
foun d their p arallel in th e d istin ctio n b etw een th e n a tu ra l scien ce s on
the o n e h a n d , and all'oth ers on th e o th er, the social sc ien ce s, h u m a n i
ties, etc. This distinction between the sciences has now become entire
ly obsolete.” “Remarks on a Redefinition of Culture,” Daedalus, 94, 1
(Cambridge: 1965), p. 192.
91. One-dimensional Man, p. 86 .
92. Ibid., p. 197.
93. Ibid., p. 195.
94. Ibid., p. 180.
95. See chapter six, pp. 276-277, for Marcuse’s examination of
Plato’s dialectical logic.
96. One-dimensional Man, p. 131 (italics added).
97. For another view that is quite suggestive of the one 1 present
here see Alvin W. Gouldner, Enter Plato, part 2 (New York: Harper &
Row, Torchbooks, 1971), especially pp. 96-112.
98. Marcuse refers to the doctrine of recollection in Counterrevolu
tion and Revolt (Boston: Beacon, 1972), pp. 69-70.
99. “On the Problem of the Dialectic,” Telos, 27 (St. Louis: 1976),
p. 33; originally published as “Zum Problem der Dialektik” (part 2),
Die Gesellschaft, 8 (part 2), 12 (Berlin: 1931), pp. 541-557.
100. Ibid. Elsewhere, in fact, Marcuse insists that in every act of
speech the individual has knowledge of the universal, of an essence or
potentiality, and that without such knowledge communication would
be inconceivable. He argues that “all communicative speech (mitteil-
ende Reden), which can be true or false, understands the particular as
the universal (because only as such is it communicable and under
standable).” “Zur Geschichte der Dialektik,” Sowjetsystem und Demo-
kratische Gesellschaft, 1 (Freiburg: 1966), p. 1194.
101. One-dimensional Man, p. 103.
102. Manley Thompson, “When Is Ordinary Language Re
formed?” in The Linguistic Turn, edited by Richard Rorty (Chicago:
University of Chicago Press, 1970), especially pp. 203-204.
103. Norman Malcolm, "Moore and Ordinary Language," in The
Linguistic Turn, pp. 111-124.
104. Ibid., p. 117.
105. Roderick Chisholm, “Philosophers and Ordinary Language,”
in The Linguistic Turn, p. 182.
106. R. M. Hare, “Philosophical Discoveries,” in The Linguistic
Turn, especially pp. 208, 216-217.
107. Ibid., p. 217.
108. Stuart Hampshire, “The Interpretation of Language: Words
and Concepts,” in The Linguistic Turn, pp. 261-268.
109. Critical theory has not continued to neglect the critical dimen
sions of ordinary language and linguistic philosophy. In this area the
writings of Jurgen Habermas are perhaps the best known, but investi
228 T h e Im a g in a r y 'W it n ess
gations by contemporary sbcial theorists into all aspects of language

are far more extensive.
111. For example, see Work in America, Report of a Special Task
Force to the Secretary of Health, Education, and Welfare (Cam
bridge: MIT Press, 1972), and its bibliography, pp. 219-253.
112. Douglas McGregor, The Human Side of, Enterprise (New
York: McGraw-Hill, 1960). The work by A. H. Maslow was Motiva
tion and Personality (New York: Harper, 1954). The influence of Mas-
low’s theory on McGregor’s book is well known though Maslow is not
explicitly acknowledged in the text.'
113. See Chris Argyris, “Personality vs. Organization,” Organiza
tional Dynamics, 3, 2 (New York: AMACOM, 1974).
114. Harry Braverman makes this point precisely when he argues
the “schools and theories [of industrial psychology] have succeeded
one another in a dazzling proliferation of approaches and theories, a
proliferation which is more than anything else testimony to their fail
ure.” Labor and Monopoly Capital (New York: Monthly Review Press,
1974), p. 143.
116. The literature on or relating to the end of ideology is enor
mous. A basic introduction is provided by The End of Ideology
Debate, edited by Chaim Waxman (Princeton: Princeton University
Press, 1967), a collection of essays by Aron, Shils, Feuer, Lipset, Bell,
Mills, Mannheim, and others.
117. John H. Goldthorpe-and others, The Affluent Worker: Politi
cal Attitudes and Behavior (New York: Cambridge University Press,
1968).
118. David E. Butler and Donald Stokes, Political Change in Brit
ain (New York: Macmillan, 1974).
119. Richard Hamilton, Affluence and the French Worker in the
Fourth Republic (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1967).
120. See Merle Fainsod’s entry on "Communism" in the Interna
tional Encyclopaedia of the Social Sciences, 3 (New York: Macmillan
and Free Press, 1968), pp. 102-111, and George W. Breslauer, “On
the Adaptability of Soviet Welfare State Authoritarianism,” in Soinet
Society and the Communist Party, edited by Karl Ryavec (Amherst:
University of Massachusetts Press, 1978), pp. 3-25.
FIVE
Discontents II:
The Regime W ith in and
th e Regime W ith o u t
Whoever ventures on the enterprise o f setting up a
people must be ready, shall we say, to change hu
man nature, to transform each individual, who by
him self is entirely complete and solitary, into a part
o f a much greater whole, from which the same indi
vidual will then receive, in a sense, his life and his
being. The founder o f nations must weaken the struc
ture o f man in order to fortify it, to replace the phys
ical and independent existence we have all received
from nature with a moral and communal existence.
In a word each man must be stripped o f his powers,
and given powers which are external to him, and
which he cannot use without the help o f others. The
nearer m en’s natural powers are to extinction or an
nihilation, and the stronger and more lasting their
acquired powers, the stronger and more perfect is
the social institution.
Rousseau, The Social Contract
No social theory ever dispenses with a theory of human nature.

Attempts have been made to do so, much as there have been ef
forts to develop presuppositionless philosophies. When not an
explicit theoretical objective an anthropology is at least-implicit
229
in a social theory, and when brought to the surface it helps ren

der theory intelligible, though not necessarily plausible, for that
account. Such is the case, I have argued, with Marcuse’s theory
of one-dimensional man. One-dimensionality both requires and
implies a theory of subjectivity that makes sense of the hermeti
cally sealed universe of technological domination.
This portrait is complicated somewhat when we consider now
that Marcuse’s analysis of the impact of technological rationality
on the individual not only contains a set of implicit anthropolog
ical assumptions but is (supposedly) carried out in full possession
of an explicit anthropological framework, that of Freud’s meta
psychology. An interesting and important question can be posed
here: why not begin the discussion of the anthropological dimen
sions of Marcuse’s theory with his explicit interpretation of
Freud’s categories, which has led him to the conception of one
dimensional man? Is there not perhaps an unnecessary duplica
tion of effort in First inferring Marcuse’s anthropological cate
gories from his theory of one-dimensionality and then turning to
his explicit interpretation of Freud in order to follow how the
theory is formulated? Put simply, would it not have been more
appropriate to begin where Marcuse began rather than with his
conclusions?
In fact, Freud’s metapsychology only appears to guide Mar
cuse’s investigation of the subject in advanced industrial society.
The earlier analysis that internally reconstructed the anthropol
ogy informing Marcuse’s theory identified his actual analytical
point of departure by demonstrating that his anthropological
categories are merely social categories by another name. Charac
teristics of subjectivity originate not in the subject but in the
structure of the social system. They derive from institutional
practices, social behavior of the narrowest variety, that is, social
ly useful and required behavior, from technical reason generally.
In this way the individual is reduced conceptually to social, the
subject to object-ive, factors. Subjectivity emerges essentially
constituted by reified social processes. From the beginning, the
individual is no subject at all. No dynamic relationship holds be
tween the subject and the external world. Rather, Marcuse’s sub
ject is a social atom through and through, a pure object of theo
retical and fo r that reason practical manipulation.
Civilization Without Discontents II 231
At this time the particulars of this argument must be thrashed

out. Its validity rests largely upon a demonstration that Freud’s
metapsychology prescribes a view of the subject that Marcuse
would have omitted from consideration if his anthropological
theory were in fact structurally conceived. This will follow the
exposition of Marcuse’s thesis on the psychological underpin
nings of technological domination, clearly one of the most fasci
nating aspects of his work.
The Psychological Underpinnings o f One-dimensionality

In advanced industrial society ideological norms are not “inter
nalized,” as they are in traditional forms of domination. They do
not become anchored within the individual’s unconscious. To
understand Marcuse’s critical theory this point must be appre
ciated in its fullest significance.
The dynamics of internalization presuppose an individual
equipped constitutionally with certain psychological faculties,
capacities, and dispositions. Alongside an ego that seeks personal
identity at the same time as gratification of needs, a superego
functions as a repository for ideological beliefs generated by the
social system and acquired through a process of institutional so
cialization (e.g., through the family). These institutions do not
simply impose themselves and penetrate the deepest recesses of
the mind. The ego is engaged willfully in all phases of the forma
tion of its superego, actively constituting this inner censor, per
haps over a lifetime, by internalizing norms through “identifica
tions” with significant persons in the environment. Obvious
examples are early identifications with figures within the family.
While the internalized ideological beliefs hold sway over and to a
great extent regulate individual thought and action, as reason
the ego can question their legitimacy, doubt their certainty,
obey, disobey, and re-form the superego, locus of social ration
ality.
Although an ideology, technical reason, however, is acquired
by means of no such process of internalization and identifica
tion. Nor does the ego ever submit it to critical evaluation. Ac
quisition and reconstitution of beliefs supposes an active subject
playing a decisive role in socialization. Technical reason cannot
be acquired: it involves the dissolution of ego and superego. The

essential elements of subjectivity, the psychic apparatus itself,
are eroded by the technical apparatus.
According to Marcuse, the development of capitalism up to
and including the advanced industrial stage presupposes both
the existence and the annulment of the individual. Subjectivity is
either an asset or a liability to capitalist growth and stability de
pending upon the objective requirements of the achieved level of
economic organization. During the early laissez-faire period of
capitalism, the economy flourished through the activities of free
ly competitive individual entrepreneurs —freely in the sense that
the capitalist succeeded or failed in his ventures as a consequence
of his individual initiative, aggressiveness, skill at managing hu
man and material resources, and so on. Capitalism’s success as a
productive economic system rested upon its “social production”
of individuals able to compete effectively and aggressively. Eco
nomic productivity alone was insufficient to guarantee the repro
duction (perpetuation) of laissez-faire capitalism. Equally cen
tral to the reproduction of the system were social institutions, the
family in particular, which “manufactured” individuals with the
psychological and cognitive equipment that enabled them to as
sume their dominant economic roles.
The well-known internal contradictions of this period of capi
talism forced both the transition to a monopolistic market econ
omy increasingly regulated by public institutions and a gradual
transformation of the social institutions of production. The radi
cal individualism characterizing the laissez-faire economic sub
ject was incompatible with an economy reorganized into ever
larger monopolistic concerns. Concentrating power in the tech
nical and political administration of large-scale industry, m o
nopoly capital dispensed not only with free enterprise and the in
dependent entrepreneur but also with the driving force of the
free enterprise system, the individual suited to be the dominant
economic subject. Monopoly capital meant the elimination of
the would-be bourgeois entrepreneur and his absorption into a
universally rationalized division of labor. As the new rule of eco
nomic life, absolute subordination to a technical apparatus of
production rendered the individual —who once had set goals, de
vised means, applied and tolerated the pressures of free and u n
organized competition —obsolete.
Subordination of such an oppressive nature could not be im
posed upon the individual without introducing antagonisms be
tween economic imperatives and human needs, provoking resist
ance undermining the rationalization of the productive process.
Scientific management can mitigate, if not, as Marcuse con
tends, resolve, this conflict. Even if it is true, as I have argued,
that scientific management secures but precarious and tempo
rary resolutions that continually break down and must eventual
ly fail as the limits to the rationalization of human nature are
reached, Marcuse (perhaps) can dismiss this criticism as ulti
mately irrelevant. Scientific management attempts to resocialize
the individual to accept technical translations of employee dis
contents into solutions that trim the critical edge from the origi
nal grievances. Marcuse can now say for an important reason,
that this practical application of technical reason, regardless of
how effective it may or may not be, belongs to the earlier stages
of technological development. That is, the system attains a qual
itatively new level of stability when socialization comes to be
completed prior to the individual’s entry into the productive
process. A new “psychic-social fit” occurs, which would make
scientific management dispensable. Primarily responsible for the
creation of the now obsolete economic subject, the bourgeois
family underwent an internal restructuring. Marcuse historically
situates this structural alteration of the family between the two
world wars.1 Linking, as he does, the emergence of a new phase
of economic organization with a new phase of social organiza
tion, Marcuse must conclude that theoretically the bourgeois
family and the subject it produced became historically obsolete
with the first stirrings of monopoly capital. In other words, the
traditional family structure was in contradiction to economic
tendencies in most capitalist countries beginning approximately
in the mid-nineteenth century.
When we look closely at the socialization process as Marcuse
understands it, these developments acquire deeper meaning.
During entrepreneurial capitalism the bourgeois family is the
primary agent of socialization. By virtue of his role within society
as the dominant economic subject, the father’s economic power
establishes him also as the family’s pivotal figure through whom
are passed on the norms of social order. Patriarchal supremacy is
founded primarily on economic authority. Having no indepen
dent means of support, the female is absolutely dependent, sub

ordinate; she is a minor factor in the socialization of the child.
Free enterprise and patriarchal family enterprise are comple
mentary. Laissez-faire capitalism requires patriarchalism to pro
duce the "fathers” who as the reigning economic and familial sub
jects reproduce the society in its prevailing form.
Socialization during this stage of economic development is not
confined to the formation of the superego. As the father imposes
his authority upon the child, the child constantly resists the
father’s demands to compromise his needs and desires. Although
the superego is implanted as the internal counterpart to external
authority, the child’s rebellious confrontations with the father
serve to develop a strong ego structure. This development is deci
sive for its ambiguity. While the tenacious ego is later instrumen
tal to a successful performance in the economic sector, it also
equips the subject to do battle with a society determined to bend
individual needs to satisfy its requirements. With regard to
behavior the social order may and usually does prevail, for inter
nalized norms work unconsciously to obstruct the conscious for
mation of rebellious motives, inhibit the expression of those con
sciously entertained, and consciously and unconsciously censor
with guilt and anxiety those acted out. But the ego is also a sanc
tuary of inner freedom. Having matured to the point of being a
durable entity aware of itself possessing an identity apart from
external constraints and their internal psychological counterpart
(the superego), the ego at the very least .retains a capacity for re
bellion. And because of its obligatory sensitivity to repressed and
unconscious needs, and as the embodiment of needs that are
properly ego needs, the ego is disposed to engage in sublimated
and unsublimated behavior contrary to ways of life that deny its
integrity. As capacity and disposition for opposition, this ego,
which has grown strong through persistent combat with paternal
authority, becomes a faculty of reason. In the struggle between
the individual and society, “the conscious ego plays a leading
role.” The decision as to which needs are to be satisfied, those of
the individual or those of the society, “is really its decision.” The
ego is, “at least in the normal case of the mature individual, the
responsible master of the psychic processes.”2
Hence, the family is not merely the arena for the individual’s
socialization; the socialization process itself sets into motion a
complex series of mediations such that the ego cannot develop

for an*other (the society) without simultaneously developing a self
against the other. Entrepreneurial capitalism is caught in a con
tradiction. It cannot reproduce itself without also creating facul
ties that stand over and against and that critically oppose it. In
its most servile and purely instrumental function the family,
structured patriarchally, is likewise a private sphere in that it
generates and protects reason from a total encroachment by the
public sphere. The family both resists and supports structures of
domination.
With the sweeping organizational transformation marking the
shift from laissez-faire to monopoly capitalism, the father is de
prived of his status as the dominant economic subject. Incorpo
rated into a rationalized economic system demanding absolute
subordination, the father is no longer buttressed by his economic
power. This dissolution of the father’s authority is extended to
his role in the family. Once they are exchanged for submission to
hierarchical command, for resignation to a fate dictated by the
administrative apparatus, and for obedience to universally ap
plicable and impersonal rules, individualism, aggressiveness,
and competitiveness cease to structure the father’s relation to the
child. Released from the discipline of patriarchal rule ,3 the
child’s new freedom is acquired at the expense of a retarded
psychic development. Without the antagonistic relation to the
father, the child’s ego fails to mature. Forever remaining a weak
entity, the ego can neither evolve into a rational faculty nor de
velop its capacity for independent thought and an autonomous
disposition. What began with the assimilation of the entrepre
neur into a higher stage of capitalist organization leads to the ob
solescence of the bourgeois father and to the shattering of the
traditional family as a sphere of privacy and a refuge for critical
reason. The internal changes in the family and in the psychic
structure prepare the conditions for the invasion of the mind by
the public sphere.
This decay of the traditional family oriented mode of social
ization reverses the process of individuation. Extrafamilial
agents of socialization, such as the mass media, step in to replace
the patriarchal family structure. Socialization becomes a public
affair. Exposed to cultural and political instructions articulating
quite similar values, aspirations, hopes and fears, children are
socialized collectively. And “the more the models and examples

are taken from outside it, the more unified and uninterrupted
becomes the ‘socialization’ of the young generation in the interest
of public power, as a part of public power.”4 But the true impact
of the public sphere on the minds of the new generations cannot
be appreciated by recognizing only the sociological factors in
volved. The extent to which the child is vulnerable to suggestion
and manipulation can be grasped completely only by consider
ing the interrelationship between the structural decay of the
family and the decay of the individual psyche. Here the weak
and defenseless ego becomes the focus of attention.
If infantile psychosexual development occurs normally, the
superego will result from the successful repression of the Oedipus
complex. In light of the changes in the internal structure of the
family and their dramatic effect on the ego, it would be plausible
to conclude that since the father has come to play such a negligible
role in one crucial aspect of the child’s psychological maturity,
his diminished significance would pertain also to the disappear
ance of the Oedipal conflict and to the eclipse of the superego.
Such a conclusion may seem justifiable, too, because Marcuse
unfortunately does not give due consideration to what must nec
essarily appear to be the fate of the Oedipus complex within the
modern family. Nevertheless, this conclusion would be incorrect.
Marcuse does note that in the modern family “the father con
tinues to enforce the primary diversion of sexuality from the
mother .”5 This point deserves mention, because those believing
that Marcuse has erred by excluding the father from the con
temporary socialization process must take note of his thesis that
the continuation of the Oedipal conflict is evidence supporting
the continued role of the father in socialization. Marcuse allows
for the Oedipus complex but still insists that socialization and
psychological development have altered in the manner he de
scribes. But Marcuse has not contradicted himself, as will now
become clear.
Although the father retains a presence that sustains the
Oedipal conflict and enjoins the repression of Oedipal wishes, to
which the superego is heir, this superego can never have practi
cal bearing on the individual’s mental life. Transfixed at an im
mature stage of psychic development, the ego lacks volition, the
conscious power to' will, exercise discretion, conceptualize needs
and goals and the means to their satisfaction and achievement.

All cognitive functions are impaired, particularly the capacity
for reflective thought. In brief, the ego lacks identity and a self-
consciousness of an identity in relation to the surrounding social
universe. At.the same time, the superego is frail because subse
quent to its formation it is not reinforced by the father, who now
is socially marginal. Given the enfeebled state of the ego it need
not be censored or restrained by the superego, while the frailness
of the superego excludes it from possibly providing the identity
of which the ego is in desperate need. This “regression” of the
ego, as Marcuse calls it, shows forth “above all in the weakening
of the ‘critical’ mental faculties: consciousness and conscience,”6
Ego identity is essential to mental life. Without identity, un
derstood in terms of those characteristics associated with it
above, the individual is hopelessly crippled and unequipped for
survival. This is the predicament in which the individual is
caught by virtue of the nature of socialization within the modern
family. At this point, Marcuse adopts certain aspects of Freud’s
group psychology theory salient to his analysis of the individual
in advanced industrial society.
To survive, the undeveloped ego must compensate for the de
formity that has occurred. In the absence of identity, the ego
reaches out beyond the boundaries of the psychic apparatus and
identifies with an agent, a political leader for instance, possess
ing those qualities of identity for which the individual is in want.
This agency is internalized and becomes part of the psychic
structure. Such identifications are not arbitrary. Those estab
lished emulate prior attachments with authority figures, usually
the father, and were described by Freud as “ego-ideals.” “Ideal”
refers simply to the ideals or values that first had been repre
sented by the father and had been internalized as the superego
with the repression of the Oedipus complex. Ego-ideals, to be
precise, are idealized versions of the internalized father, who, as
superego, provides the unconscious model for all identifications
(transferences, projections) undertaken by the ego in its effort to
constitute its identity. The ego-ideal, therefore, is not the super
ego but a substitute for it, although it serves the same function as
the superego, with this difference: unlike the superego, which
pressures the ego to think and act in socially desirable ways, the
ego-ideal rules the ego for, at the very moment that it.takes the
place of the superego, it also becomes the ego; that is, it now
constitutes the ego’s identity. In a real sense, the internalized
ego-ideal is the fusion of the ego and superego (functions). And
this newly formed ego, its thought and action, is “identical” to
the thought and action of the agent upon which it was originally
based.
Marcuse does not adopt these elements of the group psychol
ogy model without introducing revisions that he claims are im
plied in Freud’s theory. Freudian categories, Marcuse argues,
are fundamentally historical (social, economic, political), mean
ing that they take shape within one set of historical conditions
and contain within them the possibilities for their revision or dis
solution should these conditions change in specific ways.7 By
considering these revisions this argument can be understood,
along with the broader conclusions of Marcuse’s analysis.
First, Freud applied his group psychology model to particular
sorts of groups, those whose members are bound together by the
attraction of an unusually strong leadership. The egos of the
group’s members have fallen into the plight described above,
though for reasons very different from those offered by Marcuse
and which need not concern us here. However, all other ele
ments of the group psychology model already noted pertain.
Freud’s groups, such as the church and the army, which he used
to illustrate the dynamics of the group mind, are cases in social
as well as individual pathology. Societies, on the other hand, are
comprised of individuals who largely retain the moral, psycho
logical, and intellectual independence that the mob, the mass,
or the group unconsciously has resigned and reembodied in the
(father-)leader. Freud is correct, Marcuse’s theory holds, be
cause societal institutions, most notably the family, give rise to
individuals with psychic structures enabling them to distinguish
themselves to a significant degree, and critically, from the norms
facilitating social order. Individuality requires the traditional
family; the concept of individual presupposes a definite histori
cal logic, that is, material conditions that produce such a family
unit. Conversely, according to Marcuse the Freudian concept of
individual, of ego, implies its historical limits —internal changes
in the society and family that breed structural changes in the
psyche make the group psychology model applicable to the en
tire society. The society becomes one of permanent mass psychol

ogy. Furthermore, Marcuse maintains, the extension of the
group psychology model to the entire society carries with it more
than a revision of the group psychology theory. Meaning as it
does the collapse of the individual, the dissolution of the ego —a
central category in psychoanalysis —the Freudian concept of
man, if not psychoanalytic theory in general, is rendered obsoles
cent.
Second, by recalling an earlier point the psychoanalytic model
can be seen to be obsolete in another way. Normally, through
the repression of the Oedipus complex the superego is estab
lished and influences the ego to a greater or lesser extent depend
ing upon the strength of the ego’s identity. Social reason becomes
domination through “introjecdon.” With the institutional
changes leading to the deformity and enfeeblement of the ego
structure, this phenomenon of introjected domination is now
surpassed. The superego is formed but has become obsolete be
cause there is no longer a strong ego to reprimand. And as
noted, this superego has become frail because it ceases to be rein
forced by the father for he now holds a weakened position in so
ciety and in the family.
Third, the superego is not the only form of introjected domi
nation that is surpassed. We arrive now at the most controversial
aspect of Marcuse’s theory of the psychological underpinnings of
one-dimensionality. A further revision, Marcuse argues, is that
ego identifications are no longer formed according to the psy
chodynamics of Freud’s group psychology. Marcuse departs from
Freud in this respect: identifications are not internalized or in
trojected as part of the individual’s psychic apparatus. Instead,
identifications are "immediate.” They occur as imitations. Intro-
jection gives way to “mimesis.” What has altered to force this re
vision of the group psychology model and what exactly does the
alteration mean?
The answer to the first question can be put succinctly. Ad
vanced industrial society does not function by virtue of the power
and authority of leaders. There are no agents who are also repre
sentatives of the unconscious father image. The meaning of this
development is truly significant. As we have seen, Marcuse
stresses certain economic developments that have transformed
the father into a social and psychological factor of negligible im

portance within the family. At the same time, the longer range
tendencies of these developments is toward the comprehensive
rationalization of society and, it will be recalled, a system or
ganized completely according to the logic of technical reason dis
penses with leaders.8 Considering these developments together
and from a psychoanalytic perspective, Marcuse has not argued
merely that technical rationality eliminates the traditional role
of the father in the family and of the leader in society. Capitalist
social structures, which are essentially 'patriarchal structures, are
being eliminated. Now, in the group psychology model the
leader (as symbolic father) or the ego-ideal (as substitute super
ego) determines for the individual all his thought and action, in
cluding the designation of circumstances under which it is or is
not permissible to think and act aggressively. The technical elim
ination of the father-leader thus creates the supreme danger.
Where individuals are deprived not only of sturdy ego structures
and superegos but also of ego-ideals that can determine the m an
ner in which aggression is to be harnessed (through repression,
sublimation, etc.), we are
faced with a reality which was envisaged only at the margin of psy
choanalysis—the vaterlose Gesellschaft (society without fathers). In
such a society, a tremendous release of destructive energy would oc
cur: freed from the instinctual bonds with the father as authority
and conscience, aggressiveness would be rampant and lead to the
collapse of the group.9 •
Rationalization leads, inevitably, to barbarism.
Drawing out this far-reaching implication from Freud’s group
psychology—the fatherless society and the inherent danger of
barbarism produced by rationalization —is the decisive step
taken by Marcuse in formulating the distinction between intro-
jecdon and mimesis, which is his final revision of psychoanalytic
theory and the one most salient to the theory of technological
domination. Modern civilization has not yet reached the stage of
the society without fathers, although Marcuse views this as the
dominant tendency of technological rationalization. For the
present, advanced industrial society has replaced the father-
leader with an agency fulfilling a similar psychological function,
though with an important difference. This new agent is not em

bodied in a person; the ego-ideal is no father image. Rather, it is
an abstraction, an idea and ideal whose power and authority de
rive from its association with all of the “various competing power
elites, leaders, and chiefs” of society but with none of them in
particular. Through its diffuse association with societal institu
tions and personages within them who simply administrate their
organizational logic, technical reason constitutes this abstrac
tion, whose universality establishes it as the ego-ideal.10
A major point of Marcuse’s thesis of the fatherless society is
now brought forward into this new context. In the group psy
chology model, introjections (identifications actually inter
nalized as part of the psychic apparatus) take place only where
ego-ideals are also father images. Barbarism would result where
there were no father images to be introjected for without such an
ego structure there can be no inhibiting of aggressive energy.
Marcuse appears to argue that since the ego-ideal of advanced
industrial society is no father image, identifications are consider
ably weakened. They are sufficently strong to provide an ego
identity—and one that can check the threat of a barbaric release
of aggression —though the identifications are too weak to be in
ternalized. Consequently, identifications become mere reflec
tions of the diffuse and universal ego-ideal embodied in the so
ciety as a whole. In effect, as the ego-ideal the logic of technical
rationality determines the thought and action of the individual
just as it determines the behavior of institutions and of those who
manage them. Weak and defenseless, and in dire need of iden
tity, the ego “submits quickly to required modes of thought and
behavior .”11 As far as domination is concerned, is there really a
significant difference between introjection and mimesis? In prin
ciple, advanced industrial society is still a society without fathers,
and the moment the rationality of technics and the engines of
production falter, there will be no ego-ideal to intervene and
provide that collective identity which could stave off civilization's
descent into barbarism.
It can be seen readily that Marcuse’s analysis of the psycholog
ical underpinnings of technological domination is likewise the
basis for his theory of one-dimensional man. There is no longer
any sense in which it is possible to speak of a subject. All individ
ual aims originate within the society. Domination is so deeply en

trenched within the psyche that human nature can be said to
have been supplanted by a second, social nature. Two state
ments by Marcuse adequately summarize this shift from a quasi-
autonomous individual to complete social heteronomy.
In the contemporary period, psychological categories become polit
ical categories to the degree to which the private, individual psyche
becomes the more or less willing receptacle of socially desirable and
socially necessary aspirations, feelings,, drives, and satisfactions.12
It is as though the free space which the individual has at his disposal
for his psychic processes has been greatly narrowed down; it is no
longer possible for something like an individual psyche with its own
demands and decisions to develop; the space is occupied by public,
social forces.13
At this point in the exposition of Marcuse’s theory, there can
be no doubt that there is a singular characteristic establishing
definite boundaries between modern capitalism and advanced
industrial society. The erosion of the critical faculties, the virtual
annihilation of subjectivity, distinguishes advanced industrial so
ciety qualitatively from its predecessor.
Thus far, the discussion pertains only to Marcuse’s analysis of
the effects of rationalization on the members of the younger gen
erations. For it is the newer generations who directly experience
the structural changes in the family, the loss of the father, and
who suffer the psychological deformities endemic to advanced
industrial society. As a result of their childhood socialization, in
dividuals will enter the productive process as preformed and fully
credentialed one-dimensional men.
But children are not the only candidates for one-dimensional
society. Historically situating it in the interwar period, the ratio
nalization of the family and psychic structures, according to
Marcuse, has emerged late in modern civilization. Several gener
ations belonging to contemporary society therefore have escaped
this particular development. Nevertheless, the rationalization of
culture and production has occurred in other ways that as effi
ciently and effectively integrated the older generations into the
technical apparatus. Technical reasoYi not only claims the criti
cal faculties directly by undermining their development through
the rationalization of the family but likewise impairs the func
tioning of the fully matured faculties by reaching into the in

dividual’s biological structure. Deeply rooted instinctual ties
between the individual and society are established.
Advanced industrial society enslaves the individual biological
ly by providing the instrumental means, labor, for the gratifica
tion of the aggressive impulses. Basic to the rationality of ad
vanced industrial society is that constant material growth is a
necessary condition of its preservation. This is the substantive di
mension of technical reason. Artificial needs must be promoted
to insure the expansion of the system. A social order that thrives
on the creation of artificial needs is able to furnish in enormous
surplus the labor to be fueled by human aggression. Rooted in
the instinctual structure the social order derives its support by
satisfying the aggressive impulses through the process of produc
tion, while the individual sustains the process by consuming and
also by contributing the aggressive energy requisite for produc
tivity. The result is a symbiotic tie based on a dynamic relation
ship between biological and social needs.
Moreover, there is an additional complexity to this dynamic
suggesting another way in which an impetus for rationalization
originates in its instinctual moorings. As the process of produc
tion reaches its highest levels of rationalization, the degree of
gratification labor offers begins to decline. The technological
apparatus becomes a less adequate means for the gratification of
unsublimated aggression than its earlier and less rationalized
counterparts. “Technological aggression” does not allow for the
satisfaction of the aggressive drives in their primitive (“primary”)
form. Production sustains instinctual tension and frustration.
Marcuse argues that the net effect is the ever greater demand for
a productive and cultural apparatus that can gratify the aggres
sive instincts. This leads, in turn, to further rationalization and
to the reproduction of the entire cycle and, along with it, of the
established social order. Marcuse speaks of a “vicious circle of
progress”14 and of a pattern of “repetition and escalation .”15 His
analysis is an ingenious application of Freud’s theory of “repeti
tion compulsion .”16
The term “escalation” further indicates that the pattern is not
simply one of repetition, that it resembles less a circle than a spi
ral in this sense. Rationalization does engender the demand for
greater rationalization by progressively reducing the gratifica
tion that can be acquired through labor. Because rationalization

only partially gratifies the aggressive impulses it has released, an
outlet for the ungratified aggressivity must be found. A target
for this aggression is presented as the “enemy” of the established
order. It seems, then, that according to Marcuse progressive ra
tionalization spurs a dynamic that begins by partially gratifying
aggressive drives and ends by repeating this process of rational
ization and channeling impulses denied gratification in the di
rection of threats to the social system. The enemy is protean —
communism, capitalism, intellectuals, Jews, foreigners, and so
on. Providing the gratification denied through rationalized la
bor, the enemy serves further to consolidate the society around
its goal of rationalization, while the progress of technical reason
steadily expands the aggression, which is then directed against its
target. Aggression escalates and with it —if the enemy targeted is
capitalism or communism —the danger of international confron
tation. Regardless of a communist or a capitalist government’s
official stance towards the enemy, the cumulative effect of ratio
nalization is to release aggression, which finds its expression
among the public as the demand “for more militant, more un
compromising, more risky policies, sometimes blatantly irra
tional and endangering the very existence of civilization.”17
These psychological dynamics of technological domination lend
depth and a new dimension to Marcuse’s thesis on the nature of
the deadlock in relations between capitalism and communism
first submitted in Soviet Marxism. As we saw, technical reason
reinforces this deadlock and forecloses any possibility of breaking
out of it .18 Now having considered the psychological underpin
nings of rationalization, it becomes clear that the aggression re
leased by rationalization intensifies the opposition and threatens
to end it with catastrophe.
Marcuse’s essays on the psychological underpinnings of techni
cal reason call into question, by his own admission, the aptness
of the term “domination” as a description of the state of affairs
prevalent in advanced industrial society. To the extent that ra
tionalization is anchored in the biological structure, there is a
sense in which the social system is not opposed to the individual’s
needs. Indeed, we have just seen thauaccording to Marcuse ad
vanced industrial society derives support from its satisfaction of
these needs. Howr then, is criticism of the society to be restored?
Gratification appears as domination where the needs satisfied

are not natural human needs but are first and foremost socially
determined needs. Here we return briefly to a point discussed in
an earlier chapter. The examination of Marcuse’s second dimen
sion stressed the importance of his claim that a fundamental
aspect of repression is the centralization of the instincts to the
genital sphere. This so-called social organization of the instincts
desexualizes the body, thus turning it into an instrument of labor
while also restricting gratification to genital sexuality and its
sublimated expressions. In other words, biological needs are not
natural but are preshaped by the social system. What is gratified
is not human nature but “second nature.” Consequently, since
second nature already comprises a primary layer of domination,
the social satisfaction of such an artificial nature cannot be said
to be anything less than a secondary form of domination. The
second nature hypothesis saves the critical dimension of social
theory .19
Aggressive impulses are not the only side of the individual’s
second nature affected by the dynamics of rationalization. “Re
pressive desublimation,” one of Marcuse’s most original contri
butions to a critical theory of society, focuses on the libidinal un
derpinnings of technological domination. The desexualization of
the body through the repressive centralization of the instincts in
genital sexuality, the confinement of sexuality to heterosexual
relations and to the monogamous family, and the further restric
tions placed upon sexuality through the demands for its sublima
tion in socially productive labor all contribute to the social or
ganization of production. Most important within this context,
the confinement of the libidinal impulses to the genital sphere,
reinforced by the other restrictions, not only negatively affects
the quality of pleasurable gratification (by transforming Eros into
sexuality) but also intensifies the instinctual need for gratifica
tion. Sublimation, Marcuse contends, further frustrates the sat
isfaction of this need. But as the society proceeds toward advanced
levels of rationalization, such a comprehensive repressive trans
formation of the instincts is no longer warranted by the technical
apparatus. According to Marcuse, a fully rationalized produc
tive enterprise can dispense with several types of conventional re
pressive constraints on libido. In the society at large there occurs
a liberalization of sexual morality, and at all levels of the pro
duction hierarchy this relaxation of sexual taboos is reflected in

the dress, language, and everyday relations among workers. Sub
limation, the channeling of instinctual energy into cognitive ac
tivity, becomes extraneous. Marcuse submits that “the Pleasure
Principle absorbs the Reality Principle . . . This notion implies
that there are repressive modes of desublimation .”20
The consequences of repressive desublimation must be drawn
out. Repressive desublimation refers to the immediate gratifica
tion of intensely felt instinctual drives within a framework of
domination organized according to the logic of technical reason.
Technics regulates productive relations independently of the
subject. No longer required to sublimate, that is, to manage the
technical apparatus through intellectual labor, the subject be
comes obsolete. Social relations can then be governed by the
pleasure principle, biologically wedding the individual to an ap
paratus of domination. Rationalization develops libidinal roots
just as it had developed moorings in the aggressive impulses.
With the social need for sublimation obsolete and immediate
gratification at hand, there is little need for a strong ego able to
discharge the complex tasks of production and to search for
means of gratification within or outside the confines of social
order. The ego structure declines precipitously and the fate of
the critical faculties in the modern family is replicated.
Beyond the debilitation of the ego, repressive desublimation
affects the psychic apparatus in another crucial respect. With
the immediate gratification of biological needs at the “orga
nism’s” disposal, that is, without a relatively independent ego en
gaged in seeking gratification, there ceases to be any conflict be
tween the individual and society. The absence of conflict would
mean that there are no norms necessary to regulate conduct or,
expressed differently, there would be no need for a superego to
inhibit the activities of the individual. The superego is overcome.
Without the possibility for guilt and anxiety, the ego would be
contented. This, Marcuse argues, is precisely what has happened
in advanced industrial society. Consciousness is blissful, “hap
py.” Furthermore, this “happy consciousness,” as Marcuse calls
it, being a psychic entity without the encumbrance of conscience,
censors the behavior of society as little'as it censors the behavior
of the individual. The major institutions of society can act with
impunity, without'fearing that disagreement, judgment, or con
straint would be forthcoming from the individual. The “loss of

conscience due to the satisfactory liberties granted by an unfree
society,” Marcuse explains, “makes for a happy consciousness
which facilitates acceptance of the misdeeds of this society.”21
With the subversion of ego and superego, the once mature
critical faculties are dissipated. Marcuse does qualify this thesis
somewhat. Apparently, the ego is preserved to a small degree,
for it continues to experience vague feelings of discontent. Bio
logical needs, it seems, can never be gratified completely. Yet,
without a sufficiently strong ego structure to raise these feelings
to the level of conscious thought and reflection, they remain ob
scure, intangible, but disquieting. And these confused, uncom
prehended dissatisfactions can be easily mobilized by the political
system. The inclination of the repressively desublimated happy
consciousness is fascistic.
Marcuse’s theory of the psychological underpinnings of tech
nological domination thus is inclusive of the effects of rational
ization on all generations belonging to advanced industrial soci
ety. No individual escapes the repressive transformation of the
psychic structure, and no part of the psychic apparatus remains
unscathed. The id, ego, and superego of each subject is either
preshaped or reshaped to conform to the mold of one-dimen
sionality. The society has been reduced to mass society and one
where the masses are not, and can never be, in opposition. The
steady and irreversible tendency of this state of affairs is toward a
final barbarism. Having fully explored Marcuse’s thesis we can
now examine it critically.
Toward a Reconstruction o f the Subject

A serious effort has been made to capture the impassioned and
complex nature of Marcuse’s arguments, all the more so because
the psychological underpinnings thesis is the basis for his concep
tion of one-dimensional man. Whatever approach critics may
adopt in confronting Marcuse’s thesis, it cannot be denied that
his work, particularly on the family, contains fundamental
insights that are significant. Rationalization undoubtedly has al
tered the family and continues to do so in dramatic ways. The
sort of individual produced will be different, perhaps substan
tially different, from the offspring of the traditional family struc
ture. Against this development as Marcuse understands it, how

ever, a subject can be reclaimed with confidence. I intend to
leave outstanding the issue of the effect of rationalization on the
factors to be brought forward to account for this subjectivity.
What is certain, though, is that Marcuse neglects to recognize
these factors and his theory is flawed to that extent. Should these
factors be given weight, as I believe they must, the fate of the in
dividual must be reevaluated in their terms and according to the
impact of rationality upon them.
Despite Marcuse’s pretensions to a grasp of the effects of ra
tionalization on the family and the individual from a psycho
analytic perspective, very little of his analysis bears a resem
blance to Freudian theory. Of the greatest consequence to
Freud’s theory of ego development are two factors —the notion of
the bodily ego and the central role played by the mother in child
hood socialization. The former includes both constitutional
(sometimes called maturational) and experiential elements; the
latter refers primarily to experiential ones, although the child’s
relation to the mother also incorporates a constitutional element
deserving of mention. After considering these two factors and
drawing out their critical implications for Marcuse’s analysis of
the family, the discussion will turn to a critical examination of
Marcuse’s claim that technological domination is secured as it
becomes Firmly entrenched within the instinctual structure of
man. The conclusion of the discussion will return us to the argu
ments made at the outset of this section.'
That the human mind is nothing more than a blank slate
upon which society inscribes its many codes is a belief alien to
Freud’s metapsychology. On the contrary, the psyche is comprised
of a wealth of capacities that Freud conceded he had but begun
to describe. The newly born infant is best characterized, accord
ing to Freud, as an undifferentiated ego-id, a bundle of instinc
tual needs and drives with no mental activity owning a sense of
being either distinct from these needs or divisible from the envi
rons. Mind, so to speak, is intertwined completely with the body.
In a very short time, however, the ego functions —specifically,
the sensory and perceptual apparatus,^memory, and motor con
trols—develop within a basic context of experience (described
below) and with tbem the first awareness of a self distinct from
the inner world of impulse and the surroundings. An illustration
will demonstrate how this process of individuation is intimately

related to biological and physiological maturation.
Infantile needs are gratified through autoeroticism and
through parents or parent substitutes. Frustration occurs when
ever particular needs are not met immediately, or some not at
all, and is a brute fact of the child’s existence. Frustration forces
the perception of the ways in which needs are and are not grati
fied, thus teaching the infant about its dependence on sources of
gratification outside itself. Concepts of “self’ and “not-self’ are
formed quickly —“concepts,” because the experiences of frustra
tion, dependency, and gratification are stored in the memory and
influence future behavior aimed at satisfying needs. The sensory
and perceptual apparatus provides the information to be pre
served by memory, while the development of motor controls en
ables the infant to undertake behavior necessary to the mastery
of its environment. At the same time, the child’s reliance on the
parents and the displeasure prolonged until needs are gratified
forcefully develop the child’s capacities for mastering its own
needs and extinguishing frustration. “Primary repression” —a
capacity for willfully denying impulses and wishes that in a con
text of dependency provoke the child’s earliest and inescapable
experiences with frustration —contributes to differentiating the
ego from its corporeal needs and contributes to self-mastery. No
sooner, in other words, do we begin to elaborate the basic ego
functions than we recognize a process through which the forma
tion of the ego is also the ego forming a concept of ego (self), of
boundaries within an internal psychic world between ego and id,
and between the internal and external worlds. Repeated over
and over again, these experiences (perceptions) of a need, frus
tration, dependency, gratification, retention of information,
mastery, and so forth, further differentiate the ego, crystallize its
boundaries, and develop its identity.
What Freud leads us to understand, then, is the manner in
which constitutional factors, in the broad sense of capacities and
needs, combine with experience (also partially constitutional as
in the perception of needs), for instance, the continual frustra
tion of ever more complex needs, to shape the ego as a durable
and independent entity. Eventually, through the interrelation
ships of constitutional and experiential factors, the ego’s mastery
of its inner and outer worlds and its concept of self are enhanced
by the development of'its other capacities, such as the mecha

nisms of defense and fantasy. Basically, the successful manage
ment of needs requires a strong ego. Memories, defense mecha
nisms, fantasy, and thought in general are all cognitive vehicles
of the ego for managing needs and stimulating its further devel
opment. For example, as one alternative to repression, fantasy
offers temporary gratification and thus aids the ego in mastering
the id, avoiding frustration and a possible confrontation with the
environment. But the inadequacy of illusory gratification ulti
mately must compel either the repression of the need or the dis
covery of a means for real gratification. Hence, fantasy both re
inforces the ego’s powers of self-mastery and places the ego in a
situation where it must learn to be independent of another of its
functions, that is, to discriminate between fantasy and reality.
The ego appears always to be developing beyond the sum of its
parts and simultaneously to be developing beyond the sum of its
developing parts.
Before moving on an important point must be noted. It would
be a mistake to argue that a particular form of social organiza
tion creates what has been described here as the fundamental
ground of experience for the development of the ego; no social
system could reduce the level of frustration below that required
for the maturation of the ego’s capacities. If Marcuse had con
sidered the aforementioned aspects of Freud’s theory of ego de
velopment, I believe he also would have agreed with this last
statement for the following reason. Marcuse frequently has been
misunderstood as saying that all repression can be eliminated at
some time in the future. Against those critics who wrongly accuse
him of such a utopianism, Marcuse has replied by arguing that
some level of basic repression always must remain, though he has
not made it clear why this is so or exactly what he takes this basic
repression to be. It is precisely the primary repression that de
velops the ego, I would argue, that constitutes what Marcuse
calls basic repression. As both a constitutional and an experien
tial factor, basic, or primary, repression cannot be eliminated.
A second way of expressing the relationship between constitu
tional factors and ego development is to approach the notion of
bodily ego from another angle. Freud claimed that there is a
parallel development between instinctual organization, the pas
sage through the oral, anal, and genital phases, and ego func
tions. The mechanism of identification, for instance, reproduces
at a higher level of psychological organization the primitive

characteristics associated with the oral phase. Properly stressing
Freud’s meaning, we see that the ego cannot fail to develop the
capacity for identification by virtue of the intimate developmen
tal relationship between this ego function and biological m atura
tion. The same general relationship holds true for all ego capac
ities.
Because of its position in Marcuse’s theory of domination, the
mechanism of identification requires closer inspection. Noting
the parallel development of identification and the oral phase
correctly locates the emergence of this capacity very early in the
infant’s life. In fact, it develops well before the first year is com
pleted. Through the capacity for identification, the newly devel
oping ego at first forms identifications that are immediate. In
other words, they are “unmeditated,” that is, unreflective, auto
matic imitations of significant figures in the infant’s environment.
Immediate identifications do not, as Marcuse argues, result from
the absence of certain structural elements, notably the father,
which causes the ego to remain enfeebled and in pathological
need of a readily available identity. To the contrary, immediate
identifications are normal; they are responsible for developing
the embryonic ego. For the most part, these early identifications
enrich the ego considerably by giving it form and direction.
In light of those aspects of Freud’s theory of ego development
already surveyed and with this newly acquired understanding of
Freud’s conception of identification, at this point a decisive move
can be made against and away from Marcuse’s theory of the psy
chological bases of domination.
Contrary to Marcuse’s interpretation, nowhere in Freud’s ex
tensive writings does he equate ego development with cognitive
development. As it appears in Freud’s work the relationship be
tween ego and cognitive development can be most accurately de
scribed in these terms: the facets of ego development and of the
early identifications thus described are necessary, though not
sufficient, psychological preconditions for the development of
the intellect. The capacities of the ego and, as I have referred to
it, its “embryonic” character (earliest identifications) are first
brought into play and then the cognitive faculties begin to ma
ture. Cognitive faculties, however, certainly cannot be reduced
to the prior formation of ego functions. So although Freud did
not furnish a complete theory of cognitive development, his the
ory of those factors contributing to the development of the ego is

rich in possibilities for a general theory of the intellect. (The sig
nificance of this distinction between ego and cognitive develop
ment is established on page 254.)
Two important and related questions can be posed now: with
which parties are identifications most likely to be formed and
why? Contrary to Marcuse’s analysis of the family and his inter
pretation of Freud, the infant’s mother is the principal figure in
its maturation and ego development. Freud stressed that the two
“objects” most heavily cathected by the infant are its body (auto
eroticism) and its mother, for with these objects lie the most ac
cessible, suitable, and natural relations through which libidinal
needs can be gratified. Since highly cathected relations are a
prerequisite for identifications to occur, the mother becomes the
leading candidate for identification.
But the nature of the psychological relations between mother
and child beyond the gratification of needs must be emphasized.
Love, affection, interest, attention, and other such attitudes of
fer the greatest contribution to the development of a strong ego.
Relations defined by these sorts of qualities breed vital character
traits in the child —to name but a few, trust, confidence, and se
curity, all of which nurture an active, exploratory, and inquisitive
spirit. The relationship among these qualities of identification,
the salience of the mother, and ego development flatly contra
dict Marcuse’s argument that the emergence of a strong ego de
pends upon combat, particularly with the father.
In fact, taking Freud’s theory several steps further, object rela
tions characterized by aggression or hostility on the part of an
authority figure are normally rejected by the child and are un
likely to serve as the basis for identifications. And in addition to
identifications formed on the basis of affective ties, they are fre
quently established as the result of the loss of an object. The im
plications of these last two points are significant. According to
the first point, the traditional family’s dominant father, as de
scribed by Marcuse, would destroy the possibility of the child’s
identifying with the father, thus minimizing his impact on the
development of the ego structure. While in terms of the second
point, the increasingly diminished role'of the father in the mod
ern family could very well encourage the child to identify strong
ly with him in order to compensate for his absence (loss). The

former implication further underscores the part played by the
mother in ego development, and the latter reintroduces the
father into the family (actually into the child’s psychic structure)
in spite of, or rather because of, changes in social structures
compromising his presence within the family unit.
One final comment must be made, this time regarding Mar
cuse’s understanding of the formation of the superego. Marcuse
definitely has exaggerated the impact of the father in resolving
the child’s Oedipal complex. Though Freud can be read most
consistently as underlining the father as predominant in forcing
the repression of Oedipal wishes, Freud qualified this view by ar
guing that the actual identification establishing the superego is
with the “parents .”22 Hence, the mother is as much implicated in
the unconscious influences of the superego as is the father. From
this hypothesis it can then be doubted whether the superego en
gendered within the traditional family actually provided the pa
triarchal support for capitalism, as Marcuse believes. But this is
sue is controversial and if pursued would take the discussion far
afield of its primary critical focus. In any event, it is not the chief
point I intend. Regardless of whether Freud meant ultimately to
place the responsibility for superego formation squarely upon
the father or equally upon the parents, he claimed that however
severe the child’s parents (or father) in repressing Oedipal and
future wishes, the child’s superego rarely corresponds to the se
verity o f the authority. The norms, beliefs, and aspirations ex
pressed by the superego may be more or less harsh than those
represented by the parents. The implications of Freud’s claim
are extremely important. On the one hand, it offers very little
basis for Marcuse’s belief that the superego is simply the internal
counterpart to external authority. Consequently, the superego
cannot be thought to contribute unambiguously to the reproduc
tion of social relations. On the other hand, since the sternness of
the individual’s values may well exceed those after which the su
perego has been modeled, the superego may not become frail as
a result of being in the presence of a father whose position in the
society and family has been weakened. Thus, the individual may
continue to maintain critical standards when confronted with a
public sphere whose authority is irrational or whose authority
breaks down under the strain of internal contradictions.
By way of summary, in opposition to Marcuse’s thesis on the

psychological underpinnings of technological domination, I
have enlisted Freud’s metapsychology to establish four central
and theoretically interrelated claims.
First, the metapsychology provides a theory of ego develop
ment that portrays the ego as rather more durable and stable
than Marcuse contends. Freud’s theory depicts an ego structure
sufficiently resilient to defeat an attempt to extend the group
psychology model to contemporary society as a whole. The ego
develops according to a biological and constitutional logic that
prevents the distinction between the private and public spheres
from being eclipsed through rationalization.
Second, the overall strength of this ego structure meets the
preconditions for cognitive development, meaning that despite
the social or ideological fate of the cognitive faculties, the pres
ence of a constitutionally intact ego structure insures the poten
tial for a less conditioned cognitive (re-)development. Likewise,
the irreducibility of cognitive to ego development means that
cognitive development can continue even where structural fac
tors affect the developing ego beyond its constitutional determin
ation. On both accounts the presence of cognitive faculties po
tentially resistant to and relatively independent of ideological
manipulation is indicated. Rationalization cannot erode them
though it clearly may hold the critical faculties in bondage.
Third, a coherent Freudian perspective on the structure of the
traditional family emphasizes the crucial role played by the
mother in the development of the child’s ego, character, and
cognitive capacities. At the very least, this means that structural
alterations in the modern family brought about by rationaliza
tion eventually must affect the mother (or mother substitute) if
ego, character, and cognitive development are to be influenced
in a dramatic way. However, the developmental significance of
the mother also questions Marcuse’s entire analysis of the tradi
tional family and its father imposed structural reproduction of
individuals equipped with a psychic apparatus instrumental to
the evolution of capitalism.
Last, a corrected view of the relationship between the severity
of the child’s superego and the norms articulated by the parents
suggests that whether the beliefs internalized as part of the su
perego are represented by one or both parents (the traditional
family) or by the mass media or other agencies within the public

and private spheres (peer groups, educational and governmental
institutions) that invade the modern family and appropriate its
role in childhood socialization, the individual’s personal value
system can be more rigorous and critical than those of other sec
tors of society.
To conclude the critical analysis of Marcuse’s theory, I now
want to examine his proposition that rationalized domination
becomes secured as it is anchored in the individual’s biological
structure.
My initial objection begins by recalling a principal argument
of chapter three. The stages of psychosexual development follow
a natural biological process of maturation completed with the
genital organization of the instincts. This centralization of the
instincts is not a sociologically determined phenomenon. It con
forms to a constitutional order rather than to the logic of social
order. Human nature, rather than second nature, is developed
in this process. Of paramount importance here is that the genital
organization of the instincts establishes the preconditions for
sublimation. Unsublimated relations provide inadequate sources
of gratification, forcing the individual into sublimated modes of
activity in order to derive more complete and fulfilling gratifica
tion. In other words, the individual is compelled by nature to
graduate from more immediately biological (unsublimated) ac
tivities to cognitively mediated practices. Freud’s theory of in
stinctual organization is at once a theory of mental activity, of a
purposeful intellect, though neither theory exhausts the other.
This argument penetrates to the heart of Marcuse’s thesis by
revealing its cardinal error. The immediate gratification pro
vided by repressively desublimated modes of activity is insuffi
cient gratification. An apparatus deriving support from its in
dulgence of unsublimated aggressive and libidinal impulses
would be faced with mounting discontents and quickly would
discover allegiance falling away. Repressive desublimation thus
introduces a contradiction into the tendencies toward rational
ization. If, as Marcuse argues, by spurring a liberalization of sex
ual morality rationalization desublimates the libidinal drives, it
does so only by causing unhappiness. The response would be the
demand for highly sublimated activities, thus challenging the or
ganized creation and division of labor.
Curiously, Marcuse’s analysis of aggressivity actually describes

this contradiction, but his theory of sublimation as repression
prevents him from recognizing it. The earlier discussed pattern
of repetition and escalation, Marcuse explains, leads to further
rationalization but only partially gratifies the instincts. But why
would there be a repeated and escalated demand for forms of
sublimation that result in insufficient gratification? Of course,
there would not. The need for gratification is the driving force
behind all instinctual demands. Because rationalization issues in
partial gratification, the demand to'escalate it is also a demand
to escalate gratification. Otherwise, the dynamic of repetition
and escalation is unintelligible. Only partial gratification occurs
through rationalization because its logic excludes forms of labor
that would be truly gratifying. Consequently, Marcuse’s aggres
sivity thesis inadvertently shows that rationalization would not
oppose gratification where sublimation would be enhanced. Ra
tionalization must therefore oppose gratification where it system
atically desublimates the instinct, as it does with the repressive
desublimation of libidinal impulses. Hence, Marcuse is correct
in arguing that the rationalization of aggression derives further
support for rationalization but wrong in thinking that this sup
port would be forthcoming if the primary aggressive impulse
were denied gratification. He is correct, too, in believing that
technical reason promotes the repressive desublimation of libido
but incorrect in regarding desublimation as a means for securing
domination by fostering harmony between individual and social
needs.
From this first line of argument a related objection to Mar
cuse’s concept of repressive desublimation immediately surfaces.
There can be no doubt that Marcuse’s interpretation of the
metapsychology views it as a crude “economic” model. Instincts
press for immediate discharge. Sublimation, or cognitive activity
in the widest sense, is forced upon the subject, denies gratifica
tion, and is a perpetual obstacle to it. Any slack in the social de
mand for sublimation, any opportunity for unsublimated rela
tions, would be seized upon hungrily by the individual. Freud’s
concept of sublimation belies this economic formula of the auto
matic redistribution of instinctual energy in the direction of in
stant gratification. Pleasure is taken from the psychical repre
sentative^) of an instinct; for instance, from an idea. Thought
Cixnlization Without Discontents II 257
mediates pleasurable feelings and experiences such that a rela

tionship holds between the thinking (sublimation) constituting
an activity and the pleasure derived from it. Contrary to Mar
cuse’s economic interpretation, according to Freud’s theory the
mental apparatus is a selective, discriminating entity whose con
ception of pleasure cannot be reduced to a species of biological
determinism.
Several other objections could be raised against the notion of
repressive desublimation. Only one other will be mentioned.
Earlier I noted that Marcuse speaks of gratification weakening
the ego structure and ushering in a happy consciousness. In
point of fact, Freud argues that gratification strengthens the
ego, for example, by freeing it from the strenuous labor of main
taining a repression. Conversely, the absence of gratification
strengthens the id impulses, as though a need denied then ever
more intensely pressures the ego until an adequate means of
gratification is found. According to this reasoning, by gratifying
needs repressive desublimation would invigorate the ego and im
pel it to seek higher forms of gratification.
Against Marcuse’s analysis of the fate of the individual in the
modern family and in advanced industrial society generally, my
criticisms have attempted to reconstruct dimensions of subjectiv
ity. Subjectivity fades more from the pressures of Marcuse’s the
ory than from the pressures of technological rationality.
Whether attention is focused on the many factors and facets of
ego development, the formation of the superego, or the func
tioning of the mature psychic apparatus, in each and every in
stance subjectivity and its critical capacities can be reclaimed.
But such progress on behalf of the subject can be made only if a
rich, complex theory of subjectivity is embraced.
Rationalism, Determinism, and

the Preinterpretation o f Freud
By way of this conclusion we are returned promptly to the claims
made at the outset of this chapter and to those of the last. I be
lieve my argument clarifies the real logic of Marcuse’s investiga
tion. After examining Marcuse’s writings on the psychological
underpinnings of one-dimensionality, it would appear to the
reader that Marcuse arrived at his understanding of the impact
of technological rationality on subjectivity by launching the

analysis through the categories of the metapsychology, when ac
tually he had first grasped the metapsychology through the cate
gories of technical reason. Marcuse’s work on the psychological
underpinnings of one-dimensionality does not, therefore, entail
an interpretation of Freud but a preinterpretation rooted in an
approach that analyzes subjectivity from the standpoint of tech
nical rationality. This becomes quite evident when comparing
the conclusion that Marcuse draws from his explicit interpreta
tion of Freud’s metapsychology —narriely, that mental processes
deteriorate completely to the point of becoming identical to one
dimensional technical processes —with the behaviorist anthro
pology shown in the preceding chapter to be implicit in the the
ory of one-dimensional man. Freud’s metapsychology has been
turned into a behaviorist psychology, a consequence whose im
pulse springs from a prior allegiance to a rationalistic conceptual
framework for critical theory that necessarily, though implicitly,
views the individual as being completely integrated into the net
work of productive relations. Because he had adopted a theoreti
cal framework that views the individual as totally assimilated into
society, Marcuse is naturally disposed to comprehend social life
exclusively in terms of historical conditions, material factors, in
the final analysis, structural elements constituting and determin
ing the subject. Metapsychological categories are then autom ati
cally interpreted, that is, preinterpreted, from a hidden though
solidly entrenched perspective of an individual determined by
technical-structural factors. The result: Marcuse’s (pre-)inter-
pretation of Freud can produce no other effect than to erase all
limits on the extent to which the individual can be socialized.
These last points must be stressed. It is the preinterpretive as
pect—and just this aspect —of Marcuse’s theory that establishes
technical reason as unique in the history of domination relations.
For technical reason can be claimed to have such a devastating
impact on psychic processes only if theory is initially disposed
either to neglect the critical dimensions of the metapsychological
categories it believes to be pertinent to its analysis of the individ
ual in technological society or to disregard those crucial develop
mental factors in the psychic life of the individual to which I
have drawn attention. Furthermore, Marcuse’s neglect of that
other important factor, the mother’s part in childhood develop
ment, is also dictated by his disposition to a determinist perspec
tive. Such a perspective would be expressed immediately in an

easy causal inference from the father as dominant economic sub
ject to the father as dominant subject within the family. So the
impetus for Marcuse’s neglect of all these factors stems from his
commitment to a rationalistic framework for critical theory,
which translates into a disposition to judge the complexity of the
subject on the basis of the structure of the social system. And if
the latter is understood as organized according to the logic of
technics, subjectivity becomes a mere extension of technical rea
son. Because Marcuse is predisposed to a one-dimensional view
of the subject, theoretically the subject is exhausted by the pre
vailing social rationality; practically, domination of the individ
ual appears total.
Whether or not it is finally agreed that Marcuse has foreclosed
the issue of subjectivity by virtue of a set of one-dimensional the
oretical presuppositions, one thing is certain. Marcuse believes
that for all “practical” purposes subjectivity has vanished. With
out subjectivity, there is no sense in which it is possible to speak
of human reason. There is no reason other than the universal ob
jective rationality of technics. Technological rationality appears
as the ground for Reason itself. If there is to be a critical theory
of technological society, it must stand upon a ground other than
that which supports the society it seeks to indict. Theory must
discover an opposing but equally objective foundation for ra
tional criticism. What, then, is the nature and status of a “criti
cal” theory of society in a one-dimensional universe? It is to this
problem, as Marcuse confronts it, that the discussion now turns.
Notes
1. Herbert Marcuse, “The Obsolescence of the Freudian Concept
of Man,” Five Lectures (Boston: Beacon, 1970), p. 46, originally pre
sented as an address entitled “The Obsolescence of Psychoanalysis,” at
the annual meeting of the American Political Science Association,
1963, but first published as "Das Veralten der Psychoanalyse," Kultur
und Gesellschaft, 2 (Frankfurt: Suhrkamp, 1965), pp. 85-106.
2. Herbert Marcuse, "Freedom and Freud’s Theory of Instincts,”
Five Lectures, p. 14; originally published as “Trieblehre und Frei-
heit,” Freud in der Gegenwart: Em Vortragszyklus der Universitaten
Frankfurt und Heidelberg zum hundersten Geburtstag, Frankfurter
Beitrage zur Soziologie, 6 (Frankfurt: 1957), pp. 401-424.
3. Herbert Marcuse, “Progress and Freud’s Theory of Instincts,”
Five Lectures, p. 37; originally published as “Die Idee des Fortschritts

im Lichte der Psychoanalyse,” Freud in der Gegenwart: Ein Vortrags-
zyklus der Universitdten Frankfurt und Heidelberg zum hundersten
Geburtstag, Frankfurter Beitrage zur Soziologie, 6 (Frankfurt: 1957),
pp.425-441.
4. “Freedom and Freud’s Theory of Instincts," p. 15.
5. “The Obsolescence of the Freudian Concept of Man,” p. 47.
6. Ibid., p. 50.
7. See “Freedom and Freud’s Theory of Instincts," p. 1, and “The
Obsolescence of the Freudian Concept of,Man,” pp. 44-45. Also, see
the discussion of basic and surplus-repression in chapter three, pp.
94-97.
8. See chapter four, p. 147.
10. Ibid., p. 54.
11. Ibid., p. 51.
12. Herbert Marcuse, Eros and Civilization (New York: Random
House, Vintage Books, 1962), p. viii; this statement appears in the
Preface to this edition only (the 1962 Vintage Preface was omitted
from the later, Beacon Press editions of Eros and Civilization).
13. “Freedom and Freud’s Theory of Instincts,” p. 14.
14. “Progress and Freud’s Theory of Instincts," p. 36.
15. Herbert Marcuse, “Aggressiveness in Advanced Industrial Soci
ety,” Negations: Essays in Critical Theory (Boston: Beacon, 1968), p.
264; originally published as “Aggressivitat in der gegenwartigen In-
dustriegesellschaft," Die Neue Rundschau, 78, 1 (Frankfurt: 1967),
p p .7-21.
16. On the concept of repetition-compulsion see Freud’s Beyond
the Pleasure Principle (1920) (New York: Bantam, 1967), pp. 40, 42,
44-46,61,65-66,78-79, 103.
18. See chapter four, pp. 150-162.
19. I have indicated my disagreements with Marcuse’s conception
of second nature in chapter three, pp. 99, 105-106.
20. Herbert Marcuse, One-dimensional Man: Studies in the Ideol-
ogy of Advanced Industrial Society (Boston: Beacon, 1964), p. 72.
21. Ibid., p. 76.
22. For example, see The Ego and the Id (1923) (New York: Nor
ton, 1962), p. 21.
SIX
Discontents III:
T he Foundations o f Critical
Theory and the New Science
If God held all truth concealed in his right hand,
and in his left hand the persistent striving for the
truth, and while warning me against eternal error,
should say: “Choose!” I should humbly bow before
his left hand, and say: “Father, give thy gift; the
pure truth is for thee alone. ’’
Lessing, Werke
Early in One-dimensional Man Marcuse poses two questions

from which a critical theory of society today must depart. Is the
stabilization of advanced industrial society temporary, he first
inquires, in that it does not affect the roots of the conflicts Marx
found in the capitalist mode of production, or does it signify a
“transformation in the antagonistic structure itself”? If the sec
ond alternative is true, Marcuse then asks, "How does it change
the relationship between capitalism and socialism which made
the latter appear the historical negation of the former?”1 After
comprehensively examining Marcuse’s analysis of technological
domination, it is clear that he believes the evidence attests to the
second alternative. The structure of capitalism has been trans
formed essentially, with no foreseeable possibilities for the emer
2 61
gence of an opposition able to propel the society to a higher,

more rational level of social organization. Traditional categories,
such as class, individual, family, and private, no longer denote
spheres of conflict within society, as we have seen. Under these
circumstances what, then, according to Marcuse, is the relation
ship between capitalism and socialism? Stated precisely, if there
is no opposition to the rationality of the prevailing society, how
can the ideals of socialism be claimed to be more rational than
the capitalist practices they oppose?
Marcuse’s problem can be appreciated clearly when the tradi
tional bases of theoretical criticism are briefly recalled and it is
understood why critical theory now considers them to be ob
solete.
First, for Marx, of course, no such problem existed. The laws
of capitalist development determined that a historical agent
must objectively bear the irrepressible single alternative to the es
tablished order. Reason’s material expression was the proletar
iat, which represented the culmination of an evolutionary proc
ess leading to a superior stage of social organization. Historical
laws conferred objectivity and universality upon socialist criteria
of rationality.
In the wake of the dissolution of the proletariat as the histori
cal agent of progress, however, socialism ceases to be the theoret
ical as well as the practical successor to capitalism. Individuals
who comprise the working class experience the same fate as all
other individuals in advanced industrial society. This fate is the
erosion of subjective capacities and the total assimilation into the
network of productive relations. Being so totally integrated into
the social fabric, the proletariat not only ceases to be the con
scious subject of historical change but, most important, is no
longer the objective basis for historical development. This is the
real meaning of the “transformation in the antagonistic struc
ture itself’ brought about through technical reason. Critical the
ory is thus left without an objective foundation for criticism.
Certainly, capital and wage labor remain the basic categories
of advanced industrial society, as Marcuse emphasizes.2 On this
issue there is no qualitative distinction to be made between capi
talism and a completely rationalized society. Like the individual,
the basic laws of capitalism have been assimilated by technical
reason. So although the proletariat is no longer the subjective
Civilization Without Discontents III 263
and objective vehicle of historical change and hence not the ob
jective basis for the indictment of modern society, “class” is no
less efficacious as a conceptual tool for analyzing the many in
equalities of capitalism obscured but preserved through rational
ization .3 Technical reason, however, has proven its resourceful
ness in gradually rectifying these inequalities; hence, no critical
ground is to be acquired here. And since the laws of political
economy still pertain to the advanced stage of technical develop
ment, the crucial difference between capitalism and technologi
cal society lies in the course the “higher" stage of society must
eventually run. With advanced industrial society integrating all
potential opposition, its inevitable collapse must result in barba
rism. This is another implication of the practical obsolescence of
the socialist alternative. But although advanced industrial so
ciety must collapse violently, and perhaps with it what remains
of civilization after it has been hollowed by rationalization, ap
parently the peril of barbarism is insufficient to establish the ob
jective irrationality of the prevailing order. Theory’s critical sub
stance is violated where it is no longer rooted in or can no longer
appeal to a class subject. When subjectivity receded, the Marxist
conception of historical development went bankrupt and with it
critical theory’s claim to truth.
Second, Marx’s theory of history is not the only foundation for
reason that terminates in one-dimensional society. “Internal crit
icism,” which takes the social system to task for failing to meet
commitments extolled by its own ideology, while also demon
strating its institutional inabilities ever to do so, also becomes in
effectual. In 1941 Marcuse was able to declare that
critical rationality derives from the principles of autonomy which
individualistic society itself had declared to be its self-evident
truths. Measuring these principles against the form in which indi
vidualistic society has actualized them, critical rationality accuses
social injustice in the name of individualistic society’s own ideology.4
In advanced industrial society, however, reason must search
elsewhere for a critical edge. The individual has become so thor
oughly identified with the aims of the society that social needs,
values, and aspirations appear to originate with the individual.
Alienation has become total .5 Reproducing society spontane
ously from within, the subject appears autonomous. Freedom,
Marcuse laments, becomes an impossible concept.6 The society

seems to conform most to its ideological principle of individual
ism at the very moment when the individual has ceased to exist.
The contradiction between subjectivity and the denial of subjec
tivity is flattened out.
Internal criticism is vitiated in a second way. It is not that the
dialectic inherent in the relations of capital has been paralyzed;
rather, technical reason has neutralized its manifest contradic
tions. The society celebrates the profitability of weapons systems,
argues that waste contributes to progress, that war will insure
peace. Unquestionable and unquestioned necessities, no matter
what the cost, and the negative consequences of such develop
ment are merely an integral part of the technical balance sheet,
the acknowledged and agreed upon price to be paid for a high
standard of “living." Even the terms of critical theory are assimi
lated to their opposites. The meaning and intent of socialism is
sacrificed where socialist parties work for the defense and growth
of the established way of life.7 Marcuse first noted this practice as
characteristic of fascism, where the principles of political econ
omy served as “ideological instruments for the attack on ‘Jewish
capitalism,’” concealing the actual relationship among capital,
material and spiritual impoverishment, crisis, and totalitarian
ism .8 The unification of opposites—destruction for profit, waste
for progress, war for peace, socialism for capitalism, the critique
of capital as the defense of fascism —obliterates the distinction
between the rational and the irrational.®
Deprived of all foundations, of its historical grounding in a
logic of class relations, of its appeal to an individual subject, of
an indictment of the social system on its own terms, and con
fronted with the reconciliation of rationality and irrationality,
critical theory must then ask, Marcuse declares,
In what counter-tongue can Reason be articulated?10
With this question we arrive at one of the most interesting and
significant aspects of Marcuse’s work. It is a question that has
been foisted upon critical theory by the development of technical
rationality, just as once before it had been imposed on critical
theory by the emergence of the authoritarian state and society.
But Marcuse’s theoretical response to the dilemma posed by
technical reason differs dramatically from his response to fas
cism. On this occasion, Marcuse’s reply to total domination clar

ifies the true nature of reason and subjectivity and their proper
relationship to the conception of a foundation for critical theory.
The Philosophical Foundation

On what new philosophical basis is advanced industrial society to
be reproached? Regarding this matter Marcuse’s position applies
not merely to contemporary industrial civilization but to all so
cial orders past, present, and future. The new basis contains
judgments, made unabashedly and without cunning, resting
squarely on a personal but reasoned commitment to specific
norms or values. For the moment I elect to defer the issue of
whether Marcuse successfully defends the objectivity of these
judgments and whether he believes they even require defense.
Marcuse’s argument is that “the established rationality be
comes irrational when, in the course of its internal development,
the potentialities of the system have outgrown its institutions.”11
From this “initial premise,” as I will call it, an approach to eval
uating the present stage of modern civilization is defined. Ad
vanced industrial society is to be evaluated “in light of its used
and unused or abused capabilities for improving the human con
dition .”12 Two value judgments support this argument.
First, “human life is worth living, or rather can be and ought
to be made worth living,” and, second, “in a given society specif
ic possibilities exist for the amelioration of human life and spe
cific ways and means of realizing these possibilities.”13 The sec
ond normative judgment is also a straightforward empirical
proposition and tests could be constructed to prove or disprove
its factual validity. In advanced industrial society it is certainly
beyond dispute. By its normative side Marcuse is implying that
such possibilities ought to be exploited and that the available
means ought to be applied to exploit them.
The first judgment can be misinterpreted and requires some
clarification. If it is necessary to declare that life is, can be, or
ought to be made worth living, on the one hand Marcuse could
be understood as implying that under present circumstances life
is not worthwhile though it would be under changed social con
ditions. As it is stated imperatively, however, Marcuse’s meaning
is that life as such is worth living. On the other hand, if this is so
it could be argued that standing without qualification the judg

ment hardly brings critical pressure to bear on modern society.
Could it be that “life is worth living” means the same as all forms
of life, including that form which prevails, are, can be, or ought
to be made equally worth living? Certainly Marcuse means to
deny this, for he is loath to agree that the established form of
modern society can be made rational. By his first judgment Mar
cuse clearly intends to say that life must be made as worthwhile
as intellectual and material resources permit. And this is precisely
what advanced industrial society cannot do because by its very
nature technical reason both creates and suppresses potentialities.
It is important to be clear about what Marcuse has offered
thus far. His initial premise defines the standard of rationality in
terms of a social system’s use of, misuse of, or failure to use intel
lectual and material resources in obedience to the values implicit
in this premise. This fundamental critical standard and the stan
dards (value judgments) presupposed are contestable and open
to the charge that their objectivity must be defended. Marcuse,
it must be stressed, recognizes this problem emphatically. He
says, for instance, that it is “perfectly logical” to reject the claim
that life is, can be, or ought to be made worth living. Further
more, since he means by this first value judgment that life must
be made as worthwhile as resources allow, his argument is com
plicated by the additional task of establishing criteria that objec
tively distinguish between the rationality of improved forms of
social organization. A critical theory of'society therefore has two
essential and inseparable components for Marcuse. Criticism be
gins “negatively” by acknowledging the “possibility” of alterna
tives to the prevailing institutions and proceeds to the considera
tion of the “positive” or “content” of the alternatives. Once
again,though, by his own admission the objectivity of both these
dimensions is in need of demonstration . 14 Lacking certainty all
critical judgments and evaluations may be no more than relativ
istic. May bel Docs the absence of objectivity, certainty, perhaps
foretell not relativism but an attempt to reconstitute the terms of
critical discourse by reconceptualizing the very notions of foun
dation, objectivity, and certainty? This point will be returned to
shortly.
Marcuse endorses a philosophical foundation for the negative
function of critical theory that combines linguistic, logical, and
ontological characteristics. (Further on it will be seen that Mar

cuse disavows the ontological dimensions of critical theory.) Rec
ommended is a “classical philosophy of grammar,” according to
which the subject of a sentence (proposition) is a “universal” and
its predicates descriptive of the forms and conditions in which the
subject appears .15 The subject is expressed through its predicates
but is never identical to them. Justice is a particular moral and
legal treatment of persons, but it is also more than, and not to be
equated with, a particular moral and legal practice. Essentially
(ontologically), the properties of an object never can be concep
tualized fully. Logically, this essentially inexhaustible “excess of
meaning” implies a wealth of potentialities above and beyond
those already realized in a society. Language provides a vehicle
through which ontological and logical characteristics become
known, though in itself it is no foundation for criticism.
Through language, however, an objective ground for Marcuse’s
standard of rationality is disclosed. The ontological and logical
basis for “potentiality” is at the same time an objective basis for
“unused capabilities.”
Marcuse’s concern with universals was earlier encountered in
the discussion of Reason and Revolution .,6 As can be seen, noth
ing about the critical significance of universals has been added in
this new context, where he alludes briefly to their relationship to
language. With little exception this remains true in a closing
chapter of One-dimensional Man, where the status of universals
is raised again and for a last time . 17 Here the most important
point made is that “universals are primary elements of experi
ence .”18 Through ordinary experience, for example, the individ
ual necessarily learns contrasts. That everyday familiarity with
societies offering varying qualities of freedom and opportunity,
with persons more or less compassionate, and even trivial en
counters with objects of varying shades of a particular color or
with climates of varying temperature, teaches that the concept
(of freedom and opportunity, compassion, blueness, heat and
cold) cannot be reduced to a particular quality or sum of quali
ties. Experience teaches the distinction between the particular
and the universal, actuality and potentiality, the achieved and
the promise of greater fulfillment. Experience, and that which is
experienced, is grasped implicitly as limited. Negativity, so to
speak, is lived.
It is this ontological, logical, and experiential status of univer

s a l that constitutes an objective basis for the negative function
of critical theory. In what sense, though, can the universal be
said to offer standards for critique, a foundation for critical
theory? Even granting the validity of such a foundation, through
this route very little progress can be charted on behalf of objec
tive criteria of rationality. Merely upholding an objective basis
for potential modes of existence, possible forms of social organ
ization, leaves us with the initial problem. Is not the prevailing
social order one possibility among the inexhaustible range of
possibilities represented by the universal? Should it not then be
granted the same validity enjoyed by all logical possibilities? The
true significance of negative reasoning must now be put into
focus. Its logic forces a consideration of alternative possibilities,
but failing to defend the rationality of any one against all others,
the established society must be included among them as a pro
spective candidate. At the least, however, negative thinking
compels reflection, discrimination, the quest for knowledge of
what may be judged the limitations of both the given and other
possible social systems. A decisive question is thus pressed to the
surface. According to Marcuse, are there to be further grounds
for distinguishing the rationality of potential forms of social or
ganization? Put differently, what is the foundation for the posi
tive content of critical theory?
Marcuse has been followed to the point where he must now dif
ferentiate between rational and irratiopal possibilities for social
organization. His first move is to limit the range of possibility he
must consider by identifying factors that act as constraints on the
parameters of critical thought.
To this end Marcuse draws attention to two sets of inescapable
historical constraints. The first affects theory specifically and di
rectly. Without a concrete historical foundation, that is, in the
absence of a class subject in principle bearing the promise of be
coming theory’s practical realization, critical theory necessarily
becomes abstract. For Marcuse, in other words, theory must re
sort to such critical devices as value judgments and universal.
This abstractness does not mean, however, that critical theory
can then proceed from a vantage point external to and unaf
fected by society, as though within its abstract domain lies all
possibility. Theory is also broadly constrained by general m ateri
al conditions. The abstractness resulting from the dissociation of

theory and practice does not free thought from this embedded
ness in history. But while theory’s abstractness is not a transcen
dental standpoint, the other extreme, too, is false. Ideas and
values are not determined by historical conditions. Objectivity
need not Collapse in virtue of material constraints. Rather,
thought has great latitude within these constraints and is bound
only by a “common framework” of social existence in which all
individuals share the “same natural conditions, the same regime
of production, the same mode of exploiting the social wealth, the
same heritage of the past, the same range of possibilities.”19
Within this range of general material factors, which both cre
ate and limit the possibilities for historical development, specific
choices are made. Here we arrive at the second type of historical
constraint. Marcuse borrows Sartre’s concept of “project” to dis
tinguish what he means by choice. Among the array of historical
possibilities one is “seized” or settled upon through conflict
among competing individuals, groups, and classes; in light of
this possibility the society’s dominant cultural, social, economic,
and political institutions are designed. The decision is determi
nate in that it leads to the restructuring of the general historical
factors (described above), which then gives birth to, or “pro
jects,” subsequent possibilities, that is, definite tendencies toward
particular historical possibilities, while excluding others.
Marcuse’s first step has not altered the terms of his problem in
the least but has defined it more clearly. We are advised that the
potentialities to be speculated upon are generally limited by the
achieved level of historical development and, further, by a soci
etal project that has shaped institutions and social relations that
define tendencies limiting (constraining—not determining) fu
ture possibilities. Theory is not autonomous, but neither is the
societal universe heteronomous regarding theoretical discourse.
Objectivity is yet possible but continues to stand in need of dem
onstration. Furthermore, objectivity must be demonstrated in
view of the alternatives that may or may not become available
and in light of their tendencies (or consequences) after a new
“project” has been undertaken.
In comparison with the terms Marcuse finally selects to express
the aim of critical theory, “objectivity” is a rather benign charac
terization. Marcuse is seeking nothing less than “criteria for ob-
jective historical truth,'' although he claims that this truth can

be best formulated as the criteria of its rationality. 20 Marcuse
obviously intends a distinction between criteria of truth and cri
teria of rationality, or at bottom between truth and rationality.
Still, he offers no explanation for why one is the better formula
tion of the other. I will offer an explanation for his distinction
momentarily and then relate this distinction to what I believe to
be the logic underlying Marcuse’s entire discussion of the foun
dation for critical theory. First, what are Marcuse’s criteria of ra
tionality? •
(1) The transcendent project must be in accordance with the real
possibilities open at the attained level of the material and intel
lectual culture.
(2) The transcendent project, in order to falsify the established to
tality, must demonstrate its own higher rationality in the three
fold sense that
(a) it offers the prospect of preserving and improving the
productive achievements of civilization;
(b) it defines the established totality in its very structure, basic
tendencies, and relations;
(c) its realization offers a greater chance for the pacification of
existence, within the framework of institutions which offer a
greater chance for the free development of human needs
and faculties.21
Marcuse’s criteria specifically address the rationality of possi
ble “transcendent” projects, those that presuppose the abolition
of the established society. Temporarily leaving aside the question
of whether these standards do in fact distinguish the rationality of
a transcendent project from that of the established social order, I
want to pose a series of problems with Marcuse’s criteria of ra
tionality. Each problem is a counterpart to a criterion listed
above.
(1 ') Even if it were possible to make an empirical assessment
of intellectual and material resources at the established society’s
disposal upon which everyone would agree, and if it were possi
ble also to elicit agreement that the established institutions do
not merely inhibit but systematically obstruct the realization of
new possibilities, what is and what is not a “real [i.e., technical]
possibility” is an is$ue subject to dispute and likely to produce ex
Civilization Without Discontents III 2 71
tremely divergent views. We would have to ask next whether the

range of possible disagreements is narrowed by the criteria dem
onstrating the “higher” rationality of one project as opposed to
another.
(2 a ') What meaning is to be attached to “improve”? Are the
improvements to be qualitative or quantitative? Similarly, what
many consider a “productive achievement” of civilization, others,
Marcuse particularly, would not, and vice versa.
(2b ') What sort of methodological approaches and epistemo
logical claims are to inform efforts to define social structure,
tendencies, relations? Are not further criteria required to enable
the social sciences to avoid becoming entangled again in tradi
tional debates?
(2c') Finally, is not the question of the “free development of
human needs and faculties” tied inseparably to the conception of
what they are? Both agreement and disagreement over the exist
ence and nature of most needs and faculties would considerably
influence possible agreement on whether they can or ought to be
developed, much less developed freely.
These few problems certainly do not exhaust the inadequacies
of Marcuse’s criteria, but they are sufficient to certify his failure
to provide grounds that objectively discriminate between ra
tional and irrational projects. So long as the essential terms of
Marcuse’s propositions are contestable, none of the criteria can
be applied objectively to any potential form of social organiza
tion to determine whether it is “rationally transcendent.” As they
are stated, the criteria are too vague not only to adjudicate but
even to entertain disputes. For if the meaning of the concepts
constituting each criterion remains indefinite, it is impossible to
judge whether the criterion is being metl But ultimate proof of
the inadequacy of Marcuse’s criteria lies in their inability to ex
clude the limiting case, the prevailing society. With no certainty
about the nature of human needs, for example, it can be claimed
with a plausibility at least equal to that of the disclaimer that
needs and faculties are being developed and freely. This is not
necessarily to say that it is possible to define human needs objec
tively, but such an obligation is implicit in Marcuse’s criterion
(2c).
If Marcuse’s argument is interpreted as an attempt to reconsti
tute the foundations of critical theory, then an indictment of the
sort I have offered is sound and justified and must not be aban
doned so long as it is agreed that the interpretation need not
proceed further. Now, however, I want to suggest an alternative
view that may deepen the interpretation of Marcuse s argument
and that turns the indictment into a defense. I believe that this
second view is correct, but it becomes apparent only after Mar
cuse’s criteria have been evaluated and the charges—as obvious
as they are necessary —leveled. The accusations centering on the
general inadequacy of Marcuse’s criteria are well founded; how
ever, once made, they appear facile.’ Surely Marcuse anticipated
such a critique and for that reason a definite intellectual strategy
must reside behind his highly vulnerable “best formulation.” If
this hypothesis has a remote possibility of being true, Marcuse’s
strategy should be permitted to surface.
What could be the real point of Marcuse’s discussion of stan
dards for critical theory? Is it to pose the question of foundation
and to work toward a definition that sharply distinguishes the
rationality of competing projects, in which case he clearly has
failed? Or is it to pose the question and deliberately to provide an
answer that in virtue of its shortcomings implies that this ques
tion, which appears today as one of the overriding obstacles to a
critical theory of society, has in the past been both posed and an
swered incorrectly?
“The criteria for objective historical truth can best be formu
lated as the criteria of its rationality.” The key to unlocking the
meaning of Marcuse’s proposition is to be found in the relation
ship between truth and rationality that it expresses, together
with the inadequacies of Marcuse’s criteria as outlined. Marcuse
is preoccupied with neither criteria of truth nor criteria of ra
tionality but rather with the criteria o f the rationality o f truth.
What the rationality of truth is, is to be revealed by his criteria
though in an uncommon way. Since Marcuse’s criteria do not
serve as criteria in the usual sense, that is, as standards of judg
ment, could it be that he intends to convey a different sense of
“criteria”? In other words, whereas the “formal” status of criteria
of rationality allows them to discriminate, evaluate, and judge
objectively, that is, to be applied independently of the disposi
tion of any subject, to establish criteria of the rationality of truth
would be to disavow formalization. A sure method of avoiding
formalized criteria would be to leave open all their essential
terms and not to foreclose the meaning of any concept used to

articulate a value, evaluate a practice, and so forth. In this
event, the rationality of truth would emerge as reason or, more
precisely, as reasoning and the purpose of the criteria to do noth
ing more —or less —than to engage us in a consideration of the
criteria themselves and of their component concepts. The failure
of the criteria to legislate judgment becomes the mark of their
success. Marcuse’s criteria would prove that the rationality of
truth is reason because the criteria of its rationality compel us to
reason about the rationality of its criteria! Hence, the basis of
critical theory is no foundation, objectivity, or certainty in the
traditional sense. To seek a universal, unchanging standard that
merely is to be applied is to contribute to the very thing critical
theory opposes —the eclipse of reason, the elimination of subjec
tivity. The best formulation of the philosophical foundation of
truth reformulates its goals. The objective (objectivity) of truth
becomes reasoning, the persistent striving for truth. Reason is its
own foundation. As Marcuse says, “The concept of truth cannot
be divorced from the value of Reason.”zz
Upon examination Marcuse’s new inquiry into the foundations
for critical theory has made an impressive turn. Reason now ap
proaches as nearly to an absolute freedom as can be imagined,
its constraints limited only to those general material factors ear
lier described. Paradoxically, this new freedom has arisen at the
moment in history that is least free. How can this paradox of ab
solute freedom and absolute domination be explained? Techno
logical rationality has eliminated the reasoning agent, the indi
vidual subject. At the same time, this rationality of domination
has destroyed the logic of historical development. There are no
contradictions internal to advanced industrial society, as there
were within capitalism, that would be expressed inexorably
through a revolutionary class, vehicle of qualitative change. This
logic of “determinate negation,” wherein the socialist successor
to capitalism was defined by the dynamics of the latter’s property
relations, was the subversion of the established order but also the
subversion of reason as Marcuse now conceives it. It predeter
mined the historical subject and limited socialist consciousness to
particular values and aims. History was objective Reason, but
with limited reasoning. With the obsolescence of this evolution
ary model history becomes contingency, an open system, its telos
sheer potentiality. On^-dimensional society is thus the benefac

tor of reason as freedom, but since the individual as well as the
class subject has been eliminated, it is a reason and freedom for
theory only. In and for theory, history is the realm of freedom
and determinate choice, the ground for the play of reason. In
practice, however, no such subject remains for Marcuse who can
rationally exercise this freedom.
With this conception of the status of critical theory, Marcuse
has taken an important step forward. Technical rationality has
abolished the traditional foundation' for theory, a development
threatening the viability of criticism. Marcuse’s insight is that
from these ashes a phoenix has arisen. What first appeared to
end theory’s claims to objective rationality actually has emanci
pated theory from the yoke that prevented its appreciation and
celebration of the real nature of reason. Theory’s release from
the Marxist conception of history allows it to represent the values
of reason, subjectivity, and freedom without dictating what rea
son, freedom, and subjectivity ought to be. Critical theory also
escapes its theological past as it was shaped by Hegel as well as
Marx. Marcuse argues that "in the Hegelian dialectic negation
takes on a false character: notwithstanding all the negation and
destruction, it is always being-in-itself which ultimately develops
and rises to a higher historical level by negation .”23 No longer, it
is implied, is theory to be expected to follow or discover a path
leading toward the realization of some a priori, ontological es
sence, some pregiven substance unfolding historically through
agents reduced to instrumentalities.
Behind Marcuse’s notions of history as an open system, the
emancipation of theory and reason, and reason as its own foun
dation, lies optimism. If history is truly contingency, as Marcuse
comes to believe, then the one-dimensional society is as tentative
as any potential historical project. Emerging from Marcuse’s
writings is a perspective on history that forbids the exclusion of
none of the possibilities created by the progress and oppression of
technical rationality. The abstract theoretical subject is free to
liberate the fruits of generations of toil and renunciation as it so
chooses. That history has brought the individual to the stage at
which his freedom is limited virtually by only the achieved level
of intellectual and material resources is indicated fully by Mar
cuse’s declaratioh that man is now (theoretically, though not
practically) in a position to “ask again what is good and what is

evil.”24 Not only theory’s past claims to reason but all historical
conceptions of rationality can be transcended. With this empha
sis upon negation (determinate choice) as the modus vivendi of
the reasoning subject, such a radicalizing of the dialectic voids
any claim to a positive content for critical theory. Consequently,
Marcuse’s entire discussion of the standards for critical theory
belies his lament that today “the critical theory of society pos
sesses no concepts which could bridge the gap between the pres
ent and its future .”25 In a moment of transition from the theoret
ical to the practical subject, and such a moment is predicated by
the notion of history as contingency, individual subjects will de
vise such concepts themselves. Any concepts critical theory
would prescribe in advance of that moment compromise reason,
freedom, and subjectivity as they are understood by Marcuse ac
cording to the terms of his new foundation.
To this point, however, Marcuse’s theory remains wedded to
the thesis that technological domination is absolute and the se
vering of theory and practice irrevocable. (In the following chap
ter we will see that this perspective, too, changes.) Indeed, it is
apparent that the new claims he makes about the nature and sta
tus of history, theory, reason, freedom, and subjectivity grow out
of this thesis. But Marcuse’s argument need not depend upon the
extreme version of technological domination. As I have con
tended throughout, since Marcuse’s implicit conception of the
subject is inadequate, predisposing his analysis to a theory of
one-dimensionality, a richer, more complex notion of individual
subjectivity would form the basis of a revitalized practice. Dur
ing the course of the last three chapters especially, I have argued
that a subject continues to prevail actively in and against the
process of rationalization and theoretically in Freud’s metapsy
chology. In fact, these dimensions of subjectivity are quite com
patible with Marcuse’s new and highly significant views on his
tory, theory, reason, and so on.
This point will be returned to shortly. First it is necessary
briefly to consider a final aspect of Marcuse’s position on the sta
tus of critical theory. The claims he has made for the emancipa
tion of theory and reason from Marx’s conception of history pre
suppose a subject able to think reflectively. The question can
thus be asked of Marcuse what the necessary social preconditions
are for the development of such a subject. I believe Marcuse pro

vides an answer to this query. His response, though, will be mod
est, for an elaborate description of the preconditions for a criti
cal subject would preclude the subject’s right to determine these
conditions freely. And this is exactly what must be avoided ac
cording to Marcuse’s foundations argument. What has occurred
is that the foundations discussion, which placed individual rea
son at the basis of theory, leads to a consideration of the social
preconditions of individual reason. Put another way, the ques
tion concerning the philosophical foundation of critical theory
has been turned into the question regarding the foundation of
individual subjectivity.
In this context two interesting arguments should be examined.
There is no obvious relationship between them and both take up
the question only indirectly. Nevertheless, a relation can be dis
cerned between them, and taken together the arguments con
tribute insight into Marcuse’s preconditions for reason and sub
jectivity.
Marcuse’s first argument, exceptionally abstract, is expressed
through a creative reading of the central categories of Platonic
logic. Beginning with Plato’s concept of reason, Marcuse stresses
the significance of reason for ordinary experience. Reason is dia
lectical, its task being to scrutinize experience in order to dis
cover those of its aspects that are true manifestations of Being.
Since Being is a universal, by differentiating between truth and
falsehood, reality and appearance, reason is seeking to fulfill Be
ing’s real potential. As its dialectical opposite, non-Being is an
actual as well as a logical property of Being. Logically it is the
negation of Being, and in ordinary experience this negation is
expressed actually as that which threatens to arrest or annihilate
(Being’s) potentiality. Reason’s struggle for truth therefore trans
lates into a struggle to realize human potentiality and a struggle
against that which threatens stasis or destruction of that poten
tiality. Inseparable from the nature of Reason, the struggle for
truth saturates human existence for as long as man can reason.
Marcuse refers to this struggle as “the essentially human proj
ect,’’ which “commits and engages human existence.”26
Why is this struggle for truth the essence of reason? Does this
conception of reason speak as well to the nature of reality? In
fact, it does. It is a conception that “reflects the experience of a
world antagonistic in itself—a world afflicted with want and

negativity, constantly threatened with destruction .”27 Marcuse is
here offering his view of the human condition —the limits to via
bility, the impossibility of completely eliminating scarcity, the
“natural” individuality of mankind setting people apart in virtue
of their uniqueness, and so forth .28
However, while reality is essentially antagonistic, forming an
ontological ground of human reason, Marcuse does not mean to
glorify struggle as such. Reason’s purpose is to reduce the strug
gle to a minimum, to conduct the quest for truth in an environ
ment utilizing the achievements of civilization to mitigate toil,
misery, aggressiveness. Reason’s struggle for truth goes hand in
hand with the necessity of creating and improving the conditions
for reason. As its precondition this necessity becomes a definite
standard of reason for unless it is met there can be no pursuit of
truth. Any social order opposing Marcuse’s “essentially human
project,” denying the individual the right to reason, is irrational
and must be brought into harmony with the standard of reason.
Truth can become reality only when the project becomes the
universal project for mankind, that is, when all have equal access
to the intellectual and material resources making reason a possi
bility.
Waged at a high level of abstraction, Marcuse’s argument is
revealing of his own project. His aim seems to be to provide a log
ical defense for the social and universal preconditions of individ
ual reason, for the minimal requirements of subjectivity. Beyond
this, no other claims for reason or on behalf of the subject are in
tended by Marcuse. This initial argument, then, attempts logi
cally to redeem the preconditions for reason in reason itself; that
is, reason must posit certain definite objectives as rationally nec
essary if reason is to become its own objective.
Next, it is possible to infer, as I have, what specific precondi
tions Marcuse has in mind. Such inference proves unnecessary.
The idea of equal access for all to the intellectual and material
resources making reason possible appears in his second argu
ment, the essay “Repressive Tolerance.”
If there is any work of Marcuse’s that has made him notorious
it is surely “Repressive Tolerance.” Marcuse argues that the
“pure tolerance” of liberal societies unwittingly fosters intoler
ance and repression. Although in principle equal toleration of
all views is advocated, in societies characterized by institutions of

inequality those interests having disproportionate power and re
sources have a disproportionate influence over policy and the
shaping of all material and cultural spheres of life. Where the
“background limitations” of wealth and power to tolerance pre
vail, tolerance is turned into its opposite. Conservative voices
dominate to the exclusion of the radical opposition. Needs,
hopes, aspirations, fears, beliefs, and values are molded and in a
single direction.
To this extent Marcuse has said ridthing startling, and he falls
in line with many moderate critics of liberal capitalism. What is
so explosive is the conclusion he draws from the logic of his anal
ysis. Marcuse proposes to end the repressive practices sanctioned
by pure tolerance by substituting a “liberating” or “discriminat
ing” tolerance, meaning “intolerance against movements from
the Right, and toleration of movements from the Left. As to the
scope of this tolerance and intolerance: it would extend to the
stage of action as well as of discussion and propaganda, of deed
as well as of word .”29 Accomplishing the practical intent of toler
ance demands intolerance, a proposal for which Marcuse has
been criticized and attacked.
On the issue of the implications of liberating tolerance there is
very little to be gained either by launching a new defense of Mar
cuse’s position or by taking the side of his critics. Regardless of
the strengths and weaknesses of either side, the real controversy
lies elsewhere, as I will argue. Marcqse even supplies reason to
doubt his own commitment to liberating tolerance. This point
deserves first consideration for it places Marcuse’s radical pro
posal in a new perspective.
Marcuse confesses that his argument for liberating tolerance
contains a petitio principii. The conclusion assumed but not
proved is that the radical objective of discriminating tolerance is
practicable. But this conclusion is false because it presupposes a
mass actually perceiving the necessity for and willing to support
a leadership that would exercise liberating tolerance and, of
course, Marcuse’s critique of pure tolerance, as well as the entire
theory of one-dimensionality, is an argument against the exist
ence of such a mass. Consequently, Marcuse’s extreme measure
has no purchase, by his own admission, because it is unrealis
tic .30 Qualifying "his argument to such a degree, what, then, is his
real purpose?
“Repressive Tolerance” was meant to draw attention, in a dra

matic way, to the absence of the preconditions for reason and to
recreate “in the society at large, the mental space for denial and
reflection .”31 The alternative to the “semi-democratic process”
of liberal tolerance “is not a dictatorship or elite” charged with
the responsibility of exercising tolerance in a discriminating
manner, “no matter how intellectual and intelligent, but the
struggle for a real democracy.”32 Real democracy does not flour
ish when reason is subjected to indoctrinating and manipulating
rule. The background limitations of tolerance must be abolished
so that institutions can promote that equality of education and
distribution of material resources that adequately prepares the
individual to discuss and evaluate competing values, ideas, prac
tices, and policies and to exercise rational choice. Marcuse sub
mits that “The subject whose ‘improvement’ depends on [this]
progressive historical practice is each man as man, and this uni
versality is reflected in that of the discussion, which a priori does
not exclude any group or individual.”33 But in a society marked
by a pure tolerance compromised by background limitations,
how can such a progressive historical practice succeed if not
through the installation of an intellectual elite? The answer, ac
cording to Marcuse, is through the militant activity of radical
minorities “who are willing to break this tyranny and to work for
the emergence of a free and sovereign majority .”34
This last statement raises the controversial issue. Are militant
minorities to work on behalf of majority rights or with the major
ity to secure its rights? There is no evidence in Marcuse’s writings
(up to Counterrevolution and Revolt) suggesting an allegiance to
the second strategy. Politicizing the majority, or even a portion
of it, presupposes the existence of subjectivity, of individuals in
possession of faculties enabling them to reason at least when they
are called upon to do so. And this presupposition follows from a
theory of subjectivity that can detect areas of resistance to, and
capacities not eroded by, technical rationality and ideological
manipulation. Lacking such a theory Marcuse is forced to turn
to militant struggle.
With this the discussion is returned to the earlier point con
cerning both the basis for a revitalized practice and its relation
ship to the conception of reason emerging from Marcuse’s new
analysis of the foundations of critical theory. This point can now
be reformulated as a question: what sort of individual subject is
inclined to political practice? To this most significant of ques

tions Marcuse has given two different and conflicting answers.
Each of these answers must be made perfectly clear.
First, in this chapter it was discovered that Marcuse has of
fered a new foundation for critical theory. The terms of this new
foundation provide a theory of emancipated reason, that is, rea
son as the persistent striving for truth, which presupposes an in
dividual capable of reflective thinking—but reflection in a high
ly qualified sense. Since a decisive characteristic of Marcuse’s
emancipated reason is the open and' contestable property of all
conceptual thought and discourse, the most important quality of
reflection becomes uncertainty. Accordingly, the reasoning of
the reflective individual presupposed by this new concept of rea
son would have about it a precariousness, a groping, an insecur
ity of belief and perhaps a skeptical design, a reluctance or at
least a cautious inclination to act, an uncertainty expressive both
of cognitive and psychological needs for discussion, deliberation,
and of a receptiveness to being challenged and persuaded if pos
sible. Embedded in Marcuse’s new foundation for critical theory,
therefore, is what I choose to call the “true subject of politics.”
Second, Marcuse has two other and intimately related concep
tions of subjectivity. Earlier he was committed to a rationalistic
framework for critical theory. The explicit conception of the
subject entailed here is of one possessing a certainty of knowledge
and belief, an autonomous critical rationality. Now, with “Re
pressive Tolerance,” this critical subject has been embodied in
the radical minorities who act aggressively on behalf of the as
similated majority. And who is this assimilated majority? It is the
one-dimensional subject implicitly contained within Marcuse’s
rationalistic structure for critical theory.
To which of Marcuse’s three subjects are we to subscribe?
Thus far, even Marcuse has not satisfactorily answered this ques
tion for himself; in subsequent work he will take a definite posi
tion, as the next chapter will show. Marcuse’s implicit conception
of the subject is impoverished, one-dimensional. And the ratio
nalistic theory responsible for this one-dimensional subject is ex
plicitly committed to a radical subject fully matured and loaded
down with an arsenal of critical faculties hurling it toward the
barricades. But between these two extremes lies Marcuse’s new
foundation for critical theory —a theory of emancipated reason
Civilization Without Discontents III 2 81
that presupposes a subject both more and less capable than those
entailed by the extremes. This is the true subject of politicsl But
as it underlies Marcuse’s new conception of reason it remains ab
stract. With Counterrevolution and Revolt it will be given a defi
nite shape. Whether this is the subject to which critical theory
ought to subscribe cannot now be answered. What is first re
quired is a rich and complex theory of subjectivity that can de
termine whether such a subject really exists. Although my crit
ical examination of Marcuse’s work does not constitute this
theory, it has tried to demonstrate that certain dimensions of
subjectivity prevail in and against the process of rationalization
but are neglected by Marcuse. This subject, in fact, is remark
ably similar to that presupposed by the terms of Marcuse’s new
foundation for critical theory and its concept of emancipated
reason and is a parallel to the reflective, radically disposed sub
ject of Marcuse’s early work (see chapter one).
Thus, an adequate concept of the subject arises as the overrid
ing objective for a critical theory of society, but it is an objective
that cannot be met either by taking refuge in rationalism, in crit
ical “theory,” or only by developing a richer and more complex
theory of subjectivity. To grasp the true nature of subjectivity is
to grasp the subject in practice, as well. Marcuse has expressed
this point succinctly.
In the interplay of theory and practice, true and false solutions be
come distinguishable —never with the evidence of necessity, never as
the positive, only with the certainty of a reasoned and reasonable
chance, and with the persuasive force of the negative.*5
To complete the analysis of Marcuse’s argument regarding the
foundations of critical theory, a final problem needs to be con
sidered. The problem originates in an appreciation of Marcuse’s
broader and more ambitious theoretical objective: to lay founda
tions for critical theory that extend beyond the philosophical
basis we have just examined. Briefly, the problem can be de
scribed in this way: what is the relationship of Marcuse’s philo
sophical foundation to his interpretation of Freud’s instinct theory
and metapsychology, to the anthropological basis of critical the
ory Marcuse summarized by the phrase “a biological foundation
for socialism” and which I have referred to as his “second dimen
sion”? Are the philosophical and anthropological dimensions of
Marcuse’s critical theory complementary? It is appropriate to ex

plore this issue within the context of Marcuse’s criticism of scien
tific reason, as will become evident, for it is only by reference to
this critique that we can obtain a clear and adequate grasp of the
quite special claim he makes for anthropos.
The Anthropological Foundation and the New Science
What is the essence of scientific reason? Specifically, is the ra

tionality of science also a logic, a body of inherent principles that
determine a necessary, in the sense of unavoidable and un
changeable, relation to its object of inquiry? Repeating an argu
ment from Husserl’s Crisis o f European Sciences and Transcen
dental Phenomenology, Marcuse answers in the affirmative .36
The object of science —nature —is comprehended through a lan
guage denying it any meaning except that which can be expressed
quantitatively. The “mathematization of nature,” in Husserl’s
words, is a symbolic conceptualization transforming all of n a
ture’s qualities into quantifiable attributes—physical laws, uni
versal relations. Two problems then arise. The abstractness of
science’s conceptual structure conceals its inherent relation to
nature and also prevents science from being translated directly
into a means servicing nonrepressive social aims and practices .37
Science’s necessary relation to nature is already expressed in
the symbolic representation of nature, the reduction of quality
(e.g., beauty) into quantity through nature’s mathematization.
The scientific transformation of quality into quantity is in es
sence a domination of nature. In Marcuse’s words, “Pure science
has an inherently instrumental character prior to all specific ap
plication .”38 But this intrinsic relation assumes a far less benign
form in the only practical mode of expression, or application,
available to science —technology. “Science and society,” Mar
cuse explains, “theoretical and practical reason, meet in the m e
dium of technology.”39 A societal project committed to the de
velopment of science necessarily universalizes scientific reason
and therefore the technological rationality and technological
domination of nature and human natqre inherent in it.
Technological domination, in all its manifestations considered
thus far, is the “hidden subject” and “inherent limit of the estab
lished science and scientific method.” With this argument M ar
cuse reaches a crucial juncture. If society is to become truly free,

its rationality must be other than the rationality of science. Or,
what is but the same thing, the established science must be ex
changed for a “new science,” a qualitatively new idea of theoreti
cal and practical reason. Such a departure, Marcuse declares,
would be so radical as to be “catastrophic” for the prevailing so
ciety, the complete abolition of existing order, the end of our
present way of knowing and conceptualizing.
What precisely does Marcuse mean by a new science? In One
dimensional Man, where the idea first appears in contradistinc
tion to the established scientific reason, there is little in the way
of a precise elaboration. Nor is there further elaboration in any
subsequent work that explicitly argues for a definite conception
of a new science. Yet, in One-dimensional Man Marcuse attrib
utes particular characteristics to, and offers hints about, the new
science; elsewhere he provides a description of (another) radical
notion of reason. From such evidence it is easy to say what other
and major aspect of his thought fills out this conception.
First, the new science entails the arrest of technological devel
opment, for only that measure can neutralize technical reason
and reverse the process of technological domination. “Arrest” is
a decisive term. Marcuse is not a modern Luddite. The break
with technics signifies a departure from its “rationality,” while
the fully developed technical base, the apparatus of production,
is “reconstructed,” that is, utilized with a view to different ends.
Second, labor is reduced to a bare minimum, to the level at
which the vital needs of all members of society can be satisfied
with the least amount of toil and aggressivity.
Third, the arrest of technological development and the fur
thest possible reduction of labor are intended physically to sepa
rate the individual from the productive process, to render obso
lete the need for his participation. The release from labor would
be accomplished through the automation of productive labor
and its centralized organization and control.
Fourth, Marcuse’s radical idea of reason is based upon new
concepts of time and progress. Progress will no longer be eval
uated quantitatively with productivity for its own sake as the
highest value. Rather than ceaseless labor, discontent, and the
denial of gratification for the benefit of future material goods,
progress will mean peace, contentment, and the happiness of
gratified human needs. Linear time will cease to be meaningful.
Happiness would have'permanence and would no longer be ex

perienced as a series of momentary pleasures fleeting in the pre
sent, distant and uncertain in the future.
These characteristics of the new science add up to significantly
more than the preconditions for a rational society. They would
be expressive of a new reality principle, which could, as Marcuse
requires, bind the growth of science in the modern world as re
ligion had in the Middle Ages.40 Marcuse alludes to this new
reality principle in One-dimensional Man when he suggests that
it “pertains to the metaphysics of liberation —to the reconcilia
tion of Logos and Eros. This idea envisages the coming-to-rest of
the repressive productivity of Reason, the end of domination in
gratification .”41
With this suggestion Marcuse promptly returns us to his inter
pretation of Freud, to Eros as Reason (Logos), to the notion of li-
bidinal rationality, the logic of gratification. The return is
hinted at in the fourth characteristic noted above because the
new concepts of progress and time were first developed in Eros
and Civilization ,42 There the philosophies of Aristotle (the nous
theos), Hegel (the Absolute Spirit), and Nietzsche (the myth of
eternal return) express, albeit in different ways, the highest idea
of reason, that of attained and sustained fulfillment, when all
potential has become actualized, where individual needs and ca
pacities are no longer alienated to an imposed rationality of
either sacrifice or domination, necessity or the social organiza
tion of necessity. Elsewhere Marcuse recalls the cyclical theories
of history, those of Thucydides, Machiavelli, Vico, Toynbee,
and Spengler, each symbolizing the concept of freedom as grati
fication, fulfillment, and rest.43
The metaphors of philosophers and historians are approxima
tions of Marcuse’s new idea of reason. What must be stressed is
not merely that technological development could be arrested
and bound securely by the substitution of a new principle of rea
son for the productive rationality of technics, but that this princi
ple must be of a particular kind with a definite content. It cannot
be other than the reflection of a subject capable of a radically
different disposition to and experience of nature and human re
lations—a disposition that is passive, an experience that is recep
tive. Passivity and receptivity are qualities antithetical to those
that animate the -active and appropriating subject of technical
reason. Technical rationality would cease to rule where and only

where those former qualities prevailed. Marcuse’s new science is
his second dimension. The erotic, passive, receptive sensibility of
the libidinal rationality is also’the biological need for gratifica
tion, fulfillment, rest, peace, beauty, and solitude. It is, in a
phrase, the “biological foundation for socialism.”
Nothing more in the way of a critical analysis of Marcuse’s sec
ond dimension and its many fallacies need be pursued. It is ap
propriate, however, to recall a major point of the argument
developed in chapter three for the purpose of acquiring a per
spective on the relationship of Marcuse’s new science to his philo
sophical foundation for critical theory.
If it is correct to argue, as I have done, that Marcuse’s new
science is synonymous with his second dimension, then it is also
correct to claim that the relation of the new science to Marcuse’s
philosophical foundation is actually a question about the rela
tionship between two different sorts of foundations, the second
being anthropological. It is evident, though, that the founda
tions do not complement one another. In fact, they accomplish
two entirely different and contradictory objectives.
Marcuse’s philosophical foundation for critical theory re
stores, in the fullest sense, the subject as reason, subjectivity as
reasoning. By this is meant that what the individual aspires to
become, the forms of social organization he devises, and the val
ues and standards he adopts to guide his every thought and ac
tion are open, contestable, and liable to change through critical
reflection. At the limit, what should be provided for the subject,
and what Marcuse does provide, are the theoretical precondi
tions for rational discourse.
But this philosophical foundation is undermined in two ways
by Marcuse’s anthropological basis for critical theory. First, the
latter foundation is a positive content for theory legislating all di
mensions of subjectivity—its cognitive, psychological, and bio
logical constitution; ethics; relatedness to man and nature; and
so forth. The anthropological conception determines the subject
and the subject’s mode of being in advance and in a manner pre
cluding the issues and problems with which a free subject would
contend. Second, and paradoxically, this conception of the sub
ject is inadequate and actually contributes to the eclipse of sub
jectivity. Here I refer to the thesis of the third chapter, where it
was argued that Marcuse's interpretation of Freud supposes a re

gression behind those stages of psychosexual development estab
lishing the biological preconditions for reason (sublimation).
Consequently, the second dimension is intended as a comprehen
sive anthropological foundation for critical theory, but it is one
that ultimately fails because it achieves both too much and too
little. An anthropological basis for critical theory should do nei
ther more nor less than establish the existence of the subject, of
an individual possessing the capacity and the will to reason.
*
Notes
ogy of Advanced Industrial Society (Boston: Beacon, 1964), p. 21.
2. Ibid., pp. xii-xiii; see also Marcuse’s “Socialism in the Devel
oped Countries,’’ International Socialist Journal, 2, 8 (Rome: 1965),
p. 140; originally published as "Perspektiven des Sozialismus in der
entwickelten Industriegesellschaft,” Praxis, 1, 2-3 (Zagreb: 1965), pp.
260-270.
3. Marcuse argues that in “the advanced industrial countries there
is a class society; all the fine talk about a levelling out of the classes or
a property-owning democracy is no more than pure ideology.” “So
cialism in the Developed Countries,” p. 140.
4. Herbert Marcuse, “Some Social Implications of Modern Tech
nology,” Studies in Philosophy and Social Science, 9, 3 (New York:
1941), p.423.
5. One-dimensional Man, p. 11; also see Herbert Marcuse, “The
Individual in the ‘Great Society’ ” (part 2), Alternatives, 1, 2 (San
Diego: 1966), p. 29.
6. Herbert Marcuse, “Freedom and Freud’s Theory of Instincts,”
Five Lectures (Boston: Beacon, 1970), p. 12; originally published as
“Trieblehre und Freiheit,” Freud in der Gegenwart: Ein Vortragszy-
klus der Universitaten Frankfurt und Heidelberg zum hundersten Ge-
burtstag, Frankfurter Beitrage zur Soziologie, 6 (Frankfurt: 1957),
p p .401-424.
8. “Some Social Implications of Modern Technology,” p. 424.
9. Other examples of the “unification of opposites” can be found in
One-dimensional Man, pp. 226-227, and in Herbert Marcuse, “Epi
logue to the New German Edition of Mafx’s 18th Brumaire of Louis
Napolean," Radical America, 3, 4 (Cambridge: 1969), p. 59; origi
nally published as the Epilogue to Karl Marx, Der 18. Brumaire des
Louis Bonaparte (Frankfurt: Insel, 1965), pp. 143-150.
10. “Epilogue to the New German Edition of Marx’s 18th Brumaire

of Louis Napolean,” p. 59.
12. Ibid., p. x.
13. Ibid., pp. x-xi.
14. Ibid., pp. x, 217, 219.
15. Ibid., pp. 95-96.
16. See chapter two, pp. 68-69, 74-76.
17. One-dimensional Man, pp. 203-224.
18. Ibid., p. 211.
19. Ibid., p. 218.
21. Ibid.
22. Ibid (italics added).
23. Herbert Marcuse, “The Concept of Negation in the Dialectic,”
Telos, 8 (St. Louis: 1971), p. 130; originally published as “Zum Be*
griff der Negation in der Dialektik,” Filosoficky casopis, 15, 3
(Prague: 1967), pp. 375-379.
24. Herbert Marcuse, “Eros and Culture,” Cambridge Review, 1, 3
(Cambridge: 1955), p. 109.
25. One-dimensional Man, p.257.
26. Ibid., p. 125.
27. Ibid.
28. Even in a truly rational or “utopian” society, Marcuse explains,
there would not be “perennial happiness. The ‘natural’ individuality
of man is also the source of his natural sorrow. If the human relations
are nothing but human, if they are freed from all foreign standards,
they will be permeated with the sadness of their singular content. They
are transitory and irreplaceable, and their transitory character will be
accentuated when concern for the human being is no longer mingled
with fear for his material existence and overshadowed by the threat of
poverty, hunger, and social ostracism.” “Some Social Implications of
Modern Technology,” pp. 438-439.
29. Herbert Marcuse, “Repressive Tolerance,” A Critique of Pure
Tolerance (Boston: Beacon, 1965), p. 109.
30. Ibid., p. 123.
31. Ibid., p. 112.
32. Ibid., p. 122.
34. Ibid., p. 123.
35. Ibid., p. 87.
36. One-dimensional Man, pp. 162-166.
37. Hannah Arendt makes a similar point about the inherent con
ceptual limits of scientific language. “Wherever the relevance of
speech is at stake, matters become political by definition, for speech is

what makes man a political being. If we would follow the advice, so
frequently urged upon us, to adjust our cultural attitudes to the pres
ent status of scientific achievement, we would in all earnest adopt a
way of life in which speech is no longer meaningful. For the sciences
today have been forced to adopt a ‘language’ of mathematical symbols
which, though it was originally meant only as an abbreviation for
spoken statements, now contains statements that in no way can be
translated back into speech. The reason why it may be wise to distrust
the political judgement of scientists qua .scientists is not primarily their
lack of ‘character’—that they did not refuse to develop atomic wea
pons—or their naivete —that they did not understand that once these
weapons were developed they would be the last to be consulted about
their use —but precisely the fact that they move in a world where
speech has lost its power.” The Human Condition (New York: Double
day, Anchor Books, 1959), p. 4.
38. Herbert Marcuse, “On Science and Phenomenology,” in Boston
Studies in the Philosophy of Science, 2, edited by Robert Cohen and
Marx W. Wartofsky (New York: Humanities, 1965), p. 286.
39. Herbert Marcuse, “The Problem of Social Change in the Tech
nological Society,” in Le Developpement social, edited by Raymond
Aron and Bert F. Hoselitz (Paris: Mouton, 1965), p. 147; volume
printed for limited distribution; address presented to a UNESCO sym
posium on social development, May 1961.
40. Herbert Marcuse, “The Responsibility of Science,” in The Re
sponsibility of Power: Historical Essays in Honor of Hajo Holborn,
edited by L. Krieger and F. Stern (New York: Doubleday, 1967), pp.
439-440.
42. Herbert Marcuse, Eros and Civilization: A Philosophical In
quiry into Freud (Boston: Beacon, 1955), pp. 106-126.
43. Herbert Marcuse, “Karl Popper and the Problem of Historical
Laws,” Studies in Critical Philosophy (Boston: Beacon, 1973), p. 199;
originally published as "Notes on the Problem of Historical Laws,”
Partisan Review, 26, 1 (New Brunswick: 1959), pp. 117-129.
SEVEN
Revolutionary Subject,
Revolutionary Class
Often, the outward and visible material signs and
symbols of happiness and success only show them
selves when the process of decline has already set in.
The outer manifestations take time—like the light of
that star up there, which may in reality be already
quenched, when it looks to us to be shining its
brightest.
Thomas Mann, Buddenbrooks
in at least one sense, conscientiously attempts

C r it ic a l t h e o r y ,
to resist falling into the miasma of ideology. Many varieties of
contemporary Marxism have held fast to the unqualified belief
in the proletariat as revolutionary agent of historical transforma
tion, although this belief certainly has not been expressed in sim
ilar ways or for similar reasons. Marcuse and the other members
of the Frankfurt School recognized that the historical develop
ment of capitalism both produced and abolished the proletariat
as vehicle of qualitative change. Since Marx critical theory has
been a theory of the transition to socialism and of those factors
that explain why the transition has not occurred and perhaps
never will occur .1 In the present stage of capitalism the failure of
socialism appears to critical theory to be as inevitable as did its
success during capitalism’s earlier stages.
With this sober conclusion pressed by history upon critical the
ory, it would be a simple matter for theory to take flight from
289
reality and seek refuge in the fantasy of a proletarian mythology.

Such flight would be perfectly understandable in view of the
depth of emotional involvement of the critical theorists in their
work, evidenced by the frequently depressive tone of their writ
ings and by remarks of this sort offered by Marcuse —“I literally
couldn’t stand it any longer if nothing would change. Even I am
suffocating.”2 Pathos can be a measure of the temptation to fall
into ideological solutions to the plight of modern socialism and
of the theoretical objectivity that is exercised to resist the tem pta
tion.
Reflecting on critical theory’s prognosis of the once promising
but now dismal prospects for radical social change, Marcuse
charges that such theoretical objectivity is not without fault.
If the same theory can equally well deal with the development A as
well as non-A, prosperity as well as crisis, revolution as well as the
absence of revolution, or the radicalization of the working class as
well as its integration into the existing system, then although this
may indicate the validity of the theory, it also indicates its indiffer
ence.3
“Indifference” casts a new light on a theory that otherwise is ap
proved for its objective analysis and portrayal of historical tend
encies. It strongly suggests that regardless of the evaluation of
tendencies, and especially where the evaluation stresses that the
dominant tendency is toward the preservation of the status quo,
theory ought to adopt a strategy of identifying sources of resist
ance to the prevailing institutions and practices, even if those
sources of “negativity” identified cannot be accorded the stature
of revolutionary agents. Critical theory, in other words, must
overcome its indifference, which does not mean sacrificing its
objectivity, and become political in a practical sense. It must
strive toward politics though social reality is invested only with
the forces of a primitive, chaotic, unorganized opposition.
Marcuse’s Moral Turn

By way of introduction I choose this issue of critical theory’s fealty
to objectivity and its imposed burden>of indifference weighing
upon the theorist because I believe it will explain why Marcuse’s
well-known but imperfectly understood and (only for that rea
son) “notorious” association with the New Left, which begins
roughly in the middle 1960s, marks a break with the theory of

one-dimensionality. This break may have appeared obvious and
in no need of explanation, for during approximately the next
decade we find Marcuse writing extensively and enthusiastically
about the composition of the New Left, its prospects for initiat
ing change, and the nature of change it represents. Yet, a study
of these works does not support the obvious interpretation that
Marcuse viewed the New Left, and other oppositional strata with
which he was concerned, as a new historical agent of social trans
formation. The New Left and its rebellious company did not
prove to him that the domination of technical reason was not as
effective as he once firmly believed. Assuming the contrary
would introduce a contradiction into Marcuse’s work during this
period because such a view would be inconsistent with the theory
of one-dimensionality—a theory that was retained in the bulk of
Marcuse’s writing on the New Left. Falling far short of a modern
counterpart to Marx’s proletariat, the New Left could not have
prompted Marcuse to break with past theoretical claims.
A break did occur, however, and it is heralded by Marcuse’s
self-proclaimed alliance with the New Left. “I believe,” Marcuse
exclaimed in 1968, “that the New Left today is the only hope we
have .”4 In what sense, then, does Marcuse’s intense interest in
the New Left signal a departure from the one-dimensionality
thesis?
While the New Left came to occupy a definite place in Mar
cuse’s theory as a practical force for sweeping change, though a
place revised considerably over the years, at first its most promi
nent theoretical function was symbolic. Restoring a hum anitar
ian dimension to radical politics, the New Left’s criticism of ad
vanced industrial society was moral in kind. The New Left had
begun to “relearn what we,” Marcuse lamented, “forgot during
the Fascist period . . . that humanitarian and moral arguments
are not merely deceitful ideology.”5 Only moral discourse could
succeed where traditional indictments of capitalism, those em
phasizing material inequalities and deprivations, had been made
obsolete by technical progress. Specifically, in Marcuse’s estima
tion, what sort of case on behalf of humanity was made by the
New Left? This question will be considered in greater depth
when the discussion turns to Marcuse’s “new sensibility.” For
now, it can be said simply that the New Left gave expression to
new conceptions of human need, happiness, and freedom, to
goals transcending the Established form of life. Moral criticism

of this nature could be persuasive, though moral outrage was
not: “Genocide, war crimes, crimes against humanity are not ef
fective arguments against a government which protects property,
trade, and commerce at home while it perpetuates its destructive
policy abroad .”6
Theoretically, the New Left’s attack was a sign that the quan
titative progress of technological rationality was inadequate as a
social cement to bind together the institutions of advanced in
dustrial society. The system’s inexhaustible technical resources,
organized to “deliver the goods,” were not appreciated by some
groups within the society as equivalent to the highest public
good. Soon Marcuse realized that “very different from the revo
lution at previous stages of history, this opposition is directed
against the totality of a well-functioning, prosperous society.”7
Overwhelming material achievements may be capable of eroding
the traditional bases of contradiction but generate new antago
nisms in their place. “Revolution aus Ekel!” Revolution out of
disgust at the “general inhumanity, dehumanization, waste and
excess of the so-called consumer society.”8 Later, in Counterrev
olution and Revolt, Marcuse will argue a refined version of this
thesis. Affluence does not merely create opposition out of disgust
but delegitimizes the society by emptying its most salient norm a
tive structures of content.
Resisting the temptations of prosperity, insisting on an experi
ence of the world no longer mediated by “things,” giving expres
sion to humanitarian values and objectives, in short, symbolizing
the aspirations of those who should one day found a nonrepres-
sive social order, the New Left created problems for the theory of
technological domination. At a point in its evolution, by virtue
of its own technical and material accomplishments one-dimen
sional society becomes not more but less impervious to internal
contradictions. At the same time, however, for reasons to be
made clear shortly, the New Left could neither fulfill the role as
signed to the historical agent of social transformation nor per
haps even constitute a genuine threat to stability. Yet, the New
Left must be, and in fact is, incorporated by Marcuse into his
theory. On what grounds? %
The theoretical development that occurred was not at first a
complete break with the one-dimensionality thesis. That would
not come about until 1972, with Counterrevolution and Revolt.

Of a rather more subtle nature, the change in Marcuse’s think
ing can be described best as a theoretical revision and a moral
break. In its capacity as moral agency the New Left became a
theoretical and moral inspiration for Marcuse or, more emphati
cally, it became actually as much of a moral force within his
work as he believed the New Left to be a moral force within soci
ety. Viewing the New Left as an unorganized, frequently anti-
theoretical and anti-intellectual but morally armed opposition,
Marcuse is first moved by its moral character to take it into ac
count. But why should moral discourse have had this impact
upon his thought? Marcuse’s opening to the left is an accommo
dation, a theoretical revision, but foremost a moral response to
moral pressures that educated him to the immorality or, to recall
the earlier term, indifference of critical theory. Theory now
must be committed to discovering oppositional tendencies re
gardless of how limp or ill-defined they appear according to the
traditional (rationalistic) framework of critical theory. The New
Left represented one such tendency. Acting in good faith is the
ultimate meaning of Marcuse’s assertion that “we,” the intellec
tuals, the theorists, “must finally relearn what we forgot during
the Fascist period . . . that humanitarian and moral arguments
are not merely deceitful ideology.”
What cannot be overestimated is the broader, long-range sig
nificance for Marcuse’s theory of the humanitarian dimension
symbolized by the New Left. Ostensibly, the New Left was a his
torical development that compelled Marcuse to reflect upon his
theoretical claims. Incorporating it into his theory was an initial
theoretical revision that refocused his analysis on social processes
that would become increasingly unstable. Attuned to these proc
esses, Marcuse then followed with additional revisions. Conse
quently, prompted by his moral turn, the first theoretical revi
sion, of which more now will be said, is also the first and decisive
stage giving occasion to a gradual transition to a richer concep
tion of subjectivity in a radicalized critical theory. As we saw, the
new conception of subjectivity was present already, but only im
plicitly, in Marcuse’s philosophical foundation for critical
theory .9
Before this transition is completed, continuity is preserved in
Marcuse’s critical theory. The revision allowing for the accom
modation of oppositional tendencies occurs within a single

framework. The one-dimensionality thesis remains fundamen
tally unchanged. Revolution depends upon the emergence of a
mass base, but suffering from the paralysis induced by technologi
cal domination there is little likelihood of the mass s becoming
politicized. A “perfect barbarism where freedom and automa
tism coincide” is yet the dominant tendency of advanced indus
trial society. 10 The task of liberation can go forward only where
the radical opposition recognizes that “society has invaded even
the deepest roots of individual existence, even the unconscious of
m an .”11 But liberation can go forward. Although Marcuse con
tinues to remind us that “under total capitalist administration
and introjection, the social determination of consciousness is all
but complete and immediate,” now, in the era of New Left poli
tics, he contends also that
under these circumstances, radical change in consciousness is the
beginning, the first step in changing social existence: emergence of
the new Subject. Historically, it is again the period of enlighten
ment prior to material change —a period of education, but educa
tion which turns into praxis: demonstration, confrontation, rebel
lion.12
An exceptional remark! Side by side with a strong affirmation
of the one-dimensionality argument lies an equally forceful ex
pression of belief in the possibility for freeing the individual from
an internalized enslavement that is (np longer?) thought to be
fathomless. Marcuse has taken a serious step toward a new proj
ect, the reunification of theory and practice. In this spirit he pro
poses that “the idea of revolution is never a ‘mystification.’ ”13 His
support for the New Left becomes unqualified, tempered only by
the advice that the movement must avoid both defeatism and il
lusions of success.14 In fact, Marcuse can now claim what his the
ory previously denied —that his concern is to project not merely
the objective technical potentialities for liberation but the sub
jective possibilities for revolution as well.15
To this point, I have proposed that the New Left conveyed a
very special and, perhaps in a deeper sense, even personal signifi
cance for Marcuse. Investigating the moral as well as the theoret
ical aspects of Marcuse’s critical theory made possible certain im
portant clarifications. The nature of his theoretical response to
the New Left could be explained in such a way as to account for
the extension of the one-dimensionality thesis into this stage of

his work, while also entertaining the suggestion that he may be
taking strides toward closing the distance between theory and
practice. Given this perspective, an abrupt development that
certainly would have appeared to embody a contradiction is
proven to have an underlying coherence with previous theoreti
cal work. With this argument the path is now cleared for an
analysis of Marcuse’s critical theory as it further developed in the
historical context of New Left politics. The remainder of the
chapter is arranged as follows.
Once Marcuse had incorporated subjective factors as progres
sive tendencies into his theoretical framework, he was obliged to
introduce certain other theoretical revisions. Marcuse’s greatest
challenge lay in the redefinition of the concept of revolution.
Faced squarely, the theoretical implications of New Left politics
required modifications in that concept amounting to a nearly
complete reformulation of the traditional Marxist theory of revo
lution. Inquiring first into Marcuse’s theoretical revisions, I pro
vide an overview of the amended economic basis and social com
position of revolution and of revolutionary strategies and their
justifications. In this context, it will be shown that all conceptual
revisions and proposed strategies are consistent with the theory of
one-dimensionality. This point would be less significant theoreti
cally than as a historical detail if it were not for two interesting
and important questions that it raises. First, since Marcuse con
ceived revolutionary strategies from the standpoint of the one-di
mensionality thesis, could the New Left’s real strategic prospects
for influencing a political practice beyond its own (organization
al) frontiers be obscured by Marcuse’s theory? Second, if the
New Left had adopted Marcuse’s proposed strategies, what
would have been the result? The second question directly con
cerns the relationship of theory and practice in Marcuse’s critical
theory, and addresses the issue of whether his theoretical revisions
contributed to healing the separation between theory and prac
tice. Both questions quite obviously offer the opportunity for ar
riving at a better understanding of the political as well as the the
oretical implications of Marcuse’s critical theory during this
time. These questions will be answered in the course of discussion.
Next, a series of related issues will be explored. Marcuse’s “new
sensibility” will be examined, lending depth to the prior consid
eration of the humanitarian dimension represented by the New
Left. A fascinating parallel between Marcuse’s anthropological

foundation for critical theory, the new sensibility, and the New
Left will be observed. At the same time, the new sensibility will
be shown to be the theoretical development that compelled Mar
cuse to make a complete break with the one-dimensionality the
sis. As such, it is the theoretical bridge to Counterrevolution and
Revolt.
Finally, the discussion will turn to Counterrevolution and
Revolt. I have singled out this work because it does appear to
realize, or comes very near to realizihg, the promise of a reuni
fied theory and practice intimated in Marcuse’s writings during
the previous New Left years. A new concept of subjectivity is sup
posed, and revisions of prior revisions occur. A complete break
with the theory of one-dimensionality has been made at last.
Redefining Revolution
F a c t o r s in t h e S o c ia l C o m p o s it io n o f R e v o l u t io n
After retrieving the concept of revolution from a premature

grave, Marcuse submits it to a reevaluation in the context of po
litical developments associated with the New Left. One such de
velopment already has been noted. In the advanced industrial
societies, economic prosperity rather than economic crisis be
comes a material basis for generating opposition. Crisis is no
longer a necessary condition for social transformation, an impor
tant revision of the orthodox Marxist formula for revolution. As
we have seen, of course, even if prosperity were not to Figure in
the conceptual renewal of revolution, crisis would still have to be
rejected as part of Marcuse’s conceptual apparatus. The psycho
logical underpinnings of domination weigh heavily against the
possibility that in the midst of crisis a socialist consciousness
would be bred .16
Prosperity does not only spur opposition. Along with the deeply
entrenched psychological roots of domination, affluence contin
ues to secure the yoke of domination on the vast majority of the
population, including the working class. Together with crisis,
then, class is jettisoned by Marcuse as'an element of the concep
tion of revolution in advanced industrial society. This is to be ex
pected where the central aspects of the one-dimensionality thesis
are retained.
For Marx, the revolution was to be a majority affair. Marcuse

also subjects this aspect of the concept to revision. This does not
mean, however, that the revolutionary minority is as it was in
“Repressive Tolerance .”17 Marcuse's theory of revolution has
moved beyond that argument. The New Left must forge alli
ances, among which is to be included an alliance with the work
ing class. (This point does not contradict the revision that elimi
nated class from the concept of revolution, which shall become
clear.) Even an alliance with the working class, however, would
not make the revolution a revolution of the majority. Technical
factors, such as the rationalization of the productive process,
have reduced considerably the size of the proletariat to the ex
tent to which it is no longer the class of the majority .18
From Marcuse’s analysis of the situation of the working class in
advanced industrial society, another important revision follows.
Since the revolution is not to be waged (primarily) through the
large-scale, mass action of the proletariat, the dictatorship or
ganizing the transitional stage from capitalism to communism
would not be a revolutionary dictatorship of the proletariat. It
necessarily would be a joint dictatorship of New Left forces and
the working class.
Greatly extended, the new social basis for revolution is as dif
ferent from its class based predecessor as the new material basis,
prosperity, is from economic crisis. Cutting across class and ra
cial lines, the social composition of the New Left includes civil
rights groups, intellectuals, students, and other youth groups
such as hippies. Marcuse argues that “corresponding to reality,”
that is, to the empirical character of the opposition in advanced
industrial society, this circumstance nevertheless “is a real night
mare for ‘old Marxists.’”19 Marcuse’s assessment is that this new
social basis is neo-Marxist rather than Marxist. It is difficult to
grasp why he attaches the neo-Marxist label to these groups col
lectively though, as he does when he praises the New Left for its
distrust of old leftist parties and their ideology.20 Somehow Mar
cuse has overlooked the fact that these groups were highly politi
cized around a plethora of Marxist and neo-Marxist ideologies
that distinguished often hostile factions within the New Left.
Marcuse extends the social basis for revolution far beyond the
New Left. He is optimistic about the chances for the emergence
of socialism in the Third World because its masses seem not to be
“integrated into the value system of the old [presumably colo
nial] societies.”21 MarcUse’s conception of revolution, though, is

not intended to project separate tendencies for revolution in the
Third World and in the advanced industrial societies. Rather,
Marcuse’s concept includes a “global” perspective that attempts
to demonstrate the objective possibility and necessity for an alli
ance of revolutionary forces in the West and in the Third World.
What are the dynamics of this global perspective and what is the
nature of the alliance?
“In today’s situation,” Marcuse argues, “there is no longer
anything ‘outside capitalism.’ ”22 “The'opposition is concentrated
among the outsiders within the established order .”23 Here Mar
cuse begins to speak less of advanced industrial society than of
capitalism or, more exactly, of a world capitalist system. Capi
talism’s systemic character means that a change in one area
causes changes in other areas. Third World struggles against im
perialism, specifically the colonial and neocolonial penetration
upon which the economic and political strength of capitalism de
pends, could undermine capitalist stability. While Marcuse does
not say explicitly that these struggles would produce an econom
ic crisis, as much can be inferred from his assertion that capital
ism “can survive only if its expansion is not blocked .”24 Does
Marcuse mean to reintroduce crisis into his conception of revolu
tion? He does, though not according to the traditional Marxist
format. Crisis is not instrumental to the emergence of subjective
factors for revolution but would complement, in a decisive way,
the tendencies toward change within the capitalist societies once
they had begun to be developed consciously by oppositional
forces. The crisis induced by Third World liberation movements
must be “synchronized” with the standard antagonisms burden
ing the advanced stages of capitalism, such as those produced by
the rationalization of the productive process (e.g., unemploy
ment and a declining margin of profit associated with increasing
automation) and by the efforts to retain neocolonial holdings
(e.g., war costs draining subsidies from the welfare state). At the
same time, the morale and discipline required for work under
capitalism weaken as artificial needs are satisfied —a satisfaction
breeds indolence and lethargy syndrome. Strategically located
socioeconomic groups (the working clzfss, professional and tech
nical classes) affected by these contradictions would be organized
and mobilized by the New Left to paralyze the central economic
structures. Alone, however, the New Left in alliance with these

groups could not succeed for the capitalist system is too power
ful. At this point, an economic crisis manufactured through rev
olution in the Third World would deliver the crippling blow.
Hence, the success of revolution depends on an international al
liance of Third World forces and forces within the advanced
capitalist countries. Neither the New Left nor the Third World,
Marcuse advises, can succeed independently of the other .25
In explaining Marcuse’s conception of the global dynamics of
revolution I have alluded to a crucial factor that now can be
brought to the fore, namely, the socioeconomic groups with
which the New Left must enter into alliance under conditions of
economic stress. The issue can be clarified by posing a question
that uncovers another aspect of Marcuse’s concept of revolution.
According to Marcuse’s view of advanced industrial society, what
must be the principal strategic target of a revolutionary struggle?
“For the totalitarian control of society,” by which Marcuse
means to include the nonviolent totalitarianism peculiar to ad
vanced industrial society, "it is not necessary to control directly
all or ‘nearly all’ relations because control of the key positions
and institutions assures control of the whole.”26 It follows that
seizing the “key positions and institutions” would break totalitar
ian domination.
“Objectively” this makes the proletariat decisive to the revolu
tion because it still forms much of the social basis of the immedi
ate process of production. Consequently, the alliance forged by
the New Left for the purpose of crippling the productive appar
atus would be with the working class —but not with this class
alone. In a technically rationalized social system, wherein the in
stitutions are functionally interdependent, the key institutions
would include, as well as the major industrial concerns, the com
munications, educational, and research establishments. Theo
retically, the practice of the New Left also would entail an alli
ance with the professional and technical classes, who along with
the proletariat comprise the entire social basis of production.
Marcuse’s redefinition of the material basis and social compo
sition of revolution clearly revolutionizes the concept but also
makes significant, albeit qualified, concessions to the traditional
Marxist conception. His economic analysis ultimately includes a
political economy of prosperity and crisis, even though the role
Marcuse assigns to the 'latter does not agree with Marx s crisis
theory. And although class is rejected in favor of a heterogeneous
social composition, the proletariats strategic relation to the pro
duction process is not ignored. Here Marcuse’s essential differ
ence with Marx is his disqualification of the proletariat as the
subjective factor in initiating revolutionary struggle.
Once Marcuse grasps the scope of the material and social fac
tors of revolution within a single concept, he moves to a consider
ation of what ought to be the practical relations between them.
To this end, Marcuse discusses both the strategies that should be
adopted by the New Left for building alliances among its respec
tive groups, between it and the working, professional, and tech
nical classes, and the obstacles to the success of these strategies
within these constituencies and the prevailing society.
O r g a n iz a t io n a n d St r a t e g y
Like the revisions of the concept of revolution, from which they

were born, Marcuse’s strategies for revolutionary change are
consistent with the theory of one-dimensionality. Sharing the
general fate of the mass, the working and technical classes are as
similated into the social fabric of society but are potentially at
variance with the system by virtue of the effect of the contradic
tions of advanced capitalism. Technically, their position in the
productive process makes them crucial to its operation. In other
words, subjectively these classes are nonrevolutionary; objective
ly the revolution’s success or failure depends upon their conduct.
The New Left is consciously opposed to the established order,
but independent of the working and technical classes it could
have little direct impact on its stability. Subjectively the New
Left is revolutionary; objectively it is not. Under these circum
stances critical theory is without practice, without a revolu
tionary agency. A strategy must be devised to unite subjective
and objective factors, to ally the New Left with the social classes
of production, which together would reconstitute a revolutionary
agent. Comprehending the need for revolution, the productive
classes would become disposed consciously, “subjectively,” to so
cial transformation. Acting to bring to these classes the con
sciousness of this need and of their objective function in the revo
lution, the New Left, too, would become an objective element in
the revolutionary process. In this identity of subjective and ob
jective factors would be the reunification of theory and practice.
The task of reunification must be the work of the New Left by

virtue of its conscious opposition to the prevailing social order.
As this movement evolved throughout the 1960s, its political
practice was not suited to accomplish that end. Time and again
Marcuse urged the New Left toward a theoretical understanding
of society. Without a knowledge of the conditions, limitations,
and capabilities of change, he argued, there can be only private
rather than revolutionary practice, which at best delivers advan
tages to particular groups while preserving the status quo. At
bottom, Marcuse understood, the New Left had far less of a hos
tility to theory than to organization. The former, in fact, was a
reflection of the latter. Without a cohesive organizational life
there could be no coherent view of advanced industrial society.
Theory would be limited to the solipsistic perspectives of individ
ual groups.
Organization, however, seemed to conflict with the philosophy
of the New Left’s student contingent. Hierarchy, authority, and
oligarchy were too intimately associated with the system the stu
dents opposed. And student radicals did not view these features
to be unique to the establishment but rather to be common to
the repressive ideological practices of Marxist-Leninist parties.
Sympathetic to their fear of reproducing the authoritarianism of
the eastern European left and the oligarchies of the left in west
ern European democratic societies, Marcuse praised the spon
taneous anarchism of student groups. Although he suggested
that the New Left develop “a new, very flexible kind of organiza
tion, one that does not impose rigorous principles, one that al
lows for movement and initiative . . . without the 'bosses’ of the
old parties or political groups ,”27 Marcuse failed to be more
thoughtful about the problem of joining spontaneity with the
imperative of organization.
His very concept of revolution prevented Marcuse from doing
that. Alone, the students perhaps could raise a flexible organiza
tional structure. But as Marcuse had made clear, organization
must extend beyond the New Left to encompass the entire social
basis of production. Dividing the subjective and objective factors
for revolution neatly among completely separate constituencies,
for Marcuse the productive classes had to be the object of the
New Left’s revolutionary politics and organizational aim before
they could become the subject of a revolutionary struggle. This
division and the politics it prescribes imposes a much stricter or-
ganizational function qnd structure upon the New Left —and

one certainly irreconcilable with its anarchistic nature. Charged
with the function of “radically enlightening” the nonrevolu
tionary classes, with respect to these classes as they are charac
terized by Marcuse, the New Left would have to adopt a tradi
tional organizational framework and traditional pedagogical
techniques because only such a framework and techniques are
designed to cope with a traditional pedagogical problem —the
instruction of those who do not know by those who do! Only if the
classes forming the social basis of production were thought to be
inclined similarly to a spontaneous activism could there be a re
laxed organizational structure. This would mean, however, that
the productive classes as well as the New Left necessarily would
be seen as subjectively disposed to change from the outset. Such
a view, and with it a sounder theory of organization, is not to be
found until Counterrevolution and Revolt.
Is it mistaken to argue that Marcuse’s concept of revolution
mandates an organizational strategy that reproduces the oligar
chical tendencies of traditional organizations? Any doubts are
removed by statements such as this.
The basic idea is: how can slaves who do not even know they are
slaves free themselves? How can they liberate themselves by their
own power, by their own faculties? How can they spontaneously ac
complish liberation? They must be taught and must be led to be
free, and this the more so the more the society in which they live
uses all available means in order to shape and preform their con
sciousness and to make it immune against possible alternatives.
This idea of an educational, preparatory dictatorship has today be
come an integral element of revolution and of the justification of
the revolutionary oppression.28
Elsewhere Marcuse’s language occasionally softens. Paired with

“dictatorship,” for example, we read “counteradministration .”29
In such instances, of course, not only the language but also the
meaning softens. It may certainly be true, as he claims, that a
counteradministration “would be very different from the Marx
ian dictatorship of the proletariat” and would eliminate, as ap
parently a Marxist dictatorship woul^ not, he implies, “the
horrors spread by the established administration .”30 Neverthe
less, Marcuse’s counteradministration is still very far removed
from the flexible organizational structure that in Counterrevolu

tion and Revolt is to blossom from the spontaneous, improvised
practices of the New Left. It seems that Marcuse’s ambitious or
ganizational strategies are compromised wherever the one-di
mensionality thesis reasserts its earlier (and uglier) influence.
In fact, the influence of the theory of one-dimensionality on
Marcuse’s strategic analysis is equally prominent in cases to
which the theory seems least to apply. Besides those groups com
posing the New Left, there are two others Marcuse believes to
have withstood integration into advanced industrial society and
which should become targets for the New Left’s educational
work. An alliance with the poor can be formed because their
needs are not met by the established institutions. Of the black
population in particular, Marcuse has said that it “appears as
the ‘most natural’ force of rebellion .”31 At the same time, blacks
are not central to the productive process, making their objective
function in the system and in the revolution negligible. Women
are candidates for organization, Marcuse contends, because “in
general [they] are more accessible to humane arguments than
men are. This is because women are not yet completely har
nessed into the productive process.”32 But other than implying
that these groups are significant for their popular support of re
bellion or, as in the case of women, for their electoral support of
leftist aspirants for political office, Marcuse assigns to them no
active or creative political role. Once again, this appears to be an
omission encouraged by a theory that attributes subjectivity, the
capacity to evaluate the society critically, to a select group of in
dividuals who, for some unexplained reason, have escaped the
pressures of technological domination .33
Organization clearly is a decisive strategic aim for Marcuse,
though not one free of impediments. Before the New Left can
begin to organize beyond its own constituencies, the antibureau-
cratic tendencies of its student contingent must be suppressed in
favor of the more traditional organizational rationality denoted
by counteradministration and educational dictatorship. The
complete integration of the productive classes into society is an
obstacle to democratic organization at one extreme and at the
other to any form of organization that would incorporate these
groups. Blacks and women are to be included in the organization
but play a subordinate role apparently because they are not cen
trally related to the process of production. On all these accounts

and in all matters, in other words, the New Left assumes the van*
guard.
But the integration of the classes forming the social basis of
production can be disputed for those reasons I advanced earlier.
These classes may not be the critical subjects required by the
concept of historical agency, but neither are their critical facul
ties so numb as to justify turning them into the objects of an edu
cational dictatorship. And allowing Marcuse’s economic analysis
of blacks and women, though even here there is much room to
doubt their place in the productive process as Marcuse under
stands it, their negligible role in production hardly can justify
their subordination to an organizational leadership. Blacks and
women, too, for Marcuse are far less the subjects than the objects
of political practice.
Once the true subjective dispositions of these groups are taken
into account, the theory of organization can be revised. No
longer presupposing the need for a revolutionary subject over
and against a potentially revolutionary object, it would be possi
ble to dispense with an organizational logic that grows out of the
absolute distinction between critical and uncritical, revolu
tionary and nonrevolutionary subjects, between those who know
of the need for change and those who do not and are opposed to
it. This point answers the two questions raised earlier about the
New Left’s strategic prospects for influence if its organizational
structure, function, and strategies were shaped by Marcuse’s the
ory of one-dimensionality. Bringing this point to bear directly on
these questions, it can be argued that conceptions of subjectivity
and revolution and strategies for change that affirm and enforce
these distinctions obscure the real prospects for influencing a po
litical practice beyond the organizational frontiers of a minority
such as the New Left. This is so for three reasons. First, taking
the form of an educational dictatorship, the political practice of
the left would be rejected for its alien, coercive, and m anipu
lative appearance. Second, if the groups at which the counter
administration is directed are really as integrated as the theory
assumes, then no radical enlightenment could pry loose the psy
chological staples binding them to society. Last and most impor
tant, if these groups are not bound fast to the system but by
experiencing discontents and uncertainties are somewhat disaf
fected and have suspended an unquestioned allegiance to the

social order, then only a democratic framework emphasizing dis
cussion, interpretation, and debate would be acceptable and ap
propriate.
The theory of technological domination weighs heavily upon
Marcuse. His proposal for organization is locked up as tightly
within his theoretical framework as his one-dimensional men are
within his totally administered society. When he finally does lib
erate his strategies from the one-dimensionality thesis he will
have recognized that human nature is not so malleable as his the
ory of domination supposes. At that point Marcuse will have ar
rived at a different conception of subjectivity.
That point, however, has not yet been reached. The theory of
one-dimensionality not only disposes Marcuse’s general proposal
for organization toward an organizational function and struc
ture consistent with it, but also dictates particular methods
through which an organization is to attract support and achieve
revolutionary aims. Most prominent among the methods that
Marcuse believes have strategic significance is the “demonstra
tion.” Within this context arises the controversial issue of the re
lationship between violence and the critical opposition.
In his interpretation of Freud, Marcuse stressed the theoretical
significance of Eros. Committed to an anthropology that cele
brates nonaggressiveness, Marcuse should be constrained to adopt
the principle of nonviolent struggle. It would be inconsistent first
to indict the established social order on the anthropological
ground that it represses the nonaggressive side of human nature
and then to affirm that very repression as a justifiable revolution
ary means to achieving a free society.
This anthropological constraint is wed to a second rational
constraint of a Marxist persuasion that is accepted by Marcuse:
the ends of a revolution are shaped during the revolution itself.
If this were not to be the case, then the goals of the new society
would be other than those born out of struggle and freely chosen
by the participants. With Marcuse, as will be seen when his “new
sensibility” is discussed, this rule must be true in form as well as
in content. If an objective of the order is non aggressiveness, it is
not enough to espouse this ideal during struggle. The revolution
must embody this value in its very practice. On one occasion
Marcuse stated this position with particular forcefulness.
Our goals, our values, our own and new morality, our OWN moral
ity, must be visible already in our actions. The new human beings
who we want to help to create —we must already strive to be these
human beings right here and now.34
Anticipating a particular political practice on the basis of un
covering certain rational constraints embedded in Marcuse’s the
ory leads to a decisive question: is Marcuse obedient to these con
straints or does he violate the discipline of his own theory?
At first there is no disappointment. Without the least equivo
cation Marcuse approves only nonviolent demonstrations. “Pas
sive resistance” is an appropriate characterization of the ap
proach he supports, though such resistance must be of a peculiar
variety. Qualities belonging to a different, erotic sensibility also
must be present. Describing a Berkeley demonstration that was
on the verge of erupting into a violent confrontation, Marcuse
applauds a dramatic turn of events. “After two or three scary
minutes,” Marcuse recalls, “the thousands of marchers sat down
in the street, guitars and harmonicas appeared, people began
‘necking’ and ‘petting,’ and so the demonstration ended.” M ar
cuse refers to this as a “new dimension of protest, which consists
in the unity of moral-sexual and political rebellion .”35
In this example, as in several others scattered throughout
Marcuse’s work at this time, both constraints implicit in M ar
cuse’s theory are heeded. The strategy of demonstration is con
sistent with the principle of nonviolence, and as a primitive ex
pression of Marcuse’s libidinal rationality radical protest entails
the nonaggressive ends of a nonrepressive society. By itself, how
ever, demonstrations cannot alter the prevailing institutions even
if conducted on the broadest scale. Their purpose, Marcuse ar
gues, is educational .36 Demonstrations interrupt normal, every
day affairs and create a public space in which issues and events
are given new interpretations and explanations. Attracting a
critical mass, demonstrations provide the basis for organization,
from which more systematic educational work can proceed.
Demonstrations are preparatory.
It appears, though, that this preparatory stage is destined to
terminate prematurely and unsuccessfully. While Marcuse ad
vises that all opposition must strive to preserve peace by discover
ing forms of democratic struggle that neither are violent nor pro
voke the violence of established institutions, ultimately “it is
meaningless to speak of the legality of resistance .”37 At the point

at which organizational practices constitute a direct challenge to
the fundamental values of the prevailing society, ipso facto the
state can be expected to react violently. Demonstration inevita
bly turns into confrontation; nonviolent opposition necessarily
passes over to violence. If, however, violence is avoided at all
costs, this would mean not only working peacefully within demo
cratic channels but also agreeing to the nonfundamental, status
quo oriented changes that formal democratic institutions per
m it .38 “The alternative,” Marcuse regrets, “is not democratic
evolution versus radical action, but rationalization of the status-
quo versus change .”39
Marcuse concludes that the opposition is caught in a series of
contradictions. It must support democracy, for without the pro
tection that democratic institutions afford the left could not even
begin to organize. Once the left is organized, however, a com
mitment to actions calculated to maintain democratic institu
tions by not forcing them to respond with violent suppression of
the left’s civil liberties requires the left to compromise revolu
tionary aspirations. Since this compromise is unthinkable, for
the left the contradiction admits only of violent resolution. But
violence leads to a second contradiction. To accomplish its aims
the left must forge alliances; yet violence dissuades and forecloses
the possibility of attracting mass support.
The conclusion? The radical opposition inevitably faces defeat of its
direct extraparliamentary action, of uncivil disobedience, and
there are situations in which it must take the risk of such defeat —if,
in doing so, it can consolidate its strength and expose the destruc
tive character of civil obedience to a reactionary regime.40
Increasingly isolated from groups crucial to the success of its
organizational aims by virtue of being compelled, by the logic of
the system it opposes, to adopt self-defeating strategies, the left
remains confined to a minority even though its strength may be
consolidated and the system’s underlying hostility even to demo
cratic opposition may be exposed. But such a conclusion gives
reason for pause. Marcuse’s argument certainly appears to be
plausible. The opposition is caught within a web of extremes. It
must either adhere to the rules of the established framework and
be defeated or, refusing to compromise, adopt the only available
radical strategy and b 6 defeated. Once again, however, we find

Marcuse offering an analysis leading relentlessly to the separa
tion of the critical opposition from the mass of society. Earlier it
was the proposal for an educational dictatorship that obscured
the real prospects for influencing a political practice beyond the
organizational frontiers of a minority. Here, the strategy of vio
lence further divides the left from its prospective allies. The po
litical and theoretical implications are striking. If the New Left
had adopted these strategies it would have placed insurmount
able obstacles between it and those "groups that, together with
the left, comprise Marcuse’s historical agent of social transfor
mation. Marcuse’s strategies systematically widen the distance
between subjective and objective factors. His theoretical concep
tion of revolution waits upon a viable practice —but both wait
upon a new conception of subjectivity.
On a few occasions Marcuse appears to qualify the scenario de
picting the unhappy future of the opposition. According to Mar
cuse’s analysis a definite sequence of events is to be anticipated,
ending in the defeat and isolation of the left. Perhaps, however,
the opposition can avoid this fate or, to be precise, avoid defeat.
This is implied by Marcuse when he discusses violent revolu
tion—not strategies leading to revolution —by a minority and its
justification. Such discussions, in other words, implicitly view
violent revolution as though it could become a reality if a minor
ity chose to will it.
Two examples are outstanding. In bis examination of the de
fense of Gracchus Babeuf before the High Court of Vendome,
Marcuse argues that Babeuf s justification for acts of “extreme
civil disobedience” was based on the principle that the estab
lished government was not legitimate because it did not allow for
the satisfaction of the people’s true interests and needs. Babeufs
subversion was not aimed at the government exclusively, for the
people wrongly accepted these institutions as legitimate. Conse
quently,
because the people for whom the revolution is to be made are de
ceived, hostile, or apathetic, it will be a revolution by a minority,
that means, it will involve the Terror —against the enemies of the
revolution who would presumably include the deceived and misled
people in whose interest the revolution is to be carried through . . .
If they do not spontaneously act as majority because they are “mis
led” or kept in ignorance or deprived of the means to act effectively,

the revolution —their revolution —must needs become the concern
of the leadership: it must become a dictatorship for though not by
the majority.41
It is important to remember the context of Marcuse’s statement.
He is discussing the justification for Babeuf s attempted part in
the Reign of Terror. Yet, I believe there is no license involved in
claiming that its meaning is intended to extend beyond this con
text. Actually, the statement invokes an argument that by now is
quite familiar. Where the mass is nonrevolutionary, the revolu
tion must assume but one course of action. In another place
Marcuse concentrates on the justification for revolution without
regard for any particular historical context. A sound defense for
violence, he contends, rests upon a “historical calculus” that
demonstrates that the revolution reduces the “sacrifices exacted
from the living generations on behalf of the established society”
and "the number of victims made in defense of this society in war
and peace .”42
By drawing attention to these few occasions where Marcuse
embraces violence as the solution to the problem of changing so
cial conditions, an important point can be made. All the evi
dence suggests that Marcuse’s final position on violence is ambiv
alent. While his strategic analysis viewed violence as a necessary
evil, violence clearly left the opposition paralyzed. Inadvertently
or deliberately, it is difficult to say, Marcuse proved violence to
be an inappropriate means of achieving revolutionary aims. New
strategies must be sought. Where this view is altered, though im
plicitly, and violence is approved for its strategic effectiveness,
an ambivalence in Marcuse’s position toward violence becomes
apparent.
It is here that a deeper and more serious problem arises: who
are the violent minorities? Marcuse would answer as he has al
ways. It is the left, which means an organization and in the best
of circumstances an alliance of all groups decisive to social trans
formation. But terms such as “minority,” “leadership,” “dicta
torship,” and “tribunal” are open to other interpretations —per
haps to that of terrorism. Could a violent minority be a terrorist
minority? Lamentably, such an interpretation is intelligible
though not plausible when the corpus of Marcuse’s writings on
revolution is reviewed. Nevertheless, it would be a simple matter
to turn an attack on terrorism into an attack on Marcuse’s the

ory, even though his theory, as I have indicated, for the most
part illustrates the folly, on pain of paralysis, of any violent op
position. Thus, it is no surprise when in the aftermath of terrorist
activities in West Germany, Marcuse feels obligated, and per
haps pressured, to declare unambiguously his attitude toward
terrorism.
In taking a position towards terrorism in West Germany, the Left
must first ask itself two questions: D.o terrorist actions contribute to
the weakening of capitalism? Are these actions justified in view of
the demands of revolutionary morality? To both questions I must
answer in the negative.43
Not all of Marcuse’s strategies are as problematic as those of
violence and the proposed counteradministration. At times he
seems concerned to prescribe rather definite limits to the types of
practices in which an opposition should engage if its aim is to at
tract popular support. Marcuse is unaware of a possible conflict,
for it is apparent that these limits call into question his other pro
posed strategies.
For two reasons, Marcuse argues, the left must choose its lan
guage carefully. First, long-standing ideological and political
conflicts between the communist and Western worlds have dis
credited all versions of socialism. At the same time, the history of
communism implicitly ties the socialist idea to the violation of
human rights and freedoms and to th^ crimes of totalitarianism.
To avoid incrimination and intimidating and alienating its pub
lic, the left must conscientiously distinguish itself from modern
socialist regimes. A critique of their practices should be incorpo
rated as a left strategy. An important argument, it seems not to
have occurred to Marcuse that violence and educational dicta
torship would reproduce the practices characteristic of the soci
eties he would have the left critique.
Second, the theoretical discourse of socialism must be dis
carded by the left opposition. Marcuse warns that “if you say to
anyone in the United States today, ’What we want is socialism
and the expropriation of private property in the means of pro
duction and collective control,’ then people run away from
you.”44 Marcuse does not mean by this that the opposition should
substitute ordinary language for the language of traditional
Revolutionary Subject, Revolutionary Class 3 11
Marxist theory. On the contrary, the terms of the opposition also

must break the hold of the established universe of discourse on
the individual. What language can perform this dual function
and where does it originate?
T he New Sensibility
Figuratively speaking it is the language of Eros, and it originates
with the student rebellion. For that reason student protest held a
very special significance for Marcuse. Actually, its true impact
on the author of Eros and Civilization hardly can be imagined.
Libidinal rationality, the reality principle of a nonrepressive so
ciety, assumed new meaning in the wake of the moral-sexual
qualities of the student revolt. In light of Marcuse’s humanism, it
is no surprise that he drew attention to the “humanitarian” ac
cent of the student movement. No longer confined to a mere the
oretical indictment of modern society, Marcuse’s second dimen
sion at last found a living, concrete, and political manifestation
in the form of the counterculture. It is no accident that the Essay
on Liberation, devoted to an examination of the student contri
bution to the New Left, begins with a chapter entitled “A Bio
logical Foundation for Socialism?” Marcuse viewed the student
rebellion as a practical verification of his anthropological foun
dation for critical theory. Returning to the anthropological
themes of Eros and Civilization, An Essay on Liberation repre
sents the libidinal impulse by the “new sensibility.” Thus, Mar
cuse’s moral turn to the left is prefigured in the earlier study. Ne
glecting the left would have been tantamount to casting off
much of the work on Freud, the foundation supporting his theo
ry of domination as well as his concept of emancipation.
All the qualities of Eros are displayed by the new sensibility.
Its basic disposition is nonviolent in the broadest sense. It is op
posed to poverty, toil, exploitation, aggression, the transforma
tion of nature to satisfy repressive needs, the ugly creations and
awesome seriousness of modern civilization. It celebrates the
playful, the calm, the beautiful, the receptive faculties of man
through which human relations and the relations of man and na
ture would be pacified. In these qualities is contained Marcuse’s
vision of a nonrepressive society, a socialist society qualitatively
different from the established society. The new sensibility aritici-
pates an individual who would be biologically incapable of toler

ating the restraints historically imposed upon m an’s nature and
the ways of life that have grown out of these restraints.
True socialism, in other words, presupposes individuals who
have the “need” for a socialist society prior to its emergence. As
representatives of the new sensibility the students were already
such individuals. If the transition to socialism occurred within
the context of the new sensibility, the first phase of socialist con
struction could be shortened. It coqld dispense with repressive
practices introduced into socialist society for the purpose of re
habilitating individuals who had internalized norms completely
hostile to a socialist way of life. In fact, Marcuse argues, the
transition to socialism must be accomplished by a “new type of
m an ,”46 one who already has cultivated a new sensibility. If the
transitional needs were inherited from a repressive society, so
cialist planning could not avoid replacing technological domina
tion with a form of domination equally virulent.
Marcuse’s new sensibility is not entirely without difficulties,
for though opposed to violence it has one thing in common with
it. Its radical departure from the status quo makes it unlikely
that the new sensibility would attract support from those tied to
the production process. Here the privileged character of the stu
dent opposition surfaces. The counterculture flourished precise
ly because the students were removed from the larger culture
rooted in the process of mass consumption and production. The
qualitative difference of the new sensibility already was implicit
in the social and economic division of labor. And the radical dis-
juncture of experience within the division of labor both explains
and symbolizes the incompatability of the new sensibility and the
repressive sensibility necessary to the production and reproduc
tion of society. The new sensibility constituted such a principled
threat to the established order that there was never a danger of
its assimilation. The system’s elasticity reaches its threshold at
the point where it confronts Eros. But in this, the new sensibil
ity’s greatest strength, is its greatest weakness. The new sensibil
ity was too radical to elicit any response but hostility from those
upon whom the left would have to depend in practice for a tran
sition to a rational society to occur.
Now, however, we are in a position to cross the theoretical
bridge to Counterrevolution and Revolt. The important initial
step is to recognize a difference between the new sensibility, on

the one hand, and Marcuse’s proposed educational dictatorship
and violence, on the other. Whereas the new sensibility is not
primarily a form of calculated rebellion but is first and foremost
an expression of human needs that only subsequently crystallize
into more or less organized protest, counteradministration and
violence are strategies designed to achieve revolutionary goals
not formally rooted in the strategies themselves. An explanation
of this difference also explains why Marcuse finally abandoned
the theory of one-dimensionality.
Why is the new sensibility an authentic expression of human
needs, and under what conditions are these needs asserted? The
new sensibility derives from libidinal needs—universal human
needs —that have undergone repression in the course of socializa
tion into the social organization of production. Ideological struc
tures internalized as individual belief systems enforce these re
pressions. When the rationality of the ideological structures
begins to erode, much of the external social and the internal psy
chological pressure to maintain the repressions gradually is re
moved and the repressed needs are liberated as the new sensibil
ity. But, since these (universal human) needs begin to surface
when the rationality of ideological beliefs decay, because the ide
ologies basic to the operation of the social system are shared by
all its members, there is an excellent chance that a far greater
proportion of society’s members than that represented by the stu
dents will experience the unfettering of repressed needs when the
system of production and its cultural normative structures are
weakened.
This argument captures the true significance of Marcuse’s new
sensibility. As an anthropologically grounded political prac
tice—in other words, as a political practice grounded in human
needs and not merely in a particular group occupying a priv
ileged place in the social division of labor —the new sensibility
represents not simply the needs of its student bearers but the
needs of all members of society. And a political practice rooted
in universal human needs is a potentially universal practice.
Conditions that produce the new sensibility, such as the break
down of ideological norms, also should produce on a much
broader scale a comparable sensibility that Marcuse would be
obliged to recognize by virtue of its libidinal, anthropological di
mensions. When common needs are brought to common aware

ness, though not necessarily to the same degree of critical aware
ness, the subject of social transformation is no longer confined to
the student movement. And if the groups constituting this new
subject are also objective factors in the revolutionary process,
then the new subject is likewise a historical subject of change.
The new sensibility now becomes much more than a curiosity
in Marcuse’s work. It is the theoretical link between Eros and
Civilization and Counterrevolution and Revolt which compelled
him to abandon One-dimensional Man. What we shall see pres
ently is that in Counterrevolution and Revolt Marcuse has ex
panded his focus beyond the student movement to a considera
tion of a new sensibility prevailing among other groups within so
ciety, perhaps even among the mass!
Liberal Politics: The Road to R eunifying Theory and Practice

Counterrevolution and Revolt begins portentously. Surveying re
cent political developments in the West and in the Third World,
Marcuse declares that “the Western world has reached a new
stage of development: now, the defense of the capitalist system
requires the organization of counterrevolution at home and
abroad.” As evidence he refers to the West’s anticommunist m o
bilization in Indochina, Indonesia, Nigeria, the Congo, and the
Sudan, as well as to Western support of violent military suppres
sion of national liberation movements in Latin America. Imperi
alism is in the process of worldwide counterinsurgency and reor
ganization. Internally, Western nations have been shaken by
widespread political instability. Restorative measures are politi
cal—technical-administrative rationality has ceased to be an ef
fective means of containing and managing contradictions and
conflicts. Marcuse’s examples are drawn largely from the United
States —the incidents at Kent State and Jackson State; the deaths
of black militant leaders Malcolm X, Martin Luther King, Fred
Hampton, and George Jackson; Nixon’s policy of law and order
and his conservative appointments to the Supreme Court. West
ern political and military intervention in the Third World is ex
plicitly counterrevolutionary; within -Western nations measures
are preventive, counterrevolutionary in anticipation of increas
ing political unrest. Overall, the national and international ob
jective of counterrevolution is to stave off a “world-historical

revolution” that would critically undermine the stability and he
gemony of capitalism.
Rather than focus on the extreme manifestations of political
opposition and the reactions of the established institutions, how
ever, Marcuse’s analysis concentrates on a gradual but steady
erosion of allegiance to the social system. The broad structural
dimensions of the analysis are familiar. A new social basis of pro
duction emerges through the technological rationalization of the
entire process of mass production and consumption. Radically
different from the production process as it had appeared to
Marx, a technologically extended means of production likewise
extends the mass base for revolution. The intelligentsia is drawn
into the process of developing and maintaining technical pro
ductivity, and the enormous growth of the “tertiary sector” (the
production of services) recruits an army of salaried employees
and transforms, the middle classes into administrative function
aries and servants of capital. This new working class retains the
objective relation to the productive process that Marx had attrib
uted to the proletariat, but it is no longer the proletariat. The
“universe of exploitation” has been enlarged by a “totality of m a
chines—human, economic, political, military, educational.”46
Potentially, the opposition becomes the entire dependent mass,
the working population as a whole.
Not only potentially, however, for now Marcuse makes a star
tling turn. The technical apparatus of production can be ratio
nalized increasingly; indeed, the entire economic and political
system can be organized and reorganized according to the devel
opmental logic of technical reason. But at the highest stage of
the rationalization of production and consumption —the con
sumer society —a threshold is reached beyond which the ratio
nalization of the social system cannot proceed and at which point
its rationalization actually is thrown into reverse. The objective
contradictions of advanced industrial society enter into the con
sciousness of the individual. The subjective factor is revitalized —
this time on a mass scale parallel to that of the productive base of
exploitation.
It is important to emphasize that the contradictions upsetting
the rationalization of the social system are those peculiar to ad
vanced industrial society, that is, those issuing directly from the
rationalization of consumption and production. Only after these

new contradictions have had an impact upon the social system
do those contradictions traditionally associated with capital—
such as inflation and the decline in real wages, unemployment,
and international monetary difficulties —and those resulting
from threats to imperialist domination become salient. Marcuse
offers an impressive list of the newer, more lethal contradic
tions—feelings of a loss of human dignity corresponding to the
manipulation of human needs; an aversion to acquisitiveness
(earlier noted as the disgust with the waste of the affluent soci
ety); an impatience with dull, arid merchandise; a hatred of
servitude in the guise of technology, of deprivation in the guise of
the good life, of the pollutions of technical progress. These and
other contradictions provoke a variety of responses to the estab
lished institutions —deliberate inefficiency, absenteeism and sab
otage of work at all levels of production, widespread hostility and
indifference. The tendency toward massive disaffection is sum
marized best by this statement in Counterrevolution and Revolt:
“The fetishism of the commodity world is wearing thin: people
see the power structure behind the alleged technocracy and its
blessings.”47 And the cause of this transparency? It is prosperity,
not poverty. “It is the overwhelming wealth of capitalism,” M ar
cuse argues, “which will bring about its collapse.”48
Of course, these contradictions and their manifest discontents
existed before they were discovered by Marcuse. As I have ar
gued earlier, it was Marcuse and not the members of society who
so totally succumbed to the fetishism of technical reason. What
matters here, though, is that because and not in spite of its in
herent dynamic, Marcuse’s one-dimensional society, his “uni
verse” of ordinary affairs, has now assumed a multidimensional
and extra-ordinary character.
Why did Marcuse become sensitive to these discontents? As I
have suggested, the answer is to be found in the particular inter
pretation he attached to them. For Marcuse, I believe, they be
came expressions writ large of his new sensibility. In Counterrev
olution and Revolt they are referred to as “transcendent needs,”
needs created by technological rationalization as the artificial
needs created by capital are emptied df content. And these needs
are transcendent because they develop within the womb of a so
ciety whose institutions can neither meet nor even acknowledge

them. For example,
• the dissatisfaction with tedious, unimaginative, fragmented
work is expressed as the need to conceive and organize forms
of labor that gratify personal needs for creativity;
• the glut of the affluent society sates the need for material
acquisition, which in turn destroys the justification for toler
ating an intensified struggle for existence. Out of this is born
the desire for free time and the reduction, if not abolition, of
competitive and aggressive relations between men, the sexes,
and the generations;
• the quantitative improvements bought by the good life visibly
entail an ever diminishing quality of life as nature is wasted
and the environment polluted, restoring the need for beauty
and inspiring a pacified attitude toward nature.
In each of these cases it appears to the individual that the very
same technical resources and achievements that organized one
form of life can be reorganized to prepare the conditions for a
qualitatively different existence. Marcuse expresses this point by
saying that “the contradiction between that which is and that
which is possible and ought to be, penetrates, in very concrete
forms, the mind of the dependent population .”49
Thus, Marcuse’s argument views technological rationalization
as completely having run its historical course. The abstract
norms of progress and productivity that promised a comfortable
and happy existence are filled out by practices that are experi
enced negatively in a dual sense. Not only have the promises failed
to materialize and unanticipated and grave consequences been
ushered in, but a positive horizon of new possibilities has arisen.
On these two accounts rationalization has destroyed the credibil
ity of the normative structures that are the raison d’etre of mod
ern capitalism. “With this historical shift,” Marcuse explains,
“capitalism denies its legitimation to rule any longer the life of
men and women.”50
Has Marcuse’s evaluation of technical reason changed? In a
sense it has, for technological rationality is no longer presented
as the effective means of domination that it had been in his previ
ous work. But it is not that technics has ceased to be a new form
of control. Its effectiveness as a form of domination has altered
not because his understanding of technical reason has changed
but rather because Marcuse’s view of the subject has altered con
siderably. If the individual did not possess the capacities to resist
technological rationalization, there could be no discussion of dis
contents and transcendent needs as new motives for revolution
ary change. Quite clearly, Marcuse now has adopted a concep
tion of a very complex subject. In Counterrevolution and Revolt
the rationality of the subject, that is,'many of his needs, capac
ities, and dispositions, is understood implicitly to be qualitatively
different to some extent from the rationality of technics. Only
with such an understanding could Marcuse discern an opposition
between individual and society and, as we shall see next, reunite
critical theory with political practice. In Marcuse’s earlier work
his conception of subjectivity did not recognize a qualitative dif
ference. His theoretical analysis began one-dimensionally with
the single dimension of technical reason, a purely structural ra
tionality. Since within his theory the individual was already over
whelmed, because oversocialized, his analysis could do little
more than demonstrate that social relations conformed to this
single dimension. When, in Counterrevolution and Revolt, Mar
cuse moved from a theory of one-dimensional society, he also
moved from a one-dimensional theory.
Marcuse’s concept of the individual is now newly anchored be
tween two extremes of subjectivity. It is neither the oversocial
ized, behaviorist subjectivity that sets no limits to the extent to
which the individual can be shaped by society, nor the isolated
critical subject who stoutly prevails against the forces of one-di
mensionality to speak in the voice of Reason. More and less than
these extremes, Marcuse’s subject experiences discontents and
aspires to radically new needs, which erode its allegiance to the
system, but both the discontents and the needs are grasped with
uncertainty. They remain vague. As such, the subject is disposed
critically but is not yet a critical subject.
Marcuse describes the character of this individual as “unpoliti
cal, diffuse, and unorganized .”51 The individual is distinguished
by ambivalence. Unhappy but uncertain why and what to do
about it, the subject under conditions of stress could become re
actionary as well as radical. Worsening economic strains within
society (the traditional contradictions of capital) and threats to

imperialist domination could produce those conditions, which,
combined with deepening popular discontents, could spur an es
calation in the counterrevolution and a totalitarian mobilization
of the dependent mass. But the other side of the ambivalence,
the rational, progressive tendencies of the contradictions —Mar
cuse’s transcendent needs —could be developed, too. This would
require the intervention of the New Left.
What form would this intervention take? In this area signifi
cant advantages are derived from Marcuse’s new concept of the
subject. Suffering discontents, aspiring to new needs, partially
disaffected from the established order, in an immediate sense
this individual is already politically disposed. Not unpolitical, in
other words, but “prepolitical,” this subject is receptive to a
clarification and elaboration of his disposition, receptive to dis
cussion, debate, in short, to political discourse. Since the indi
vidual is already critically engaged, the aggressive posture of the
left vis-a-vis the dependent mass is mitigated, Marcuse ceases to
speak of educational dictatorship and counteradministration.
The left and groups within the mass, such as the working class,
meet each other from their respective bases, in terms of their
own grievances and goals. Organization proceeds democratically
and without the hierarchy structured according to a distinction
between those who do and those who do not know. Because a
critical disposition is no longer confined to an isolated minority,
violence is exchanged for a politics of legitimate protest and par
ticipation. Marcuse now approves “a long march through the in
stitutions” —“working against the established institutions while
working in them .”52
Within a year following the publication of Counterrevolution
and Revolt the United States terminated its involvement in
Southeast Asia. During that same period the New Left declined
precipitously. As it appeared in Marcuse’s 1972 study, the rela
tion between theory and practice was designed to propel the left
onto a new plane of political activity. Marcuse’s greatly extended
social basis of production and exploitation redefines the social
basis of social change, and his richer, more complex notion of
the individual at the same time redefines the objective factor of
revolution, the dependent mass, as subjectively disposed to sweep
ing social transformation. Marcuse’s theory offers a radical cri
tique of the existing state of affairs, but the individual on whose

behalf this critique is waged is not yet a radical subject. Rather,
this individual is, according to Marcuse, discontented and more
—precarious, uncertain, ambivalent, receptive to political dis
course. Given such an individual, theory is obliged to draw Mar
cuse’s conclusion, a conclusion, in fact, that Marcuse had first
drawn in his early writings: theory and practice meet on the
plane of radical criticism and a radicalized liberal politics.
Notes
1. See William Leiss, “Critical Theory and Its Future,” Political
Theory, 2, 3 (Beverly Hills: 1974), pp. 330-349.
2. Herbert Marcuse, “On the New Left,” in The New Left: A Docu
mentary History, edited by Massimo Teodori (New York: Bobbs-Mer-
rill, 1969), p. 469; address presented on December 4, 1968, at the
twentieth anniversary program at the Guardian, New York City.
3. Herbert Marcuse, “The Concept of Negation in the Dialectic,”
Telos, 8 (St. Louis: 1971), p. 130; originally published as “Zum Be-
griff der Negation in der Dialektik,” Filosoficky casopis, 15, 3
(Prague: 1967), pp. 375-379.
4. “On the New Left,”p. 472 (italics added).
5. Herbert Marcuse, “The Problem of Violence and the Radical
Opposition,” Five Lectures (Boston: Beacon, 1970), p. 96; originally
published as “Das Problem der Gewalt in der Opposition,” in Das
Ende der Utopie (West Berlin: Maikowski, 1967), pp. 47-54.
6 . Herbert Marcuse, An Essay on Liberation (Boston: Beacon,
1969), p. 67. ‘
7. Ibid., p. 51.
8 . See Herbert Marcuse, Revolution or Reform? A Confrontation,
Afterword by Franz Stark (Chicago: New University Press, 1976),
p. 72; originally published as Revolution oder Reform? Herbert Mar
cuse und Karl Popper, Afterword by Franz Stark (Munich: Kosel,
1972). See also Herbert Marcuse, “Revolution aus Ekel,” Der Spiegel,
31 (Hamburg: 1969), pp. 103-106.
9. See chapter six, p. 280.
10. Herbert Marcuse, “Freedom and the Historical Imperative,”
Studies in Critical Philosophy (Boston: Beacon, 1973), p. 219; origi
nally published as “La Liberte et les imperatifs de l’histoire," La Lib-
erte et Vordre social (Neuchatel: la Baconnidre, 1969), pp. 129-143.
11. Herbert Marcuse, “Liberation from the Affluent Society,” in
To Free a Generation: The Dialectics of Liberation, edited by David
Cooper (Baltimore: Penguin, 1968), p. 183.
12. An Essay on Liberation, p. 53 (italics added).

13. Herbert Marcuse, “The Question of Revolution,” New Left Re
view, 45 (London: 1967), p. 3; originally published as “1st die Idee der
Revolution eine Mystification?” Kursbuch, 9 (West Berlin: 1967),
p p .1-6.
14. “Liberation from the Affluent Society,” p. 192.
15. See Herbert Marcuse, “Comes the Revolution: Reply to Mar
shall Berman’s review of One-dimensional Man,” Partisan Review, 32,
1 (New Brunswick: 1965), p. 159.
16. See chapter five, pp. 231-247.
18. See chapter four, p. 143.
19. "The Problem of Violence,” p. 84.
20. Ibid., pp. 83-84.
21. Herbert Marcuse, “Re-examination of the Concept of Revolu
tion,” New Left Review, 56 (London: 1969), p. 30.
22. “The Problem of Violence,” p. 95.
23. Ibid., p. 84.
24. “Re-examination of the Concept of Revolution,” p. 31.
25. Ibid., pp. 30-33; see also Herbert Marcuse, “The Inner Logic
of American Policy in Vietnam,” in Teach-ins: U.S.A., edited by
Louis Menashe and Ronald Radosh (New York: Praeger, 1967), p. 65.
26. Herbert Marcuse, “Karl Popper and the Problem of Historical
Laws,” Studies in Critical Philosophy, p. 201; originally published as
“Notes on the Problem of Historical Laws,” Partisan Review, 26, 1
(New Brunswick: 1959), pp. 117-129.
27. “Marcuse Defines His New Left Line,” New York Times Maga
zine (October 27, 1968), p. 30.
28. Herbert Marcuse, “Ethics and Revolution,” in Ethics and Socie
ty, edited by Richard T. De George (New York: Doubleday, Anchor
Books, 1966), pp. 137-138.
29. Herbert Marcuse, “The End of Utopia,” Five Lectures (Boston:
Beacon, 1970), p. 76; originally published as “Das Ende der Utopie,”
DasEnde der Utopie (West Berlin: Maikowski, 1967), pp. 11-20.
30. Ibid.
31. An Essay on Liberation, p. 58.
33. According to Marcuse’s theory of technological domination,
the dramatic changes in both the structure of the family and the proc
esses of socialization discussed in the last chapter began to occur in the
period between the two world wars. See “The Obsolescence of the
Freudian Concept of Man,” Five Lectures (Boston: Beacon, 1970), p.
46; originally presented as an address entitled “The Obsolescence of
Psychoanalysis,” at the annual meeting of the American Political Sci-
ence Association, 1963, tyut first published as Das Veralten der Psy
choanalyse,” Kultur und Gesellschaft, 2 (Frankfurt: Suhrkamp,
1965), pp. 85-106. Calculations based upon Marcuse’s theory indicate
that the generations of the 1950s and 1960s should have been the first
generations of one-dimensional progeny and consequently those least
capable of rebellion and psychological resistance to advanced indus
trial society.
34. “On the New Left,” p. 469.
36. “Liberation from the Affluent Society,” pp. 190-191.
37. “The Problem of Violence," pp. 90, 106.
38. An Essay on Liberation, p. 68.
39. Ibid., p. 69.
40. Ibid., p. 68.
41. Herbert Marcuse, “Thoughts on the Defense of Gracchus Ba-
beuf,” in The Defense of Gracchus Babeuf, edited by John Anthony
Scott (Amherst: University of Massachusetts Press, 1967), pp.
102-103.
42. “Ethics and Revolution,” p. 140.
43. Herbert Marcuse, “Murder Is Not a Political Weapon,” New
German Critique, 12 (Milwaukee: 1977), p. 7; originally published as
“Mord darf keine Waffe der Politik sein,” Die Zeit, 39 (Hamburg:
1977), pp. 41-42. In a discussion with Peter Merseberger, Marcuse ac
knowledged that his proposals for violence can be interpreted in ways
other than those he intends. “Merseburger: In principle, however, you
still condone a positive terror, one that would be able to liberate re
pressive society from some repression. Marcuse: I would not call that
terror. I approve of any movement, any possibility, that would reduce
or perhaps even eliminate the prevailing terror and the prevailing op
pression. Merseburger: If necessary, by means of terror? Marcuse: If
necessary, yes. But then one would have to specify very precisely the
meaning of ‘necessary.’ We see it is very easy for me to get trapped in
these matters.” “Gesprach mit Peter Merseburger: Herbert Marcuse
und die prophetische Tradition,” in Wcltfrieden und Revolution,
edited by Hans-Eckehard Bahr (Hamburg: Rowolt, 1968), pp.
295-296.
45. Marcuse argues that “we have here and today a historically new
situation. The technological and scientific development of production
has achieved a stage in which this new man has ceased to be a matter
of mere speculation . . . A new type of map has become possible whose
life and whose instincts —I would lay stress on the instincts —are no
longer determined J5y what Max Weber called ‘inner-worldly asceti-
cism’ or by what we call the Judeo-Christian work ethic, the ethic of re
nunciation and of business.” "Professoren als Staats-Regenten?” Der
Spiegel, 35 (Hamburg: 1967), pp. 115-116.
46. Herbert Marcuse, Counterrevolution ajid Revolt (Boston: Bea
con, 1972), p. 13.
47. Ibid., p. 21.
48. Ibid., p. 7.
49. Ibid., p. 21.
50. Ibid., p. 30.
51. Ibid., pp. 23, 25.
52. Ibid., p. 55.
, EIGHT
The Aesthetic D im ension a n d

th e Second D im ension
From the nature of art as it is usually conceived ac
cording to the single category of appearance and
beauty, the tragic cannot honestly be deduced at all.
Nietzsche, The Birth of Tragedy
In C o u n te r r e v o lu tio n a n dMarcuse was speaking di

R e v o l t
rectly to the New Left. His teachings, specifically the analysis of

advanced industrial society and the merging of radical theoreti
cal criticism and liberal politics, went unnoticed or unheeded. In
the wake of the New Left’s decline, Marcuse eventually returned
to the earlier theory of technological domination and one-dimen
sional society. But he did not immediately abandon his optimis
tic appraisal of the tendencies toward n^w political developments.
Rather, at first he held fast to the arguments of Counterrevolu
tion and Revolt.
Continuity was preserved through a series of short essays writ
ten between 1972 and 1975.1 In each Marcuse maintains that
within the constellation of decaying social, economic, and politi
cal processes of advanced industrial society lie the possibilities for
historical change —if only they would be developed through po
litical organization. In one of these essays there is something of
an urgent and imploring tone. Marcuse insists emphatically that
it is false to speak of the miscarriage or failure (Scheitern) of the
New Left.2 But only through organization can the movement, ly
ing dormant within the womb of th£ established society, form
the alliances instrumental to effecting change.
324
The A esthetic Dimension and the Second Dimension 325
And the politics of organizational practice, Marcuse empha

sizes throughout these essays, should conform to liberal strate
gies. Radical theory and liberal politics, of course, would not
constitute a perfect unity between theory and practice. Such a
unity is never accomplished even under the most revolutionary
circumstances. Theory, by its very nature, Marcuse explains, al
ways contains within it an essential conflict or tension with prac
tice .3 Theory’s task is continually to project new possibilities for
transformation and to identify new obstacles to these possibili
ties. Practice, therefore, must constantly be redefined to accord
with theoretical revisions. And in the present era, Marcuse con
tinues to argue, theory demonstrates that liberal strategies are
best suited to push toward the realization of projected theoretical
aims and beyond the recognized barriers to those aims. Now,
real progress can be made. Advanced industrial society is not, as
it had been, so tightly integrated that the inevitable result is its
decline into barbarism. As Marcuse says, “The necessity of So
cialism again confronts the necessity of Fascism. The classical al
ternative ‘Socialism or Barbarism’ is more current today than
ever before .”4
Not all of the New Left was resting quietly after its wartime
encounter with the establishment. During this brief period, when
Marcuse’s ambition seems to have been to move and inspire the
left by instructing it about its political potential, he also focused
on what in 1974 he claimed was “perhaps the most important
and potentially the most radical political movement that we
have” —the movement for women’s liberation .5
Marcuse’s interest in the women’s liberation movement was
spurred for precisely the same reason that he was attracted to the
New Left. The women’s movement, perhaps far more than the
New Left, was the living expression of the new sensibility. Wom
en’s liberation would be human liberation because the social
order that would adhere to feminist principles would also adhere
to a new reality principle. Feminine characteristics are those of
Eros and, as such, correspond to the truest potentialities for a so
cialist society. For Marcuse, “feminist socialism” represented the
antithesis of the performance principle, the emancipation of the
senses and the intellect from the rationality of domination, “cre
ative receptivity versus repressive productivity.” Feminist social
ism would release the female element, libido, as a power in the
rebuilding of all social institutions .6 Before the feminist move

ment could move to this higher stage of emancipatory politics,
however, the equality of women was the first objective and the
absolute prerequisite for liberation. “Only as an equal economic
and political subject,” Marcuse declared, "can the woman claim
a leading role in the radical reconstruction of society.” Here,
once again, Marcuse remains within the theoretical framework
of a radical critique of society while proposing liberal political
practice as a means eventually to secure the influence required
for organizing on an expanded scale.
The essays written during the years following Counterrevolu
tion and Revolt mark the conclusion of Marcuse’s attempt to de
fine a new relationship between theory and practice. As we shall
see in this chapter, in his final work, The Aesthetic Dimension,
Marcuse returns to earlier theoretical convictions and appears to
hold them more strongly than ever. Certainly, Marcuse never al
ters his vision of socialism. Libidinal rationality is still socialism’s
guiding principle. But Eros is no longer entrusted to the vicissi
tudes of political practice, no longer vested in the erstwhile poli
tics of the New Left’s new sensibility. Eros finds a new and subli
mated refuge in art.
A rt fo r the Sake o f Theory

It may be surprising that Marcuse’s last work is devoted exclu
sively to aesthetics. In the final pages of the discussion we shall
discover why Marcuse concentrates his theoretical energies on art
and why, in light of his return to the theory of technological
domination, this development is not unusual in the least. But at
this point in the analysis of Marcuse’s critical theory, it will most
definitely come as a surprise to learn that his last work brought
Marcuse back full circle to the subject with which he began his
career over fifty years earlier.
In the curriculum vitae attached to his doctoral dissertation,
Marcuse offers this interesting biographical note.
After my discharge [from the military] in the winter of 1918, I stud
ied for four semesters in Berlin and foiq- semesters in Freiburg on a
regular basis. I first pursued German studies (Germanistik) and
then modern German literary history became my major field and
philosophy and political economy my minor subjects.7
But Marcuse’s dissertation, The German Artist Novel (Der

deutsche Kunstlerroman), completed in 1922 for his doctoral de
gree awarded the following year from the University of Freiburg,
can hardly be considered a study of art for art’s sake. It is pri
marily a work in social theory. The theoretical framework of
Marcuse’s investigation is erected predominantly from Hegel’s
Aesthetics and from two works by George Lukacs, The Soul and
the Forms and The Theory o f the Novel. The German Artist
Novel is of an enormous length, as complex as it is long, and by
any standards a contribution to a general sociological theory of
aesthetics. It is clearly deserving of an examination in itself.
While such a project cannot be undertaken within the scope of
this study on Marcuse, the central thesis of his dissertation can be
described and in this way The German Artist Novel as a whole
can be related to Marcuse’s subsequent critical and aesthetic
theory.
In his dissertation, Marcuse argues that there are two funda
mental relationships that the artist can have with society; each
depends upon the nature of the social order in which the artist
lives and works. A society can be homogeneous, meaning that all
its economic, social, political, and cultural sectors mesh harmo
niously because they are bound together tightly and unified spir
itually by a single set of norms. Consequently, the life of an en
tire society is uniformly expressed through a common spiritual
ethos. When such societies have prevailed historically, in his
work the artist simply mirrors the nation’s spirit and reflects the
nation’s entire life. The artist, in other words, like all other
members of the society, shares the common ethic and is merely
an extension of the consciousness of the whole, having no inde
pendent perspective. More important, this perfect unity between
the ideas portrayed in art and the idea that permeates all aspects
of existence fulfills the artist’s need to present an aesthetic vision
of a spiritually unified social life.
Modern societies, however, dating roughly from the time of
Luther, are characterized by an absence of unity. This break
down of a uniform social spirit occurs with the development of
classes, the division of society into new social strata, professions,
and so forth, and with the cultural complexity that follows in the
path of this development. Under these conditions, when a uni
fied form of life is disrupted, an opposition arises between art
and life (social existence). The artist becomes separated from the
surrounding world as his recognition of a shattered cultural uni
ty forces him to an awareness that there is no universal social
spirit through which he can establish an identity. The artist’s
separation compels him to define himself as a subject, individual,
or personality in relation to the antagonistic parts of his society.
As Marcuse puts it, the artist now “awakens into self-conscious
ness.” As society’s various aspects become objects of the artist’s
work, nothing in the society satisfies the artist’s need to portray a
unified vision of social life. Art can only reproduce the fragmen
tation of culture. The artist novel expresses this alienation of the
artist from society. In the novellas of Thomas Mann, the artist’s
self-consciousness of his separation and of the missing universal
spirit in his work reaches its most intense expression. At this stage
in the progress of the artist novel, the artist passes beyond a self-
consciousness of his opposition to society. He attempts to reunify
art and life by depicting a higher, more rational idea of a unified
spiritual existence through a new aesthetic form.
Throughout Marcuse’s writings, this conceptual framework
guides his analysis of the relationship between art and society.
Homogeneous, well-integrated societies produce art that con
forms to established norms. Art cannot escape the iron cage of
social life. Inherently antagonistic social orders, on the other
hand, give birth to artistic works that do not reflect the domi
nant ideology but are independent of and oppose it. Art thrives
on the basis of such conflict for it is driven to make strides toward
an aesthetic conception of a rational social order that would de
velop the progressive dimensions of the antagonisms without be
coming divided internally. In this chapter, it will be seen that
Marcuse finally views advanced industrial society as a homoge
neous social order in which art mirrors social values and flatters
social institutions. He then looks back to an earlier stage of capi
talism during which social antagonisms produced an art with an
aesthetic vision of an order that would develop its historical pos
sibilities for a universal community that meets the needs for free
dom and fulfillment of all individuals.
Marcuse completed his dissertation on an optimistic note. The
struggle of the bourgeois artist to create an aesthetic form that
would reunify art and life is symbolic of a real historical strug
gle—“A piece of human history becomes visible behind the liter
ary-historical problems: the struggle of the German man for the

new community .”8 Marcuse meant, of course, that the individ
ual in postwar Germany was struggling for a socialist commu
nity. In 1922, Marcuse could not have imagined that the com
munity that was to emerge was to be Fascist totalitarianism.
Against its Fascist perversion, the idea of the true human com
munity remained guarded by bourgeois art. Several decades and
another war were to pass before Marcuse would write The Aes
thetic Dimension. In this work bourgeois art is still charged with
guarding the socialist vision. But on this occasion Marcuse did
not argue that it is a vision that the individual of advanced in
dustrial society is struggling to achieve.
Critical and Uncritical Elements of Art

It will be recalled from an earlier discussion of Marcuse’s essay
“The Affirmative Character of Culture” that the concept affirm
ative culture denotes those dimensions of the intellectual and
spiritual world, such as art, philosophy, and religion, that are
held to be intrinsically higher and more valuable than interests
that contribute directly to earning a living.9 Culture articulates,
albeit in many different forms, ideals expressive of hopes, de
sires, and aspirations that generate a tension between the world
of mind and spirit and the sphere of necessary labor. The cultur
al universe is decidedly optimistic in that it expresses the ideas of
beauty, pleasure, harmony, virtue, forgiveness and love, truth
and justice. Culture protects notions of happiness as attainable
ideals. In so doing, the realm of culture assumes critical quali
ties. By sustaining the idea of a better life, it implicitly indicts so
ciety for its lassitude in fulfilling the promises of affirmative cul
ture.
But unlike religion and philosophy, art is unique in its loyalty
to the ideals of affirmative culture. Religion sacrifices human
happiness in the here and now by reserving it for an afterlife,
thus fostering a worldly stoicism. Philosophy, too, relinquished
its claim to an ideal of happiness halfway through the modern
era. Only Marxism, Marcuse argues, “takes seriously the concern
for happiness and fights for its realization in history.”10 Insofar
as they accept the established social order as a legitimate means
for achieving human happiness, other post-idealist philosophical
systems, such as utilitarianism, positivism, and existentialism,

betray the belief in an ideal conception of felicity. After Hegel,
Marcuse contends, philosophy compromised the “critical dis
tance” from society that had been a distinct feature of philosoph
ical idealism.
For Marcuse, therefore, the value of art lies precisely in its un
compromising allegiance to a critical distance from the norms
and institutions of the prevailing society. How is this unique crit
ical function of art to be explained?
First, by virtue of aesthetic form, art possesses a remote and
eccentric language that contrasts sharply with ordinary dis
course. Through art, particular human experiences are removed
from their historical and social context and are universalized as a
realm of potential experience for all mankind. In other words,
particular experiences are given a new form as universal human
potentialities. At the same time, universal potentiality takes on a
meaning quite different from that assigned to “potential” by or
dinary language. The realm of possibility is subjected to the play
and fancy of the aesthetic imagination that prescribes its own
rules. Art permits deeds, exploits, and achievements to transpire
according to wishes, dreams, and desires that are left unfulfilled
in reality. Not only does art represent experience as universal,
but universal potentialities are re presented as realized. Conse
quently, art introduces a qualitatively different content to social
life by preserving the image and memory of an alternative truth,
the truth of fulfillment. It is with its imhge of a radically differ
ent social reality that art functions as a transcendent mode of
thought and as the conscience of society constantly reminding it
of a higher purpose.
Second, and most important, the progressive characteristics of
art are not restricted to its transcendent nature. Whereas the
transcendent function of art lies in its ability to serve as a vehicle
for fantastic creations and re-creations of historical experience
and derives from art’s being a language of fulfillment, the idea
of future happiness is also linked, Marcuse argues, to an actual
experience of gratification provided by art. Beauty is a quality
that has pertained to all forms of art traditionally. The normal
response to the beautiful is a peculiar sublimated gratification
that might be crudely described as a synthesis of sensuous and in
tellectual pleasure —rapture perhaps. Marcuse is suggesting that

the critical disposition of art is intimately associated with the
pleasure giving qualities of beauty, an association that binds to
gether truth and beauty, future and present, the promise of grat
ification and its realization in a single moment. The enjoyment,
musing, and contemplation of art breeds pleasure, delight, and
happiness in such a way that the truth of art, fulfillment, is mo
mentarily experienced. Marcuse expresses this point by saying
that
if the individual is ever to come under the power of the ideal to the
extent of believing that his concrete longings and needs are to be
found in it—found moreover in a state of fulfillment and gratifica
tion, then the ideal must give the illusion of granting present satis
faction. It is this illusory reality that neither philosophy nor religion
can attain. Only art achieves it —in the medium of beauty.n
Beauty emerges as the decisive element of aesthetic form.
Further examination reveals that the critical traits of art are
more than counterbalanced by its conservative tendencies. It is
here that the affirmative character of art is encountered. This
can be understood in several ways.
First, although art presents an ideal of future happiness and
the individual even experiences this ideal through the pleasur
able response to beauty, beyond this art is ineffectual. It does
not, indeed cannot, by virtue of its being art, transform the ideal
into the real, temporary into permanent gratification. The social
universe remains intact, coextensive with an aesthetic universe
that can offer only an ideal image and a fleeting experience of its
antithesis. This is what Marcuse means when he argues that the
promise for a felicitous existence upheld by art is an illusion.
Next, by transforming the aesthetic promise of lasting fulfill
ment into an experience of momentary satisfaction, beauty "pac
ifies rebellious desire.” The temporary uplifting that art provides
may certainly instruct the individual about the repressive nature
of his everyday existence. But the pleasurable respite that art af
fords could intensify the individual’s dissatisfaction with society
only to accentuate his attachment to the pleasures of art at the
expense of any critical appraisal of social conditions responsible
for his discontents.
Last, the aesthetic experience is intensely personal, tending

further to isolate the individual socially and increase his power
lessness.
To summarize, Marcuse’s “Affirmative Character of Culture
stresses that an inner freedom must suffice through art. In light
of its purely form al presentation of alternatives to the established
social order, and through happiness and pleasure that is merely
compensatory for that which is denied by repressive institutions,
art implicitly acknowledges the impossibility of external fulfill
ment. Marcuse submits, however, that at the very least art sus
tains a private sphere that until recently has been safe from the
exigencies of labor and from social and political manipulation.
A rt fo r the Sake o f Authoritarianism
For the Sake of Fascism

Within the context of Fascist politics the nature of this inner
freedom takes on an added significance for Marcuse. His conten
tion that the affirmative, pleasure giving qualities of art prevail
over its critical function is directed toward associating the indi
vidual’s inner spiritual freedom with his instinctual makeup and
the role of the pleasure principle. In brief, Marcuse is extremely
interested in the soulful and passionate nature of the aesthetic
response. Fascism is able to utilize those same instinctual desires
normally sublimated in the response to works of art. Under fas
cism, the inner spiritual realm, having its basis in the instinctual
wishes, is externalized and finds pleasurable expression in mass
culture. Marcuse argues, for example, that the “festivals and cel
ebrations of the authoritarian state, its parades, its physiog
nomy, and the speeches of its leaders are all addressed to the
soul. They go to the heart, even when their intent is power.”12
Art appears to have an indirect relation to the mass psychology
of fascism, or to what Marcuse referred to earlier as the “total
mobilization” of the individual. 13 Whereas the individual’s expe
riences of art remove him critically from the requisites of social
order, Fascist authoritarianism is able to eliminate the alienating
effects of art by exploiting the emotive cpntent of the inner realm
of spiritual freedom.
For the Sake of S oviet M arxism
What Marcuse had believed in 1937 to be a distinctive trait of

fascism, that is, its tendency to eliminate critical forms of trans
cendent discourse, of which art is a singular illustration, is ele
vated in his later work to the status of a dynamic and defining
characteristic of modern authoritarian regimes. In Soviet Marx
ism we find the same phenomenon explored, although the cul
tural mechanics are quite different.
The Soviet proclamation that communism has realized univer
sal emancipation does not erase the reality of oppression and
deprivation. And these ideological claims become even more in
flated in an effort to conceal the real possibilities at hand for
freedom and the reorganization of production relations created
through the development of technology. But the Soviet people
cannot know of these possibilities unless they have access to a
form of political or cultural discourse that is critical of the orga
nization of Soviet society. As Marcuse puts it, “There is a need
for ideological transcendence beyond the repressive [Soviet] real
ity .”14 Because the totalitarian state suppresses all political oppo
sition that would challenge its authority to define the objectives
of technological progress, Marcuse argues that “the ideological
sphere which is remotest from the reality (art, philosophy), pre
cisely because o f its remoteness, becomes the last refuge for the
opposition to this order .”15
Soviet ideological disputes, for example, the state against phi
losophy, the state against art, therefore operate at a high level of
abstraction. This, of course, is the implication of “remote.” By
“remoteness” Marcuse has two characteristics in mind. He is re
ferring to the extent to which a form of thought, or cultural lan
guage, appears to be unrelated to the practical affairs of orga
nized social life. Also, this term pertains to the nature of the spe
cialized vocabularies of cultural discourse used to express ideas
that cannot be expressed in ordinary language. The abstractness
of a specialized language makes it difficult to manipulate, be
cause abstract concepts cannot be precisely translated into politi
cal terms. Being remote in both of these senses, philosophy and
art always pose the danger that some critical meaning will escape
the ideological coercion and disrupt the stability of totalitarian
i
society. This explains why the authoritarian state invests so much

energy in overseeing the work of philosophers and artists.
Nevertheless, Marcuse declares, the critical spirit of philoso
phy has been broken through the coercive measures of the Soviet
apparatus. Metaphysics must progress in line with the con
straints of dialectical materialism, itself subject to constant rein
terpretation. And the threat of suppression forces Soviet dialecti
cians to overcome any temptation to resist the vicissitudes of
Marxist “orthodoxy.” Ethical philosophy has been “transformed
into a pragmatic system of rules and standards of behavior [and]
has become an integral part of state policy.”16 All other philo
sophical trends that would eventually threaten the Soviet system
are disproved and disapproved of. The remaining battlefield for
ideological contention becomes art.
Realism is the officially sanctioned art form within the Soviet
Union. Realism, however, is a potentially critical aesthetic m eth
odology. If art truly reflected reality, the work of art would bold
ly contradict theoretical interpretations of the prevailing socialist
reality by Soviet ideologues. For this reason, realism must neces
sarily acquiesce in a manner after that of philosophy. Realism
assumes an illusory or magical character to the extent to which it
succumbs to the technical operational rationality of Soviet Marx
ism, which demands the false or unreal presentation of the real.
Through art, the reality of deprivation is transformed into a “re
ality” of fulfillment, the reality of oppression glorified as the
“reality” of freedom.
The development of Soviet realism Was originally intended to
perform a dual function. It was meant to purge the elements and
influences of Western formalism from Soviet art. Formalism, as
was noted above and shortly to be considered further, maintains
that beauty is the universal quality of all art and represents the
ideal of human happiness as a goal to be realized at some future
time. Instead, Soviet realism would “objectively reflect” the
achievement of the ideal in Soviet society. After 1917, Marcuse
explains, Soviet realism asserted that the “Bolshevik Revolution
has created the [social and political] basis for the translation” of
socialist ideals into reality .17
But Marcuse contends, provisionally at least, that the Soviet
attack on its formalists was destined to fail. It is in the very na
ture of formalism to forge new languages, artistic forms, that
can master the reality that is the object of art. Form must always
contain rules and symbols quite different from those of social re
ality if the latter is to be dramatically transfigured through art.
The more that political coercion impinges on artistic form, the
more does the form of art become abstract and surrealistic in an
attempt to escape the operational terms of Soviet realism. The
sole end of artistic enterprise then becomes the creation of forms
that by virtue of their abstract character make political retrans
lation impossible. Not only is formalism therefore deeply com
mitted to the ideal of freedom, but the form of the commitment
places this ideal beyond the manipulative reach of the state.
Marcuse holds out the possibility, however, that formalism may
one day be forced to submit to increasingly effective totalitarian
constraints. Within the Soviet Union, “even ‘formalistic’ and ‘ab
stract’ elements may still become reconcilable with conformist
enjoyment. In its societal function, art shares the growing impo
tence of individual autonomy and cognition .”18
For the Sake of A dvanced Industrial S ociety
By this point in the discussion, certain themes have begun to
emerge from Marcuse’s approach to aesthetics. Artistic form ap
pears to be the single most important critical element of art. Its
critical function is preserved unless some social and political dy
namic, such as we encountered in Marcuse’s analysis of fascism,
is used to manipulate the emotive basis of art or if political pres
sures are brought to bear, as they have been in the Soviet Union,
which would eventually subdue artistic form and paralyze its
critical disposition. The argument Marcuse pursues in One-di
mensional Man is quite similar to those of “The Affirmative
Character of Culture” and Soviet Marxism. Art is the final ref
uge for criticism but is jeopardized by practices threatening to
coordinate the critical dimension of art with the norms of the es
tablished order. In this work, as far as art is the concern, Mar
cuse’s analysis is focused on Western advanced industrial soci
eties. The type of authoritarianism described, however, includes
many of the characteristics of Fascist and Soviet totalitarianism.
Though the attack on art within Western advanced industrial
society is noncoercive, it is more effective than its German and
Soviet counterparts. In the West, artistic enterprise occurs with
in a tolerant societal framework. Art is permitted its owrt truths
and may proceed on it&own terms, but its norms are unfamiliar,
strange, and meaningless for that very reason. Whereas the Sovi
et political system is a less socially and economically integrated
society than those in the advanced West, which means that many
of its sectors would be highly receptive to the critical and tran
scendent qualities of art, the extent of socioeconomic integration
in Western advanced industrial society tends to make it imper
vious to the ideals that art represents.
The contentment of those who live and work in advanced in
dustrial society not only contributes to the lack of impact and the
impotence of art by creating an apathetic public but also nur
tures ignorance of art’s meaning and purpose. And in a society
where all cultural and material artifacts are reduced to the com
modity form, the only art produced will speak to the repressive
needs and interests of the common man. Art must necessarily in
corporate the value attributed to it by a society bent exclusively
on increasing affluence. The result is that the ideals of art are as
similated by a nonidealistic reality. Art, Marcuse contends, “is
brought down from the sublimated realm of the soul or the spirit
or the inner man, and translated into operational terms and
problems.”19
Marcuse indulges in a periodic optimism when he endeavors to
revive an aesthetic that tenaciously clings to a critical function by
continuing to portray an order different from that which the in
dividual most intimately experiences. He turns to the art of the
pretechnological era, which forcefully expressed a real antago
nism between the aesthetic and the social universe. At that time
art projected an infinitely more pleasant reality than even the
most privileged experienced. A genuine material basis for con
trast permeated the existence of each individual, who was natu
rally receptive to the alluring and seductive images of dreamlike
poetic visions. Marcuse recognizes the anachronistic character of
the art of a pretechnological culture and dwells on it not for the
sake of nostalgia but in order to recapture what he believes to be
the suppressed possibilities of a technological society. The fanta
sies of a pretechnological era could become a modern reality prin
ciple; its art links its past with our present and future. The beauty
of traditional art would stimulate the recollection of deeply re
pressed desires for a higher gratification. Once again, the truth
function of art is based upon its relation to unconscious life proc

esses. Are there other critical dimensions to traditional art?
Marcuse also praises the outrageous and eccentric figures who
were the legendary heroes of much great traditional art. He ex
plains his admiration for the Don Juans and Fausts, who, in spite
of the social order’s refusal to permit their real-life counterparts
to violate social taboos, are acclaimed in art for their refusal to
obey the moral constraints of social order in their quest for a life
and experience guided by a transvaluation of values. They are
progressive forces in a social milieu that secretly envied their at
tempts to realize unfulfilled longings, while it openly and hypo
critically condemned their arrogance, irony, insolent mockery,
and self-righteous egoism, which, if in any other form than art,
would breed havoc, disorder, and confusion in a stable world
that relies on obedience to other standards for reward and punish
ment. Technological society, on the other hand, smugly ignores
the unproductive romanticism of these figures of a pretechnolog-
ical culture. Indeed, it is the antihero of pretechnological society
who has become the modern hero —the politician, military man,
and police official who secure the system’s continued ability to
deliver the goods, a system whose satisfaction has made obsolete
the aesthetic ideals of a bygone era. And what has become of the
heroes born in a feudal and early industrial age? Where they
have survived in the art of the present, they have been transfig
ured; “they are no longer images of another way of life but
rather freaks or types of the same life, serving as an affirmation
rather than negation of the established order .”20
Technological society invalidates the ideals of traditional art
in another significant way. The sociohistorical basis of pretech
nological art played a decisive role in its formation. The content
of traditional art, as opposed to its form (beauty), derived many
of its norms from the politically and economically advantaged
social classes. It is these social and political freedoms that the
present societies have realized and in many instances surpassed
through democratization and modernization. Traditional art,
then, is critically meaningful only in its most abstract dimen
sions, as form or beauty, as the promise of happiness.
Additional and perhaps more sophisticated reasons exist that
explain how the images of conventional art have been subverted
by the achievements of the modern era. The pristine world of na

ture, once providing not only the imagery for the work of art but
the model upon which the concepts of form and beauty had been
based, has been invaded by the noise and pollution of industrial
progress. Nature, whose simple realistic portrayal constituted
the representation of the ideal of beauty, has been purged of
those qualities that made it ideal. Marcuse expresses this change
by saying that “when cities and highways and National Parks re
place the villages, valleys and forests; when motor boats race
over the lakes and planes cut through.the skies —then these areas
lose their character as a qualitatively different reality, as areas of
contradiction .”21
Advanced industrial society further prevails over the critical
power of art in a way that becomes visible when the relationship
among art, beauty, pleasurable satisfaction, and sublimation is
underscored. For Marcuse, art allows for sublimation of the li-
bidinal drives in two ways. First, the form of the oeuvre, as beau
ty, is a sublimated expression of the artist’s need for libidinal
gratification .22 Form, in a sense, suspends, in the art work, the
libidinal element. Eros appears as beauty. Second, the pleasure
generated through the aesthetic response, the appreciation and
experience of form and beauty, is sublimated gratification. Ar
tistic creativity and the response to art, therefore, are both subli
mated outlets for repressed erotic drives. Insofar as aspects of art
seem to be related to Eros and its sublimation, technological so
ciety’s ability to modify its performance principle to expand the
social use of unsublimated libido, tfius diminishing the social
necessity for its repression, would contribute to the subversion of
the emotive reservoir from which art draws its critical power. At
this point, the discussion is returned to Marcuse’s concept of re
pressive desublimation .23
Mechanization has eliminated many forms of traditional labor
that utilized aggressive instincts and required the repression of
erotic drives. As Marcuse says, technology has “ ‘saved’ libido,
the energy of the Life Instincts,” but Eros is then exploited as u n
sublimated sexuality and becomes a positive force in the work
world. Sexuality is given a market and promoted as exchange
value in the form of clothing, faddish styles, sexy office women,
sexy office men, the new levity and licentiousness attached to
“swinging,” and'so forth. The intermingling of sexuality and the
business world makes work pleasurable and even desirable. And

as long as labor is pleasurable, it will be subject to control and
progress in the interest of technological rationality. “Pleasure,
thus adjusted, generates submission/’ Marcuse explains.24 Un
sublimated drives, instincts that were previously repressed, now
serve the interests of political oppression. Thus, sexual libera
tion, as a mode of repressive desublimation, contributes to the
erosion of art and the aesthetic experience by reducing the need
for the repression and sublimation of Eros. The seriousness with
which Marcuse approaches this phenomenon is indicated by his
implicit willingness to sanction the continued repression of Eros
in place of its unsublimated but socially useful exploitation.
Repressive desublimation contributes to the erosion of the crit
ical power of art in a second way. Contemporary literature, film,
and popular music openly and profitably exploit the sexual revo
lution and in so doing affirm rather than contradict the prevail
ing culture. If the cultural sphere that traditionally maintained
a critical stance toward society now takes the perverse form of
desublimation and presents it as the ideal (Marcuse refers to
“O’Neill’s alcoholics and Faulkner’s savages,” Streetcar Named
Desire, Lolita, and so on), the repressive social reality acquires a
legitimacy and authority denied it by conventional art. By capit
ulating to one-dimensional thought and by encouraging one-di
mensional behavior by celebrating its obscene and pornographic
aspects —in effect, by desublimating the aesthetic form and elim
inating beauty from the art work—art directly contributes to au
thoritarianism. And by aesthetically encouraging repressively
desublimated modes of expression, art helps to bring about its
own demise by further undermining the sublimation necessary
for an authentic aesthetic experience.
Last, the critical disposition of art is compromised in still one
other way. Marcuse suggests that the affirmative character of
contemporary art may also be indicative of changes in that most
essential aesthetic faculty, the imagination. In Eros and Civiliza
tion Marcuse argued that the realm of freedom could be defined
as the “free play of the faculties.” The unfettered imagination is
committed to a truth that opposes the repressive rationality of
the performance principle. An emancipated imagination would
pacify existence by restoring the pure form of nature and by re
leasing human nature from the domination of technical reason.
In the modern age, ho\yever, Marcuse contends that the achieve

ments of technological society merge the powers of the imagina
tion with the productivity of science. Imagination is now har
nessed to technological rationality, bent to its values, designs,
and objectives. Marcuse explains, for example, that the
imagination has not remained immune to the process of reification.
We are possessed by our images . . . Rational is the imagination
which can become the a priori of the reconstruction and redirection
of the productive apparatus toward a pacified existence, a life with
out fear. And this can never be the imagination of those who are
possessed by the images of domination and death.25
A rt fo r the Sake of Freedom

It is evident that form is a concept indispensable to Marcuse’s
critical theory, and although he uses this term frequently and
unsystematically the following usages can be identified: ( 1) art as
the sublimated form of fantasy or the imagination, the articula
tion of needs and desires repressed at an unconscious level of exist
ence; (2) beauty as the universal form of art; (3) various historical
art forms, broadly conceived as pretechnological and technologi
cal art; (4) and reality as the perverse form of art, which pertains
to the desublimation of the aesthetic form, the erosion of the
critical dimension of art as a critical dimension of experience,
and the release of unsublimated drives into a society that pro
vides repressive modes of gratification. There is a final concep
tion of form that must now be considered: art as the form of
realityl By this Marcuse means that art would be abolished as a
sublimated refuge for Eros and that reality would become sub
ject to the play of the imagination, reshaped according to the ra
tionality of the libidinal instincts.
This last notion of form corresponds roughly to the second di
mension in Eros and Civilization, where Marcuse is preoccupied
with the shape that the social universe would assume if repressed
libidinal drives were permitted to become the dominant social
drives. Relying on his interpretation of Freud’s metapsychologi-
cal theory, Marcuse in Eros and Civilization considered what
radical changes in social relations must proceed from the nonre-
pressive translation of Eros into a new reality principle. Here we
are now considering the manner in which art is doubly related to
The A esthetic Dimension and the Second Dimension 3 41
the second dimension —first, as the sublimated expression of

Eros, from which it derives its critical power, and, second, as the
potential form of reality. Since art is constituted as the subli
mated expression of erotic drives, art, the aesthetic dimension,
can throw additional light on the characteristics of the second di
mension.
An exclusively functional theory of artistic form views it as an
organizational device. Tones, colors, images of objects, and so
forth, are made to conform to an objective framework of some
sort that imposes order on disorderly, random elements. Beauty
seems to derive from form’s ability to master and organize real
ity. Marcuse gives depth to the functional notion of form by
establishing its psychological basis. Matter, Marcuse argues,
“comes to rest within the limits of accomplishment and fulfill
m ent” established by form. Form eliminates movement, tension,
aggressiveness, and violence; thus, “narcissistic Eros, [the] pri
mary stage of all erotic and aesthetic energy, [which] seeks above
all tranquility ,”26 is gratified. Through art, sublimated gratifica
tion of repressed drives yields pleasure, and pleasure is dynami
cally related to the experience of the beautiful. Art, particularly
as regards the concept of form, is a potential dimension of reality
in that it represents the satisfaction of unfulfilled biological and
instinctual needs. It is fitting, therefore, that in its form as art
Marcuse’s realm of freedom would be termed the aesthetic di
mension, as the term “aesthetic” applies to (artistic) beauty and
biological sensibility. This sensibility, moreover, carries political
and normative connotations in that it suggests a biological basis
for a new mode of existence defined by qualitatively different so
cial and political relationships.
If this aesthetic sensibility of freedom and fulfillment, which
has found a sublimated though limited expression in art, could
be translated into practice without being perverted as it is in an
authoritarian society, then “beauty will find a new embodiment
when it no longer is represented as real [artistic] illusion but, in
stead, expresses reality and joy in reality .”27 Art would then have
no purpose or function. The end of art would mark the begin
ning of the second dimension.
This idea appears in One-dimensional Man as the concept of
“aesthetic reduction.” The essential dynamic of advanced indus
trial society is its ability to expand the realm of socially necessary
labor through the artificial creation of needs and through a

quantitative extension of the goods and services that society must
produce in order to sustain itself. This quantitative extension of
the productive apparatus is the decisive factor in the determina
tion of the aggressive and destructive form of m an’s relationship
to man and nature. Consequently, Marcuse concludes that
“qualitative change seems to presuppose a quantitative change
in the advanced standard of living, namely, reduction of overde
velopment.”28 This reduction of overdevelopment is an aesthetic
reduction because it is precisely the^ libidinal sensibility subli
mated in art that would pacify existence and thus tame aggres
sion and constantly decrease surplus labor and production. The
aesthetic reduction would be possible only in a society that did
not compel the sublimation of the aesthetic sensibility in art.
But Marcuse’s claims for the powers of the libidinal sensibility
are not based merely upon Freud’s theory of the instincts. Mar
cuse argues that a libidinal rationality is at work in art itself. In
other words, Marcuse wants to demonstrate an interesting paral
lel between the dynamics of instinctual behavior in the social
sphere and the vicissitudes of the instincts in the aesthetic sphere.
Instinctual processes enter into the art work and actually deter
mine the nature of the relationship between artistic form and
content. This notion is very clearly illustrated by Marcuse in A n
Essay on Liberation.
The aesthetic necessity of art supersedes the terrible necessity of re
ality, sublimates its pain and pleasure; the blind suffering and
cruelty of nature (and of the “nature” of man) assume meaning and
end —“poetic justice.” The horror of the crucifixion is purified by
the beautiful face of Jesus dominating the beautiful composition,
the horror of politics by the beautiful verse of Racine, the horror of
farewell forever by the Lied von der Erde. And in this aesthetic uni
verse, joy and fulfillment find their proper place alongside pain and
death.29
Marcuse s analysis, of course, is double-edged. He is pointing
to what he refers to as the “internal ambivalence of art” reflected
in the “reconciling” power of the aesthetic form. Aesthetic form,
as Marcuse more frequently expresses it, is affirmative and pro
gressive. In other words, art certainly portrays inequality, injus
tice, adversity, and misfortune. But the indictment of the social
order made through such artistic contents is canceled as the an
guish conveyed is transfigured through its beautiful appearance.

Beauty reconciles us to oppression by making it pleasurable.
Yet, it is the progressive side of art’s ambivalence that is most
important to Marcuse. The aesthetic dynamic that Marcuse has
uncovered, a sort of aesthetic alchemy whereby the agony and
distress of reality are magically transformed into pleasure, is ac
tually Eros, true to its biological and instinctual form, harness
ing aggression. Since the artistic metamorphosis of pain into
pleasure occurs through the form of art, which is rooted in the
imagination expressive of libidinal needs, art provides an un
usual insight into the form of a social existence that has ceased to
require the renunciation of libidinal drives. The interaction of
artistic form and content is demonstrable of the natural relation
ship of the libidinal and aggressive instincts. It thus anticipates a
radically different basis for social organization. In art, Eros mas
ters aggression the way that it would in a society that did not de
mand the repression of Eros. This is precisely Marcuse’s argu
ment when he explains that “as desired object, the beautiful
pertains to the domain of the primary instincts, Eros and Thana-
tos. The mythos links the adversaries: pleasure and terror. Beau
ty has the power to check aggression: it forbids and immobilizes
the aggressor.’’30 With this, it is a simple matter to grasp the
meaning of Marcuse’s assertion that “the aesthetic dimension
can serve as a sort of gauge for a free society.” And finally, when
Marcuse declares that “The Way of Truth passes through the
realm of the Beautiful,” he has not merely borrowed a metaphor
from classical German aesthetics; he has summarized his theory
of a second dimension of freedom, happiness, and fulfillment.
Bourgeois A rt as the Final Refuge fo r Criticism

Without a doubt, Marcuse’s aesthetics is a decisive aspect of his
critical theory. The truth of art lies exclusively in the aesthetic
form. Form is the expression of beauty and Eros. Through form
we regain knowledge of a higher freedom whose sovereignty is
reaffirmed in the ascendancy of form over content each time a
new work of art is created and at each moment a literary, musi
cal, or poetic work is experienced. Within the art work artistic
content suffers the defeat that is the “imagined” and “fantastic”
fate of the real oppression that it portrays. In art, the revolution
is always victorious. Is the transcendent form still characteristic

of modern art and, if not, what sort of art continues to embrace
form as the aesthetic means for representing a new dimension of
human experience?
Modern art is conformist. It sacrifices the truth of the aesthet
ic dimension by transforming art into a language and experience
that affirms and supports the established social order. Form,
modern art contends, is a deadly obstacle to the artist’s search
for an aesthetic presentation of modern civilization that will dis
play its horrors and spiritual poverty. Form lies —as beauty it only
re-forms the object of art, conceals its real properties, and op
poses the artist’s effort to make them transparent. Modern art
also wants to democratize art, render its meaning accessible to
the ordinary individual, who, unlike the members of privileged
socioeconomic groups, is not equipped to grasp the significance
of art. Form would unnecessarily complicate art by introducing
an unbridgeable separation between the world of art and the
world of everyday affairs. Modern art dispenses with traditional
aesthetic form in order to communicate the terrible form of ex
istence. But in its desublimation or destruction of form, Marcuse
argues, against its intentions modern art is not radicalized. As
form disappears from art, art’s critical disposition and the aes
thetic dimension recede in proportion. Art is assimilated into the
fabric of one-dimensional society. “If we look at this historical
element in art,’’ Marcuse explains, “we would have to say that
the crisis of art today is only part of the general crisis of the polit
ical and moral opposition to our society, of its inability to define,
name and communicate the goals of the opposition .’’31
This argument is also made forcefully in Counterrevolution
and Revolt. In this work, as well, Marcuse accuses Marxist aes
thetics of committing the same error as modern art. Marxist aes
thetics opposes all formalism in favor of a realistic depiction of
the material conditions of the working class. But Marcuse insists
that art must sever all connections with Marx’s revolutionary
agent. He dismisses the possibility of a Western socialist art that
envisions the working class as the vehicle for radical change by
saying that “where the proletariat is non-revolutionary, revolu
tionary literature will not be proletarian literature .”32
Where modern art and Marxist aesthetics fail, Marcuse con
tends, bourgeois art succeeds. Bougeois art, he exclaims, “opens
the established reality to another dimension: that of possible lib

eration .”33 It is thus the art of an earlier stage of capitalism that
becomes critical of the art and social organization of its most ad
vanced stage. And how does Marcuse account for the critical
power of bourgeois art? His explanation, and his crucial distinc
tion between the art of the bourgeois era, modern and Marxist
art, is best summarized, perhaps, when Marcuse declares that
there is no work of art which does not break its affirmative stance by
the “power of the negative,” which does not, in its very structure,
evoke the words, the images, the music of another reality, of an
other order repelled by the existing one and yet [literally] alive in
memory and anticipation, alive in what happens to men and wom
en, and in their rebellion against it. Where this tension between af
firmation and negation, between pleasure and sorrow, higher and
material culture no longer prevails, where the work no longer sus
tains the dialectical unity of what is and what can (and ought to)
be, art has lost its truth, has lost itself. And precisely in the aesthetic
form are this tension, and the critical, negating, transcending qual
ities of bourgeois art —its antibourgeois qualities. To recapture and
transform them, to save them from expulsion must be one of the
tasks of the cultural revolution.34
By preserving aesthetic form, bourgeois art continues to repre
sent the aesthetic dimension and thus to anticipate the second di
mension. The socialist future depends on safeguarding the im
ages of the bourgeois past from the domination of the present.
Bourgeois art is not art for art’s sake but art for the sake of Eros
and freedom.
As we saw in the preceding chapter, Counterrevolution and
Revolt is distinguished in a significant way from Marcuse’s ear
lier writings on one-dimensional society. By virtue of the contra
dictions arising from technological rationalization and those tra
ditionally associated with capital, the stability, legitimacy, and
social integration of advanced industrial society was in a process
of deterioration. On the wave of these stresses and strains an op
position, and a potentially revolutionary opposition, was being
born that could effectively challenge the established order if a
liberal politics informed its organizational strategies. This argu
ment is carried an interesting step further by Marcuse’s claims
regarding the critical function of bourgeois art. As is clearly in
dicated by his final remark in the passage just cited, it must be
one of the tasks of the opposition to recapture and save from ex
tinction the transcendent qualities of bourgeois art. The vision of
a free society that such art embodies would serve both as a prac
tical inspiration and as a theoretical guide for a gradually ex
panding political opposition. Most important, according to the
arguments of Counterrevolution and Revolt, there exists both an
opposition that could seize upon and politicize the progressive
aesthetic achievements of the bourgeois past and a critically
disposed individual to whom such a radical appeal would be
meaningful. What must be emphasized is that it is only through
a living opposition that the dead art of the past becomes animate
and an oppositional force. Without an existing opposition, bour
geois art remains buried and its critical powers remain buried
with it.
In his final book, The Permanence of Art: Against Any Par-
ticular Marxist Aesthetics (Die Permanenz der Kunst: Wider
eine bestimmte Marxistische Aesthetik), translated from the
German as The Aesthetic Dimension: Toward a Critique o f
Marxist Aesthetics, Marcuse departs from the optimism of Coun
terrevolution and Revolt and returns to the theory of technologi
cal domination and one-dimensional society. The new work re
tains Marcuse’s aesthetic theory unchanged. Marcuse’s critique
of Marxist aesthetics and modern art, the theory of the critical
function of aesthetic form and its affirmative characteristics, the
relation of form and beauty to Eros, the imagination, and the
pleasure principle, and bourgeois art as the apotheosis of the aes
thetic representation of freedom and fulfillment —in short, all
the arguments scattered through the many works discussed in
this chapter are collected into The Aesthetic Dimension. But it is
Marcuse’s return to his earlier theoretical convictions that is most
significant.
In The Aesthetic Dimension the focus is exclusively on art.
The discussion no longer proceeds within the context of an anal
ysis of the deterioration of social order and the emergence of an
opposition in advanced industrial society. The central argument
of Counterrevolution and Revolt has been discarded. Once
again, critical theory is without practice. Not only the revolu
tionary class subject but also the critically disposed individual
subject have ceased to be a source of political resistance and po
litical change. Bourgeois art is the only remaining sphere of criti

cism in a society wherein all forms of political and cultural dis
course have bowed to the domination of technical reason.
The encounter with the truth of art happens in the estranging lan
guage and images which make perceptible, visible, and audible
that which is no longer, or not yet, perceived, said, and heard in
everyday life.35
But if the message of art is no longer, or not yet, heard by a criti
cal subject, to whom can bourgeois art appeal? Marcuse answers
by saying that “in the present, the subject to which authentic art
appeals is socially anonymous . . .”36 Now, in a one-dimensional
society, critical theory alone possesses knowledge of the past and
through it knowledge of the future. Marcuse made this very
point forty years earlier, in fact, when, in the midst of fascism,
he turned to restore the truth of critical theory from the ruin and
crisis to which it had been brought.
More and more, the [bourgeois] culture that was to have been abol
ished [through revolution] recedes into the past. Overlaid by an ac
tuality in which the complete sacrifice of the individual has become
a pervasive and almost unquestioned fact of life, that culture has
vanished to the point where studying and comprehending it is no
longer a matter of spiteful pride, but of sorrow. Critical theory must
concern itself to a hitherto unknown extent with the past —precisely
insofar as it is concerned with the future.37
Bourgeois art can appeal to no one, save a socially anonymous
subject. Its passing is mourned only by the critical spirit that
knows of the truth locked securely away within the aesthetic di
mension. Who will inherit the truth sheltered by critical theory
when it, following after bourgeois culture, slips silently and invis
ibly into the past?
Notes
1. The essays have been collected in Herbert Marcuse, Zeit-Messun-
gen (Frankfurt: Suhrkamp, 1975). The first, "Marxismus und Femi-
nismus,” was originally published as “Marxism and Feminism,” Wom
en’s Studies, 2, 3 (Old Westbury: 1974), pp. 279-288; “Theorie und
Praxis” was published in Zeit-Messungen for the first time; “Scheitern
der Neuen Linken?” was presented in April 1975 at the University of

California, Irvine; the German translation is an expanded text of this
address, which to my knowledge has not been published in English.
2. "Scheitern der Neuen Linken?” p. 42.
3. ‘‘Theorie und Praxis,” p. 21.
4. “Scheitern der Neuen Linken?” p. 48.
5. “Marxism and Feminism,” p. 279; all references to this article
are to the original English publication.
6. Ibid., pp. 282-283, 285, for Marcuse’s equation of the feminine
with the libidinal.
7. Herbert Marcuse, Der deutsche Kunstlerroman, Schriften, 1
(Frankfurt: Suhrkamp, 1978); the copy cited in this chapter is a
microfilm of the original text of the dissertation obtained at Smith
College, Northampton, Massachusetts.
8. Der deutsche Kunstlerroman, p. 454.
9. See chapter two, pp. 55-57.
10. Herbert Marcuse, “The Affirmative Character of Culture,” Ne
gations: ILssays in Critical Theory (Boston: Beacon, 1968), p. 100;
originally published as “Ober den affirmativen Charakter der Kul-
tur,” Zeitschriftfilr Sozialforschung, 6, 1 (Paris: 1937), pp. 54-94.
11. Ibid., p. 119.
12. Ibid., p. 127.
13. See chapter two, p. 57.
14. Herbert Marcuse, Soviet Marxism: A Critical Analysis (New
York: Random House, Vintage Books, 1961), p. 112.
16. Ibid., p. 113.
17. Ibid., p. 115.
18. Ibid., p. 120.
°gy of Advanced Industrial Society (Boston: Beacon, 1964), pp.
57-58.
20. Ibid., p. 59.
21. Ibid., p. 66.
22. See Sigmund Freud, “Formulations Regarding the Two Princi
ples in Mental Functioning” (1911), Collected Papers, 4 (New York:
Basic Books, 1959), p. 19. And Marcuse, speaking through the au
thority of Freud’s theory, argues that "in the artistic Forms, repressed
instinctual, biological needs find their representation.” “Art in the
One-dimensional Society,” in Radical Perspectives in the Arts, edited
by Lee Baxandall (Baltimore: Penguin, 1972), p. 60; this essay was
published originally in Arts Magazine (New York: May 1967), pp.
26-31.
23. See chapter five, pp. 255-257.

25. Ibid., p. 250.
26. “Art in the One-dimensional Society,” pp. 59-60.
27. “The Affirmative Character of Culture,” p. 131; see also Her
bert Marcuse, “Art as Form of Reality,” New Left Review, 74 (Lon
don: 1972), pp. 51-58.
28. One-dimensional Man, p. 242. In advanced industrial society
the opposite tendency prevails—“quantitative progress absorbs the
qualitative difference between possible freedom and existing free
doms.” “Die Zukunft der Kunst: Die Gesellschaft als Kunstwerk,”
Neues Forum, 14, 167-168 (Vienna: 1967), p. 865.
29. Herbert Marcuse, An Essay on Liberation (Boston: Beacon,
1969), p. 44.
30. Ibid., p. 26.
31. “Art in the One-dimensional Society,” pp. 54-55.
32. Herbert Marcuse, Counterrevolution and Revolt (Boston: Bea
con, 1972), p. 125.
33. Ibid., p. 87.
34. Ibid., pp. 92-93.
35. Herbert Marcuse, The Aesthetic Dimension: Toward a Cri
tique of Marxist Aesthetics (Boston: Beacon, 1978), p. 72; originally
published as Die Permanenz der Kunst: Wider eine bestimmte Marxis-
tische Aesthetik (Munich: Carl Hanser, 1977).
36. Ibid., p. 32.
37. Herbert Marcuse, “Philosophy and Critical Theory,” Nega
tions, p. 158; originally published as “Philosophic und kritische The-
orie," Zeitschrift fur Sozialforschung, 6, 3 (Paris: 1937), pp. 625-647.
CONCLUDING REMARKS
T he Im aginary W itness
It is not the portrayal of reality as hell on earth but
the slick challenge to break out of it that is suspect.
If there is anyone today to whom we can pass the re
sponsibilities for the message, we bequeath it not to
the “masses,” and not to the individual (who is
powerless), but to an imaginary witness—lest it per
ish with us.
Max Horkheimer and Theodor W. Adorno,
Dialectic of Enlightenment
C omposed from the depths of despair, an obituary for the idea

of a way of life not realized and for the theory that had given it
refuge, these words were written, Horkheimer and Adorno tell
us, “when the end of the Nazi terror was within sight .”1 Though
I would venture to say that it is not, whether this statement is de
scriptive of their later work cannot be'considered in this study.
With the exception of his New Left period, it is undoubtedly the
position that aptly characterizes Marcuse’s work as it evolved af
ter 1933. In the end Marcuse leaves us not only with a society
without opposition but finally with a society even without the
idea of opposition. All members of the social order, all forms of
thought, are so totally identified with its ideology that there
would not be the merest shred of independence that must survive
if an authentic concept of criticism is to be part of a human vo
cabulary. The whole of advanced industrial society is untrue,
but the closed circle of ideological meaning that defines its boun
daries includes neither individuals whq could grasp the meaning
of such an assertion nor concepts that would make the assertion
possible. Critical theory, its knowledge of the society and of its
350
Concluding Remarks 3 51
alternatives, becomes the property of an imaginary witness, of an

individual who no longer exists. The imaginary witness, how
ever, is the mournful and melancholy legacy of a critical spirit
born from the horrors of fascism.
Before Marcuse’s social theory acquired the rationalistic cast
in reaction to fascism that predetermined its neglect of the indi
vidual, through the theory of historicity the individual had be
come the new foundation upon which Marcuse placed the Marx
ist theory of revolution. Ideology could obstruct the emergence
of class consciousness but not the insights of working-class indi
viduals, insights that Marcuse viewed as the embryos of a class
informed interpretation of social existence. As “subjectively”
both individual and class at the same time, the individual was a
viable political entity. Once this was established theoretically,
what was needed was a political practice that would draw the in
dividual toward a sharper definition of the extraordinary mean
ing implicit in his insightful but ordinary understanding of social
life.
To exemplify the political practice of “concrete philosophy,”
Marcuse called forth Socrates, Plato, and Kierkegaard, not the
leaders of a past revolution. His point, however implicit, was
clear. If Marxist theory were to take seriously its understanding
of the impact of ideology upon the minds of the members of the
working class, then its concept of class consciousness would be an
inflated criterion for radical activity that both exaggerated and
disregarded the real potentialities for radical action. There
could be neither the possibility of a sudden leap or breakthrough
from ideological to “correct” thinking nor the possibility that
until such a time the individual would be completely dominated
by ideology. With class as the exclusive determinant of radical
action, a radical theory that embraced these possibilities both
underestimated and overestimated the ideological pressures that
bound the individual to society: underestimated, because no new
conditions can abruptly and completely displace the ideology
that pervades the experience that shapes the individual; overesti
mated, because this theory overlooks the fact that this experience
includes other elements that enable the individual to penetrate
the ideological veil concealing the forces that mold him.
Such a theory, therefore, was not at all radical. In the name of
revolution it displayed an ignorance of the real limits and possi
bilities of radical action and thus could never grasp action’s real
preconditions. Only a theory that recognizes the effects of re
ification and realizes that the structure concealed by ideology
generates insights that transcend appearances can be a radical
theory. Such a theory is radical because it recognizes that the in
dividual is necessarily ambivalent. By grasping the individual’s
plight Marcuse’s theory discovered that insight can become
knowledge and disposition opposition only through a politics of
engagement and discourse. Liberal politics surfaced as an au
thentic radical politics, liberal theory as a theory of revolution.
Marcuse’s project did not liberalize radicalism but radicalized
liberalism. The position that Marcuse arrives at with Counter
revolution and Revolt returns to his early project and in a precise
way expresses this radicalization of liberal political practice.
Among contemporary variants of critical theory there is pres
ently little work that in its basic theoretical and practical objec
tives and conception of the individual resembles Marcuse’s proj
ect. There are signs, however, that the broad based intentions of
Marcuse’s early writings also animate some recent developments,
particularly in the area of interpretive social theory .2 An exam
ple of the research conducted in interpretive theory is William
Connolly’s study, Appearance and Reality in Politics. 3 Without
attempting a detailed exposition of Connolly’s rich and complex
work, I want to draw attention to certain aspects that establish it
as a counterpart to Marcuse’s early project.
Drawing initially upon the results of Richard Sennett and Jon
athan Cobb’s Hidden Injuries o f Class',4 Connolly focuses upon
the set of beliefs through which the worker justifies his accept
ance of the work routines and authoritarian controls that are
fundamental to his everyday existence in industrial society. The
worker’s tolerance of these harsh practices is motivated by an
“ideology of sacrifice.” Through his willingness to sacrifice to im
prove his children’s opportunities for social mobility, the worker
can claim the respect of his family, which in turn lends dignity to
his life activity and provides him with self-esteem and a personal
identity.
Because the worker’s identity is largely rooted in his sacrifice,
the ideology of sacrifice serves as the basis from which he inter
prets the meaning and significance of events within the social or
der. Connolly explains, for instance, that the worker’s sacrificial
Concluding Remarks 353
orientation to work and family helps to condition his reaction to

welfare recipients and student dissidents.
If the welfare recipient claims that unemployment is created by
structural causes rather than by the personal defects of the recipi
ent, the worker’s very possession of a job may appear to be more a
matter of luck than self-discipline and desert. If the recipient calls
for higher levels of support the worker’s own sacrifice may begin to
look foolish . . . If radicals treat equality of opportunity as a fraud
they unwittingly undermine the worker’s hopes for his children’s fu
ture and render his sacrifice fruitless.
The claims of welfare recipients and radicals threaten the worker
by calling into question the rationality of his sacrifice. If the
worker were to acknowledge the validity of their claims, his own
claim to respect would be lost and his identity would collapse. So
much rests upon the ideology of sacrifice that it constrains the
worker to deny the truth of such challenges. The worker re
sponds defensively. If the self-esteem and personal identity at
tached to this ideology are to be secured, the worker must react
by insisting that those “who challenge it in various ways are
either irresponsible or indulge themselves in utopian dreams.”
But as conservative as the worker’s reaction to the challenges
of the welfare recipient and radical appears to be, it also con
tains and conceals a far less conservative disposition. Connolly
suggests that while the worker’s reaction does identify differences
between the conduct of these groups and that of the worker, it
also magnifies these differences and distorts the motives of these
constituencies. Within the worker’s inflated characterizations of
the attitudes and beliefs of these groups can be detected an effort
to suppress inner doubts on the part of the worker about the
point of his sacrifice and the truth of the ideology sustaining it.
The tendency of the accusers to accentuate differences between
their own behavior and that of the accused, and to suppress aware
ness of the real grievances felt by these constituencies, protected a
disorienting discrepancy within themselves between the beliefs and
aspirations appropriate to the roles they play and their declining al
legiance to those beliefs and aspirations.
And not only in the worker’s inflated response can doubt and dis
affection be discerned. It is a fair assumption that the worker is
sufficiently intelligent to know that his own economic security is
not guaranteed; that hevcould become unemployed would lead

him not only to empathize but perhaps also to identify with the
welfare recipient and be tempted to share his perspective on and
interpretation of the social system.
An important question now arises: what would this disposition
look like if, no longer constrained by the ideology of sacrifice, it
became the explicit standpoint from which the worker would
newly interpret, that is, reinterpret, social life? Connolly offers
the following description. Workers, he submits, would begin
to externalize a range of doubts that Had been internalized. They
may begin to probe previously suppressed questions about the legiti
macy of a system which, as they now see it, requires them to seek
dignity in such undignified ways. Perhaps they will begin to locate
themselves within the same class as many of those formerly accused
of freeloading, to see the accused and themselves as members of a
subordinate class which reaps the fewest rewards, receives insuffi
cient space to carve out a dignified life, and is called upon to bear
the largest sacrifices when the larger economy is under pressure.
The reinterpretation will reconstitute political alliances and cleav
ages; it will politicize grievances previously relegated to a non- or
semi-political status such as the right to a job, class inequality, and
the social preconditions of self-respect. The diminished sense of in
dividual agency accompanying the demise of the ideology of sacri
fice will be offset, at least initially and to some degree, by the en
hanced sense of the working class as a potential agent of collective
change. It ushers in the liberal moment.
It is important to bear in mind that this'portrayal of the worker’s
reinterpretation deliberately exaggerates the beliefs and political
orientations implicit in the disposition subordinate to the ideol
ogy of sacrifice. By exaggerating the implicit dimensions of the
disposition it is possible clearly to ascertain the extent to which it
involves a direct challenge to the ideology of sacrifice and hence
why it remains suppressed and undeveloped within the estab
lished social system.
Connolly refers to the reinterpretation as a liberal moment be
cause it does not entail a commitment to reconstitute the soci
ety’s basic institutions, such as the welfare state, the structure of
consumption and profit, the market system, and so forth. In
fact, it would be exceedingly difficult for the worker to shift from
a liberal orientation to a commitment to sweeping institutional
transformation. If the worker’s disposition were to escape the

constraints of the ideology of sacrifice and be expressed as a lib
eral reinterpretation of social life, these new beliefs and attitudes
would then be threatened by constraints of a structural nature.
Connolly argues that the interdependence and intermeshing of
societal institutions “creates an institutional structure terribly re
sistant to serious reconstitution.” Overwhelmed by the complex
ity of the institutional structure, insofar as reforms presuppose
massive institutional changes, the liberal reinterpretation and its
sense of collective agency may dissipate and perhaps recede into
the old ideology of sacrifice. In short, the liberal moment is “in
herently unstable” and “prone to invalidation.”
This brief summary of a few aspects of Connolly’s Appearance
and Reality in Politics has had to pass over interesting elements
and important moves in just one of the arguments of the study.
Nevertheless, it can be appreciated that Connolly is exploring
territory similar to that mapped out by Marcuse’s early work,
though with this important difference. Connolly’s arguments un
fold within the framework of an interpretive theory that incorpo
rates an ideological and a structural dimension. Here lies the sig
nificance I wish to attach to Connolly’s study. Interpretive theory
provides the theoretical foundation for the existence of a politi
cally active, radically disposed subject, while the ideological and
structural factors offer an explanation for the inhibition of the
disposition. Whether or not Connolly’s and other such investiga
tions will withstand critical analysis largely depends upon the
further development of an interpretive theory with ideological
and structural moments, now in its formative stages.
Yet, although the status of interpretive theory cannot be con
sidered at this time, its significance, from the standpoint of Mar
cuse’s early work and as it is apparent in Connolly’s study, should
be drawn out and emphasized. Like that of Marcuse, Connolly’s
individual is disposed to radical activity though constrained from
pursuing it. The liberal moment is constrained first by the ideol
ogy of sacrifice and then, if expressed, would be constrained by
the logic of institutional structures. By pressuring dispositions to
remain implicit dimensions of thought and action, ideological
and structural constraints shape an “ambivalent” individual
who, at a conscious level deeper than that of the dominant ideol
ogy of sacrifice, is receptive to radical change. Connolly also con
siders the question pertaining to the conditions under which the

disposition to radical activity actually would begin to surface.
Ultimately, however, he is sympathetic to the view emerging
from Marcuse’s early writings, a view that would be supported
and elaborated through interpretive theory and that begins to
draw out the latter’s political implications. An important test for
determining whether ideological and structural constraints
would prevail over subordinate and critical dispositions is a prac
tical political immersion in the social existence of the individ
ual—Marcuse’s “public act .”5 Practice, not theory, gives life to
hidden dispositions and by so doing clearly grasps faintly glowing
attitudes that in their inarticulate form necessarily appear to
analysis to have little chance to survive the deadening weight of
ideology. Theory can only pose the question that practice alone
can answer.
What is the cost of ignoring Marcuse’s early project, in effect,
of ignoring the significance of hidden though radical political
dispositions of the individual? To answer this question theory
must decide to what extent the conditions of modern society re
semble those that characterized the period in which Marcuse’s
project was developed. At that time, Marcuse appears to have
sensed that neglecting the theoretical and practical imperatives
that he gave expression to in his early work would seal the fate if
not of his society then of the socialist alternative to it. In retro
spect, there may be reason to believe that his sense was correct.
When Marcuse became a victim of fascism, the promise and im
plications of his early writings fell victirri, too. If the significance
of his project goes unheeded, if it is conceived as a “slick chal
lenge" to break out of the existing state of affairs, does the dan
ger also exist that a fate similar to Marcuse’s fate, to the fate of
his work and of the society to which he belonged, could come to
pass today?
Notes
1. Max Horkheimer and Theodor W. Adorno, Dialectic of Enlight
enment (New York: Herder and Herder, 1972), p. ix.
2. An excellent introduction to interpretive theory is Brian Fay, So
cial Theory and Political Practice (London: George Allen & Unwin,
1977). Charles Taylor’s “Interpretation and the Sciences of Man,” Re-

view of Metaphysics, 25, 3 (Haverford: 1971), pp. 4-51, is the ac
knowledged text for the principles of interpretive theory.
3. William E. Connolly, Appearance and Reality in Politics (New
York: Cambridge University Press, 1981). Excerpts are with the per
mission of the author; all quotations from the third chapter. Pagina
tion unavailable at the publication date of The Imaginary Witness.
4. Richard Sennett and Jonathan Cobb, The Hidden Injuries of
Class (New York: Random House, Vintage Books, 1973), especially
p p .51-188.
5. See chapter one, pp. 28-37.
*
*•
Bibliography
Works by Herbert Marcuse

The following listing is based both upon bibliographies dated Octo
ber 1968 and March 1972 that I received from Herbert Marcuse and
upon my own research. I have listed all works published after 1972
and those published before that date but omitted from the 1968 and
1972 bibliographies prepared by Marcuse. To the best of my knowl
edge, the bibliography produced here is the most complete that has
been published to date.
Marcuse’s works are listed chronologically. Satisfactory English
translations are noted. Major works by Herbert Marcuse have been
translated into one or more of the following languages: Catalan,
Czech, Danish, Dutch, English, Finnish, French, German, Greek, He
brew, Italian, Japanese, Norwegian, Polish, Portuguese, Serbo-Croa
tian, Korean, Spanish, Swedish, and Turkish.
C ollected W orks
Suhrkamp Verlag is in the process of publishing Marcuse’s collected
works. Thus far, the following volumes have appeared.
Schriften, 1: Der deutsche Ktinstlerroman [and] Frtihe Aufstitze
(Frankfurt: Suhrkamp, 1978), 594 pages. Part 1: Der deutsche
Ktinstlerroman. Part 2: Fruhe Aufsatze: “Beitrage zu einer Pha-
nomenologie des Historischen Materialismus” (1928); “Uber kon-
krete Philosophic’’ (1929); “Zum Problem der Dialektik I und II”
(1930-1931); “Transzendentaler Marxismus?" (1930); “Das Prob
lem der geschichtlichen Wirklichkeit” (1931); “Zur Auseinanderset-
zung mit Hans Freyers Soziologie als Wirklichkeitswissenschaft”
(1931); “Neue Quellen zur Grundlegung des Historischen Material
ismus” (1932); and “Uber die philosophischen Grundlagen des wirt-
schaftswissenschaftlichen Arbeitsbegriffs” (1933).
Schriften, 3: Aufsatze aus der Zeitschrift fur Sozialforschung, 1934-
1941 (Frankfurt: Suhrkamp. 1979), 320 pages. “Der Kampf gegen
359
360 B ib lio g r a p h y
den Liberalismus in deyr totalitaren Staatsauffassung” (1934); “Zum

Begriff des Wesens” (1936); “Studie uber Autoritat und Familie,”
first published in 1936 as "Theoretische Entwiirfe uber Autoritat
und Familie: Ideengeschichtlicher Teil”; “Uber den affirmativen
Charakter der Kultur” (1937); “Philosophic und kritische Theorie”
(1937); “Zur Kritik des Hedonismus” (1938); and “Einige gesell-
schaftliche Folgen moderner Technologic” (1941). As indicated in
an editorial note, although not published in the Zeitschrift fiir So-
zialforschung, “Theoretische Entwiirfe uber Autoritat und Familie:
Ideengeschichtlicher Teil,” retitled by the editors “Studie uber Au
toritat und Familie,” is included in this volume because of its rele
vance to the arguments of the essays it accompanies and because it
belongs to the same period. Published in Studies in Philosophy and
Social Science [Zeitschrift fiir Sozialforschung], “An Introduction to
Hegel’s Philosophy" (1940) is excluded from this collection because
it is an early version of the Introduction to Reason and Revolution:
Hegel and the Rise of Social Theory (1941), pp. 3-29, which will be
published as a separate volume of the collected works. Also ex
cluded but without explanation, “Autoritat und Familie in der
deutschen Soziologie bis 1933” (1936) apparently was not consid
ered pertinent to these essays or to the collected works generally.
This omission seems to me unfortunate.
Schriften, 5: Triebstruktur und Gesellschaft: Ein philosophischer
Beitrag zu Sigmund Freud, translated by Marianne von Eckhardt-
Jaffe (Frankfurt: Suhrkamp, 1979), 232 pages. This volume is a
translation of Eros and Civilization: A Philosophical Inquiry into
Freud (Boston: Beacon, 1955).
1922 ,
Der deutsche Kiinstlerroman, 454 pages. Dissertation completed in
1922 for the doctoral degree awarded the following year from the
University of Freiburg. Published in Herbert Marcuse, Schriften, 1
(Frankfurt: Suhrkamp, 1978). The copy used for this study was a
microfilm of the original text of the dissertation obtained at Smith
College, Northampton, Massachusetts.
1925
Schiller-Bibliographic unter Benutzung der Tromelschen Schiller-
Bibliothek (Berlin: S. Martin Fraenkel, 1925), 137 pages.
1928
“Beitrage zu einer Phanomenologie des Historischen Materialismus.”
Philosophisehe Hefte, 1, 1 (Berlin: 1928), pp. 45-68. English trans
Bibliography 3 61
lation, “Contributions to a Phenomenology of Historical Material

ism,” Telos, 4 (St. Louis: 1969), pp. 3-34.
1929
"Besprechung von Karl Vorlander: Karl Marx, sein Leben und sein
Werk.” Die Gesellschaft, 6 (part 2), 8 (Berlin: 1929), pp. 186-189.
Uber konkrete Philosophic,” Archiv fiir Sozialwissenschaft und So-
zialpolitik, 62 (Tubingen: 1929), pp. 111-128.
“Zur Wahrheitsproblematik der soziologischen Methode: Karl Mann
heim, Ideologic und Utopie." Die Gesellschaft, 6 (part 2), 10 (Ber
lin: 1929), pp. 356-369.
1930
“Besprechung von H. Noack: Geschichte und System der Philos
ophic. ”Philosophische Hefte, 2, 2 (Berlin: 1930), pp. 91-96.
“Transzendentaler Marxismus?” Die Gesellschaft, 7 (part 2), 10 (Ber
lin: 1930), pp. 304-326.
“Zum Problem der Dialektik” (part 1). Die Gesellschaft, 7 (part 1), 1
(Berlin: 1930), pp. 15-30. English translation, “On the Problem of
the Dialectic,” Telos, 27 (St. Louis: 1976), pp. 12-24.
1931
“Das Problem der geschichtlichen Wirklichkeit: Wilhelm Dilthey."
Die Gesellschaft, 8 (part 1), 4 (Berlin: 1931), pp. 350-367.
“Zum Problem der Dialektik” (part 2). Die Gesellschaft, 8 (part 2), 12
(Berlin: 1931), pp. 541-557. English translation, "On the Problem
of the Dialectic,” Telos, 27 (St. Louis: 1976), pp. 24-39.
“Zur Auseinandersetzung mit Hans Freyers Soziologie als Wirklich-
keitswissenschaft.” Philosophische Hefte, 3, 1-2 (Berlin: 1931),
p p .83-91.
“Zur Kritik der Soziologie.” Die Gesellschaft, 8 (part 2), 9 (Berlin:
1931) , pp. 270-280.
1932
“Besprechung von Heinz Heimsoeth: Die Errungenschaften des deut-
schen Idealismus." Deutsche Literaturzeitung, 53, 43 (Berlin:
1932) , pp. 2024-2029.
Hegels Ontologie und die Grundlegung einer Theorie der Geschicht-
lichkeit (Frankfurt: V. Klosterman, 1932), 368 pages. Second and
third editions were published by Klosterman in 1968 and 1975, re
spectively.
“Neue Quellen zur Grundlegung des Historischen Materialismus.” Die
Gesellschaft, 9 (Part 2), 8 (Berlin: 1932), pp. 136-174. vEnglish
translation, “The Foundation of Historical Materialism,” Studies in

Critical Philosophy (Boston: Beacon, 1973), pp. 1-48.
1933
“Philosophic des Scheiterns: Karl Jaspers Werk.” Unterhaltungsblatt
der Vossischen Zeitung, 339 (December 14, 1933).
“Uber die philosophischen Grundlagen des wirtschaftswissenschaft-
lichen Arbeitsbegriffs.” Archivfur Sozialwissenschaft und Sozialpo-
litik, 69 (Tubingen: 1933), pp. 257-292. English translation, “On
the Philosophical Foundation of the Concept of Labor in Econom
ics,” Telos, 16 (St. Louis: 1973), pp. 9-*37.
1934
“Besprechung von Herbert Wacker: Das Verhaltnis des jungen Hegel
zu Kant." Deutsche Literaturzeitung, 55, 14 (Berlin: 1934),
p p .629-630.
“Der Kampf gegen den Liberalismus in der totalitaren Staatsauffas-
sung.” Zeitschrift fur Sozialforschung, 3, 2 (Paris: 1934), pp. 161-
195. English translation, “The Struggle against Liberalism in the
Totalitarian View of the State,” Negations: Essays in Critical The
ory (Boston: Beacon, 1968), pp. 3-42.
1936
“Autoritat und Familie in der deutschen Soziologie bis 1933.” Studien
fiber Autoritat und Familie (Paris: Felix Alcan, 1936), pp. 737-
752.
“Theoretische Entwiirfe iiber Autoritat und Familie: Ideengeschicht-
licher Teil.” Studien iiber Autoritat und Familie (Paris: Felix Al-'
can, 1936), pp. 136-228. English translation, “A Study on Author
ity," Studies in Critical Philosophy (Boston: Beacon, 1973), pp.
49-156.
“Zum Begriff des Wesens.” Zeitschrift fur Sozialforschung, 5, 1 (Paris:
1936), pp. 1-39. English translation, “The Concept of Essence,"
Negations: Essays in Critical Theory (Boston: Beacon, 1968), pp.
43-87.
1937
Philosophic und kritische Theorie.” Zeitschrift fur Sozialforschung,
6, 3 (Paris: 1937), pp. 625-647. English translation, “Philosophy
and Critical Theory," Negations: Essays in Critical Theory (Boston:
Beacon, 1968), pp. 134-158. >
“Uber den affirmativen Charakter der Kultur.” Zeitschrift fu r Sozial
forschung, 6, 1 (Paris: 1937), pp. 54-94. English translation, “The
Bibliography 363
Affirmative Character of Culture,” Negations: Essays in Critical

Theory (Boston: Beacon, 1968), pp. 88-133.
1938
“Zur Kritik des Hedonismus.” Zeitschrift fur Sozialforschung, 7, 1-2
(Paris: 1938), pp. 55-89. English translation, “On Hedonism,” Ne
gations: Essays in Critical Theory (Boston: Beacon, 1968),
p p .159-200.
1939
“Besprechung von International Encyclopaedia of Unified Science. ”
Zeitschrift fiir Sozialforschung, 8, 1-2 (Paris: 1939), pp. 228-232.
"Besprechung von John Dewey: Logic: The Theory of Inquiry.” Zeit
schrift fiir Sozialforschung, 8, 1-2 (Paris: 1939), pp. 221-228.
1940
“An Introduction to Hegel’s Philosophy.” Studies in Philosophy and
Social Science [Zeitschrift fiir Sozialforschung], 8, 3 (New York:
1940), pp. 394-412. An early publication of the Introduction to
Reason and Revolution: Hegel and the Rise of Social Theory (New
York: Oxford University Press, 1941), pp. 3-29.
1941
“A Rejoinder to Karl Lowith’s Review of Reason and Revolution.”
Philosophy and Phenomenological Research, 2, 4 (Buffalo: 1941-
1942), pp. 564-565.
Reason and Revolution: Hegel and the Rise of Social Theory (New
York: Oxford University Press, 1941), 431 pages. Second edition
with Supplementary Epilogue (New York: Humanities, 1954), 439
pages. Paperbound edition, with new preface, “A Note on Dialec
tic” (Boston: Beacon, 1960), 431 pages.
“Review of Frye, Albert Myrton and Albert William Levi, Rational
Belief: An Introduction to Logic; Ushenko, Andrew Paul, The
Problems of Logic’, Wood, Ledger, The Analysis of Knowledge.”
Studies in Philosophy and Social Science [Zeitschrift fiir Sozialfor
schung], 9, 3 (New York: 1941), pp. 487-490.
“Review of Gilson, E., Dante et la philosophicStudies iti Philosophy
and Social Science [Zeitschrift fiir Sozialforschung], 9, 3 (New
York: 1941), pp. 512-513.
“Review of Mises, Richard v., Kleincs Lehrbuch des Positivismus;
Russell, Bertrand, An Inquiry into Meaning and Truth." Studies in
Philosophy and Social Science [Zeitschrift fiir Sozialforschung], 9, 3
(New York: 1941), pp. 483-486.
“Review of Perry, Ralph Burton, . . . Shall Not Perish from the

Earth." Studies in Philosophy and Social Science [Zeitschrift fur So-
zialforschung], 9, 3 (New York: 1941), p. 531.
“Review of Trinkhaus, Charles Edward, Adversity’s Noblemen: The
Italian Humanists on Happiness.” Studies in Philosophy and Social
Science [Zeitschrift fur Sozialforschung], 9, 3 (New York: 1941),
p p .513-514.
“Review of Walton, Albert, The Fundamentals of Industrial Psychol
ogy, Britt, Stuart Henderson, Social Psychology of Modern Life;
Brennen, Robert Edward, Thomistic Psychology. ” Studies in Phi
losophy and Social Science [Zeitschrift fur Sozialforschung], 9, 3
(New York: 1941), pp. 500-501.
“Some Social Implications of Modern Technology.” Studies in Philos
ophy and Social Science [Zeitschrift fiXr Sozialforschung], 9, 3 (New
York: 1941), pp. 414-439.
1948
“Existentialism: Remarks on Jean-Paul Sartre’s L ’Etre et le neant."
Philosophy and Phenomenological Research, 8, 3 (Buffalo: 1948),
pp. 309-336. Republished, with a Postscript in German, as “Exis-
tentialismus,” Kultur und Gesellschaft, 2 (Frankfurt: Suhrkamp,
1965), pp. 49-84. Reprinted in English, with the Postscript trans
lated, as "Sartre’s Existentialism,” Studies in Critical Philosophy
(Boston: Beacon, 1973), pp. 159-190 (the English reprint contains
errors and omits most of the last paragraph of the original essay;
this paragraph contains interesting comments on Heidegger’s phi
losophy). Also excerpted as “Sartre, Historical Materialism, and
Philosophy,” in Existentialism versus Marxism, edited by George
Novack (New York: Dell, Delta Books, 1966), pp. 165-205.
1949
"Lord Acton: Essays on Freedom and Power.” American Historical
Review, 54, 3 (Richmond: 1949), pp. 557-559.
“Review of Georg Lucacs’: Goethe un seine Zeit." Philosophy and
Phenomenological Research, 11, l(Buffalo:1949), pp. 142-144.
1954
“Dialectic and Logic since the War.” In Continuity and Change in
Russian and Soviet Thought, edited by Ernest J. Simmons (Cam
bridge: Harvard University Press, 1955), pp. 347-358.
“Recent Literature on Communism.” World Politics, 6, 4 (New York:
1954), pp. 515-525.
Bibliography 365
1955
Eros and Civilization: A Philosophical Inquiry into Freud (Boston:

Beacon, 1955), 277 pages. Paperbound edition, with new Preface
(New York: Random House, Vintage Books, 1962), 256 pages.
Hardbound edition, with "Political Preface 1966” (Boston: Beacon,
1966), 277 pages. Paperbound edition, with “Political Preface 1966”
(Boston: Beacon, 1974), 277 pages.
“Eros and Culture.” Cambridge Review, 1, 3 (Cambridge: 1955), pp.
107-123.
“The Social Implications of Freudian ‘Revisionism.’ ” Dissent, 2, 3
(New York: 1955), pp. 221-240. Reprinted as the Epilogue to Eros
and Civilization: A Philosophical Inquiry into Freud (Boston: Bea
con, 1955) and in Voices of Dissent (New York: Grove, 1958), pp.
293-312.
1956
“A Reply to Erich Fromm.” Dissent, 3, 1 (New York: 1956),
p p .79-81.
“La Theorie des instincts et la socialization.” La Table ronde, 108
(Paris: 1956), pp. 97-110.
1957
“Die Idee des Fortschritts im Lichte der Psychoanalyse.” Freud in der
Gegenwart: Ein Vortragszyklus der Universitaten Frankfurt und
Heidelberg zum hundersten Geburtstag, Frankfurter Beitrage zur
Soziologie, 6 (Frankfurt: 1957), pp. 425-441. First presented as an
address in German in Frankfurt and Heidelberg, July 1956. English
translation, “Progress and Freud’s Theory of Instincts,” Five Lec
tures (Boston: Beacon, 1970), pp. 28-43.
Preface to Franz Neumann, The Democratic and Authoritarian State
(New York: Free Press, 1957), pp. vii-x.
“Theory and Therapy in Freud.” Nation, 185 (New York: 1957), pp.
200- 20 2 .
“Trieblehre und Freiheit.” Freud in der Gegenwart: Ein Vortragszy-
klus der Universitaten Frankfurt und Heidelberg zum hundersten
Geburtstag, Frankfurter Beitrage zur Soziologie, 6 (Frankfurt:
1957), pp. 401-424. First presented as an address in German in
Frankfurt and Heidelberg, July 1956. English translation, “Free
dom and Freud’s Theory of Instincts,” Five Lectures (Boston: Bea
con, 1970), pp. 1-27.
366 B iblio g r aph y
1958
Preface to Raya Dunayevskaya, Marxism and Freedom (New York:
Bookman, 1958), pp. 7-12. Omitted from later editions.
Sowet Marxism: A Critical Analysis (New York: Columbia University
Press, 1958), 271 pages. Paperbound edition, with new Preface
(New York: Random House, Vintage Books, 1961), 256 pages.
1959
“Notes on the Problem of Historical Laws.” Partisan Review, 26, 1
(New Brunswick: 1959), pp. 117-129. Reprinted as Karl Popper
and the Problem of Historical Laws," Studies in Critical Philosophy
(Boston: Beacon, 1973), pp. 193-208.
“The Ideology of Death.” In The Meaning of Death, edited by Her
man Feifel (New York: McGraw-Hill, 1959), pp. 64-76.
1960
“De l’ontologie a la technologie: les tendences de la society indus-
trielle.” Arguments, 4, 18 (Paris: 1960), pp. 54-59.
1961
“Language and Technological Society.” Dissent, 8, 1 (New York:
1961) , pp. 66-74.
1962
“Emanzipation der Frau in der repressiven Gesellschaft: Ein Gesprach
mit Herbert Marcuse und Peter Furth.” Das Argument, 23 (West
Berlin: 1962), pp. 2-12.
“Ideologic et societe industrielle avance^.” Meditations, 5 (Paris:
1 9 6 2 ) , pp. 5 7 - 7 1 .
1963
“Dynamismes de la societe industrielle.” Annales, 18, 5 (Paris: 1963),

p p .906-933.
“Zur Stellung dcs Denkens heute.” In Zeugnisse: Theodor W. Adorno
zum 60. Geburtstag, under the sponsorship of the Institut fur So-
zialforschung and edited by Max Horkheimer (Frankfurt: Euro-
piiische, 1963), pp. 45-49.
1964
“Industrialisierung und Kapitalismus.” Max Weber und die Soziologie

huete (Tubingen: J. C. B. Mohr [Paul'Siebeck], 1964), pp. 161-
180. English translation, “Industrialization and Capitalism,” New
Bibliography 367
Left Review, 30 (London: 1965), pp. 3-17. Revised as “Industriali-

sierung und Kapitalismus im Werk Max Webers,” Kultur und Ge
sellschaft, 2 (Frankfurt: Suhrkamp, 1965), pp. 107-129. English
translation of the revision, “Industrialization and Capitalism in the
Work of Max Weber,” Negations: Essays in Critical Theory (Bos
ton: Beacon, 1968), pp. 201-226.
One-dimensional Man: Studies in the Ideology of Advanced Industrial
Society (Boston: Beacon, 1964), 260 pages.
“World without Logos.” Bulletin of the Atomic Scientists, 20 (Chi
cago: 1964), pp. 25-26.
1965
“A Tribute to Paul A. Baran.” Monthly Review, 16, 11 (New York:
1965), pp. 114-115.
“Comes the Revolution: Reply to Marshall Berman’s Review of One
dimensional M an” Partisan Review, 32, 1 (New Brunswick: 1965),
p p .159-160.
“Der Einfluss der deutschen Emigration auf das amerikanische Gei-
stesleben: Philosophic und Soziologie.” Jahrbuch fur Amerika-
studien, 10 (Heidelberg: Carl Winter Universitatsverlag, 1965), pp.
27-33.
“Einige Streitfragen.” Praxis, 1, 2-3 (Zagreb: 1965), pp. 377-379.
Epilogue to Karl Marx, Der 18. Brumaire des Louis Bonaparte
(Frankfurt: Insel, 1965), pp. 143-150. English translation, “Epi
logue to the New German Edition of Marx’s 18th Brumaire of Louis
Napoleon,” Radical America, 3, 4 (Cambridge: 1969), pp. 55-59.
Epilogue to Walter Benjamin, Zur Kritik der Gewalt und andere Auf-
satze (Frankfurt: Suhrkamp, 1965), pp. 95-106.
Kultur und Gesellschaft, 1 (Frankfurt: Suhrkamp, 1965), 180 pages.
Contents: “Der Kampf gegen den Liberalismus in der totalitSren
Staatsauffassung” (1934); “Uber den affirmativen Charakter der
Kultur” (1937); Philosophic und kritische Theorie” (1937); and
“Zur Kritik des Hedonismus” (1938).
Kultur und Gesellschaft, 2 (Frankfurt: Suhrkamp, 1965), 184 pages.
Contents: Uber die philosophischen Grundlagen des wirtschaftswis-
senshaftlichen Arbeitsbegriffs” (1933); “Existentialismus” (1948);
“Das Veralten der Psychoanalyse,” German translation of “The Ob
solescence of Psychoanalysis,” an address presented at the annual
meeting of the American Political Science Association, 1963, and
published in English as “The Obsolescence of the Freudian Concept
of Man,” Five Lectures (Boston: Beacon, 1970), pp. 44-61; “Indus-
trialisierung und Kapitalismus im Werk Max Webers” (revised from
1964); “Ethik und Revolution,” first published in this anthology but
originally an address in English presented at the University of Kan

sas in 1964 and subsfequently published in English as “Ethics and
Revolution,” in Ethics and Society, edited by Richard T. De George
(New York: Doubleday, 1966), pp. 133-147; “Bemerkungen zu
einer Neubestimmung der Kultur,” German translation of “Re
marks on a Redefinition of Culture,” Daedalus, 94, 1 (Cambridge:
1965), pp. 190-207.
“On Science and Phenomenology.” In Boston Studies in the Philoso
phy of Science, 2, edited by Robert Cohen and Marx W. Wartofsky
(New York: Humanities, 1965), pp. 279-290. Address presented at
the Boston Colloquium for the Philosophy of Science, February 13,
1964.
“Perspektiven des Sozialismus in der entwickelten Industriegesell-
schaft.” Praxis, 1, 2-3 (Zagreb: 1965), pp. 260-270. Address pre
sented at Korcula, Yugoslavia, summer 1964. English translation,
“Socialism in the Developed Countries,” International Socialist
Journal, 2, 8 (Rome: 1965), pp. 139-151.
“Remarks on a Redefinition of Culture.” Daedalus, 94, 1 (Cambridge:
1965), pp. 190-207. Reprinted in Science and Culture, edited by
Gerald Holton (Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1965), pp. 218-235.
This collection was republished (Boston: Beacon, 1967).
“Repressive Tolerance.” A Critique of Pure Tolerance (Boston: Bea
con, 1965), pp. 81-117. A Postscript was added to the 1968 edition,
p p .117-123.
“Socialist Humanism?” In Socialist Humanism, edited by Erich
Fromm (New York: Doubleday, 1965), pp. 107-117.
“Statement on Vietnam.” Partisan Review, 32, 4 (New Brunswick:
1965), pp. 646-649.
“The Problem of Social Change in the Technological Society.” In Le
Ddveloppement social, edited by Raymond Aron and Bert F. Hose-
litz (Paris: Mouton, 1965), pp. 139-160. Volume printed for lim
ited distribution. Address presented to a UNESCO symposium on
social development, May 1961.
1966
“Ethics and Revolution.” In Ethics and Society, edited by Richard T.
De George (New York: Doubleday, Anchor Books, 1966), pp. 133-
147. First published in Kultur und Gesellschaft, 2 (Frankfurt: Suhr-
kamp, 1965).
“Role of Conflict in Human Evolution: Discussion.” In Conflict in So
ciety, edited by Anthony de Reuck and Julie Knight (London: Ciba
Foundation, 1966), pp. 36-59. Participants: Marcuse, Kenneth E.
Boulding, Karl W. Deutsch, Anatol Rapoport, and others.
Bibliography 369
“Sommes-nous deja des hommes?” Partisans, 28 (Paris: 1966),

pp. 21-29.
“The Individual in the ‘Great Society:’ Rhetoric and Reality” (part 1).
Alternatives, 1, 1 (San Diego: 1966), pp. 14-20.
“The Individual in the ‘Great Society’ ’’(part 2). Alternatives, 1, 2
(San Diego: 1966), pp. 29-35. Parts 1 and 2 reprinted in A Great
Society? edited by Bertram M. Gross (New York: Basic Books,
1966), pp. 58-80.
“Vietnam: Analyse eines Exemples.” Neues Kritik, 36-37 (Frankfurt:
1966) , pp. 30-40.
“Zur Geschichte der Dialektik.” Sowjetsystem und Demokratische Ge-
sellschaft, 1 (Freiburg: 1966), pp. 1192-1211.
1967
“Aggressivitat in der gegenwSrtigen Industriegesellschaft.” Die Neue
Rundschau, 78, 1 (Frankfurt: 1967), pp. 7-21. English translation,
“Aggressiveness in Advanced Industrial Society,” Negations: Essays
in Critical Theory (Boston: Beacon,), pp. 248-268.
“Art in the One-dimensional Society.” Arts Magazine (New York: May
1967) , pp. 26-31. Based on an address given at the School of Visual
Arts in New York City, March 8, 1967. Reprinted in Radical Per
spectives in the Arts, edited by Lee Baxandall (Baltimore: Penguin,
1972), pp. 53-67.
Das Ende der Utopie (West Berlin: Maikowski, 1967), 151 pages. “Das
Ende der Utopie” and "Das Problem der Gewalt in der Opposition”
were presented at the Free University of Berlin in 1967. Translated
into English as “The End of Utopia” and “The Problem of Violence
and the Radical Opposition,” Five Lectures (Boston: Beacon,
1970), pp. 62-69 and 83-94, respectively. Questions and discussion
following each address have been published in full in the German
edition and abridged in the English edition.
“Die Zukunft der Kunst: Die Gesellschaft als Kunstwerk.” Neues
Forum, 14, 167-168 (Vienna: 1967), pp. 863-866.
“1st die Idee der Revolution eine Mystifikation?” Kursbuch, 9 (West
Berlin: 1967), pp. 1-6. English translation, “The Question of Revo
lution,” New Left Review, 45 (London: 1967), pp. 3-7. Reprinted
as “On Revolution: An Interview,” in Student Power, edited by
Alexander Cockburn and Robin Blackburn (Baltimore: Penguin,
1969), pp. 367-372.
“Love Mystified: A Critique of Norman O. Brown.” Commentary, 43,
2 (New York: 1967), pp. 71-75. A review of Brown’s Love’s Body.
Reprinted in Negations: Essays in Critical Theory (Boston: Beacon,
1968) , pp. 227-243, and in Sources, edited by Theodore Roszak
370 B ib lio g r aph y
(New York: Harper & I^.ow, 1972), pp. 434-455.

“On Changing the World: A Reply to Karl Miller." Monthly Review,
19, 5 (New York: 1967), pp. 42-48.
“Professoren als Staats-Regenten?” Der Spiegel, 35 (Hamburg: 1967),
p p .112-118.
“The Inner Logic of American Policy in Vietnam." In Teach-Ins:
U.S.A., edited by Louis Menashe and Ronald Radosh (New York:
Praeger, 1967), pp. 64-67. Address presented at the University of
California, Los Angeles, March 25, 1966.
“The Obsolescence of Marxism.” In Marx and the Western World,
edited by Nikolaus Lobkowicz (Notre Dame: University of Notre
Dame Press, 1967), pp. 409-417.
“The Responsibility of Science.” In The Responsibility of Power: His
torical Essays in Honor of Hajo Holborn, edited by L. Krieger and
F. Stern (New York: Doubleday, 1967), pp. 439-444.
“Thoughts on the Defense of Gracchus Babeuf.” In The Defense of
Gracchus Babeuf, edited by John Anthony Scott (Amherst: Univer
sity of Massachusetts Press, 1967), pp. 96-105.
"Zum Begriff der Negation in der Dialektik.” Filosoficky casopis, 15,3
(Prague: 1967), pp. 375-379. English translation, “The Concept of
Negation in the Dialectic," Telos, 8 (St. Louis: 1971), pp. 130- 132.
1968
“Credo nel progresso, nella scienza, nella tecnologia ma usati al serviz-
iodell’uomo." Tempo (Milan: July 2, 1968), pp. 16-23.
“Gesprach mit Peter Merseburger: Herbert Marcuse und die prophet-
ische Tradition." In Weltfrieden und Revolution, edited by
Hans-Eckehard Bahr (Hamburg: Rowolt, 1968), pp. 291-307. A
discussion on October 23, 1967. '
“L’Express va plus loin avec Herbert Marcuse.” L ’Express (Paris: Sep
tember 23, 1968), pp. 54-62.
“Liberation from the Affluent Society." In To Free a Generation: The
Dialectics of Liberation, edited by David Cooper (Baltimore: Pen
guin, 1968), pp. 175-192. This volume has been republished (New
York: Collier, 1970).
“Marcuse Defines His New Left Line.” New York Times Magazine
(New York: October 27, 1968), pp. 29-109.
Negations: Essays in Critical Theory (Boston: Beacon, 1968), 290
pages. Contents: “The Struggle against Liberalism in the Totalita
rian View of the State” (1934); “The Concept of Essence" (1936);
“The Affirmative Character of Culture" (1937); “Philosophy and
Critical Theory” (1937); “On Hedonism" (1938); “Industrialization
and Capitalism .in the Work of Max Weber” (1964); "Love Mysti
Bibliography 371
fied: A Critique of Norman O. Brown” (1967); “Aggressiveness in

Advanced Industrial Society” (1967).
Psychoanalyse und Politik (Frankfurt: Europaische, 1968), 78 pages.
Contents: “Trieblehre und Freiheit” (1957); “Die Idee des Fort-
schritts im Licht der Psychoanalyse” (1957); “Das Ende der Utopie”
(1967); and "Das Problem der Gewalt in der Opposition” (1967).
“Varieties of Humanism.” Center Magazine, 1, 5 (Santa Barbara:
1968) , pp. 12-15.
1969
An Essay on Liberation (Boston: Beacon, 1969), 91 pages.
Ideen zu einer kritischen Theorie der Gesellschaft (Frankfurt: Suhr-
kamp, 1969), 191 pages. Contents: “Neue Quellen zur Grundlegung
des Historischen Materialismus” (1932); “Studie liber Autoritat und
Familie,” First published in 1936 as “Theoretische Entwiirfe iiber
Autoritat und Familie: Ideengeschichtlicher Teil”; “Das Individ-
uum in der ‘Great Society’” (parts 1 and 2) (1966); and “Zum Be-
griff der Negation in der Dialektik” (1967).
"La Liberty et les imperadfs de l’histoire.” La Liberte et I’ordre social
(Neuchatel: la Baconniere, 1969), pp. 129-143. English original,
“Freedom and the Historical Imperative,” Studies in Critical Philos
ophy (Boston: Beacon, 1973), pp. 211-223. An address presented in
English in 1969, though first published in French that year.
“Nicht einfach zerstdren.” Neues Forum, 16, 188-189 (Vienna: 1969),
p p .485-488.
“On the New Left.” In The New Left: A Documentary History, edited
by Massimo Teodori (New York: Bobbs-Merrill, 1969), pp. 468-
473. An address presented on December 4, 1968, at the twentieth
anniversary program at the Guardian, New York City.
“Re-examination of the Concept of Revolution.” New Left Remew, 56
(London: 1969), pp. 27-34.
“Revolution aus Ekel.” Der Spiegel, 31 (Hamburg: 1969), pp. 103-
106.
“Revolution 1969.” Neues Forum, 16, 181 (Vienna: 1969), pp. 26-29.
"Revolutionary Subject and Self-government.” Praxis, 5, 1-2 (Zagreb:
1969) , pp. 326-329.
“Student Protest Is Nonviolent Next to the Society Itself." New York
Times Magazine (New York: May 4, 1969), p. 137.
“The Realm of Freedom and the Realm of Necessity: A Reconsidera
tion.” Praxis, 5, 1-2 (Zagreb: 1969), pp. 20-25.
“The Relevance of Reality.” In American Philosophical Association:
Proceedings and Addresses, 1968-1969 (College Park: 1969), pp.
39-50. Extended version of Marcuse’s presidential address at the an
nual meeting of the Pacific division of the American Philosophical

Association, March 28, 1969.
1970
Five Lectures (Boston: Beacon, 1970), 108 pages. Contents: “Freedom
and Freud’s Theory of Instincts” (1957); “Progress and Freud’s The
ory of Instincts” (1957); “The Obsolescence of the Freudian Concept
of Man,” originally “The Obsolescence of Psychoanalysis,” pre
sented as an address to the annual meeting of the American Politi
cal Science Association, 1963, but first published in German as
“Das Veralten der Psychoanalyse” (t965); “The End of Utopia”
(1967); and “The Problem of Violence and the Radical Opposition”
(1967).
“Humanismus-gibt’s den noch?” Neues Forum, 17, 196 (Vienna:
1970) , pp. 349-353.
“Marxism and the New Humanity: An Unfinished Revolution.” In
Marxism and Radical Religion: Essays toward a Revolutionary Hu
manism, edited by John C. Raines and Thomas Dean (Philadel
phia: Temple University Press, 1970), pp. 3-10.
“USA: Organisationsfrage und revolutionSres Subjekt.” Kursbuch, 22
(West Berlin: 1970), pp. 45-60. Reprinted in Zeit-Messungen
(Frankfurt: Suhrkamp, 1975), pp. 51-69.
1971
“Charles Reich as Revolutionary Ostrich.” In The Con III
Controversy, edited by Philip Nobile (New York: Pocket Books,
1971) , pp. 15-17.
“Conversation with Sam Keen and John Raser.” Psychology Today, 4,
9 (Del Mar: February 1971), pp. 35-66.
“Dear Angela; letter.” Ramparts, 9 (Berkeley: February 1971), p. 22.
“The Movement in a New Era of Repression: An Assessment.”
BerkeleyJournal of Sociology, 16 (Berkeley: 1971-1972), pp. 1- 14.
Address presented at the University of California, Berkeley, Febru
ary 3, 1971.
1972
Counterrevolution and Revolt (Boston: Beacon, 1972), 138 pages.
“Art as Form of Reality.” New Left Review, 74 (London: 1972), pp.
51-58.
Revolution oder Reform? Herbert Marcuse und Karl Popper. After
word by Franz Stark (Munich: Kose'l, 1972). 48 pages. English
translation, Revolution or Reform? A Confrontation. Afterword by
Franz Stark (Chicago: New University Press, 1976), 111 pages.
Bibliography 373
1973
Studies in Critical Philosophy (Boston: Beacon, 1973), 227 pages.
Contents: “The Foundation of Historical Materialism” (1932); "A
Study on Authority” (1936); "Sartre’s Existentialism” (1948); “Karl
Popper and the Problem of Historical Laws” (1959); and “Freedom
and the Historical Imperative” (1969).
“When Law and Morality Stand in the Way.” Society, 10, 6 (New
Brunswick: 1973), pp. 23-24.
1974
“Marxism and Feminism.” Women’s Studies, 2, 3 (Old Westbury:
1974) , pp. 279-288. Reprinted as “Socialist Feminism: The Hard
Core of the Dream,” Edcentric (Eugene: November 1974), pp. 7-
47. German translation, “Marxismus und Feminismus,” Zeit-Mes-
sungen (Frankfurt: Suhrkamp, 1975), pp. 9-20.
1975
“Dialogue: Marcuse-Millet.” Off Our Backs, 5, 7 (Washington, D.C.:
1975) , pp. 20-21. A secondhand account of Marcuse’s presentation.
Zeit-Messungen (Frankfurt: Suhrkamp, 1975), 69 pages. Contents:
“Marxismus und Feminismus” (1974); “Theorie und Praxis” (1975);
“Scheitern der Neuen Linken?” (1975); and “USA: Organisations-
frage und revolutionares Subjekt” (1970).
1976
“1st eine Welt ohne Angst moglich?” Der Spiegel, 37 (Hamburg:
1976) , p. 199.
Revolution or Reform? A Confrontation. Afterword by Franz Stark
(Chicago: New University Press, 1976), 111 pages. Translated from
Revolution oder Reform? Herbert Marcuse und Karl Popper. After
word by Franz Stark (Munich: Kosel, 1972).
1977
Die Permanenz der Kunst: Wider eine bestimmte Marxistische Aes-
thetik (Munich: Carl Hanser, 1977), 78 pages. Revised and trans
lated into English as The Aesthetic Dimension: Toward a Critique
of Marxist Aesthetics (Boston: Beacon, 1978), 88 pages.
“Heidegger’s Politics: An Interview with Frederick Olafson.”
Graduate Faculty Philosophy Journal, 6, 1 (New York: 1977), pp.
28-40. Taken from the transcript of a Film presented at a confer
ence on the philosophy of Martin Heidegger, sponsored by the
Department of Philosophy at the University of California, San
Diego, May 4, 1974.
“Mord darf keine Waffe* der Politik sein.” Die Zeit, 39 (Hamburg:
1977), pp. 41-42. English translation, “Murder Is Not a Political
Weapon,” New German Critique, 12 (Milwaukee: 1977), pp. 7-8.
1978
Gesprdche mit Herbert Marcuse (Frankfurt: Suhrkamp, 1978), 153
pages.
The Aesthetic Dimension: Toward a Critique of Marxist Aesthetics
(Boston: Beacon, 1978), 88 pages. Revised from Die Permanenz der
Kunst: Wider eine bestimmte Marxistische Aesthetik (Munich: Carl
Hanser, 1977).
1979 and L ate U npublished and U nfinished W orks
“The Reification of the Proletariat.” Canadian Journal of Political
and Social Theory, 3, 1 (Winnipeg: 1979), pp. 20-23.
Review of Bahro, Rudolph, Die Alternative. Unpublished.
“Cognition and Aesthetics.” Unpublished and unfinished.
Secondary Works on Herbert Marcuse
A bel, L. “Seven Heroes of the New Left.” New York Times Magazine
(New York: May 5, 1968), pp. 30-31 and continued on later pages.
A bosch, H einz. "Marcuses englischer Riickzug.” Deutsche Zeitschrift
filr europaisches Denken, 27, 10 (Stuttgart: 1973), pp. 984-988.
A bou , S. “H. Marcuse ou le procds de la societe contemporaine.” Tra-
vaux et jours, 31 (Beirut: 1969), pp. 67-91.
A chinger, Gerhard. “Marcuse und die Deutschen: Eine Diagnose der
deutschen Krankheit 1968." Osterreichische Lehrerzeitung: Organ
der Lehrerschaft in der Osterreichischcn Volkspartei, 24, 5 (Vien
na: 1968), pp. 20-21.
A gger, B en . “Marcuse and Habermas on New Science.” Polity, 9, 2
(Amherst: 1976), pp. 158-181.
A hlers, R olf. “Is Technology Intrinsically Repressive?” Continuum,
8, 1 (Chicago: 1970), pp. 111-122.
------“Technologie und Wissenschaft bei Heidegger und Marcuse.”
Zeitschrift filr ptulosophische Forschung, 25 (Meisenheim am Gian:
1971), pp. 575-590.
A lbrecht, H erbert. Deutsche Philosophie Heute: Probleme, Texte,
Denver (Bremen: Carl Shunemann, 1969).
A llinson , R obert E. “The Role of the Artist as Marxist Artist in Pre
revolutionary Society."yourna/ of they West Virginia Philosophical
Society, 12 (West Virginia: 1977), pp. 10-12.
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A mbacher, M ichel. Marcuse et la critique de la civilisation ameri-

caine (Paris: Aubier, 1969).
A ndre -Stephane . L ’Univers contestationnaire: etude psychanalytique
(Paris: Payot, 1969).
A ndrew , Edward . “Work and Freedom in Marcuse and Marx.” Ca
nadian Journal of Political Science, 3, 2 (Toronto: 1970), pp.
241-256.
___ . “A Reply to William Leiss, ‘Technological Rationality: Notes
on Work and Freedom in Marcuse and Marx.’” Canadian Journal
of Political Science, 4, 3 (Toronto: 1971), pp. 400-404.
A nshen , R uth N anda . "Authority and Power: Erich Fromm and Her
bert Marcuse.” Journal of Social Philosophy, 5 (Augusta: 1974),
p p .1-8.
A rnason , Johann Pall . Von Marcuse zu Marx: Prolegomena zu einer
dialektischen Anthropologie (Neuwied: Luchterhand, 1971).
A rvon , H enri. Le Gauchisme (Paris: Presses universitaires de France,
1974).
A xelrod , S idney. “On Some Uses of Psychoanalysis.” Journal of the
American Psychoanalytic Association, 8, 1 (New York: 1960),
p p .175-218.
B ahr , H ans -D ieter. Kritik der “politischen Technologic”: Einc Aus-
einandersetzung mit Herbert Marcuse und Jurgen Habermas
(Frankfurt: Europaische, 1970).
B artig , H ans -Friedrich . Herbert Marcuses utopische Wirkung (Han
over: Niedersachs Landeszentrale fur politische Bildung, 1971).
B attcock , G regory (ed.). Marcuse and Anti-Art: Aesthetics for Re
bellion (New York: Dutton, 1973).
B auermann , R olf , and H ans -Jochen R otscher. “Zur Ideologic der
‘Neuen Linken.’ ” Deutsche Zeitschrift fur Philosophic, 18 (East
Berlin: 1970), pp. 282-304.
____Zur Kritik “kritischer Theorie der 'Frankfurter Schule’” (Halle:
Martin-Luther Universit&t, 1971).
B ayer, O swald . “Marcuses Kritik an Luthers Freiheitsbegriff.” Zeit
schrift fiir Theologie und Kirche, 4 (Tubingen: 1970), pp. 459-
478.
B edau , H ugo A dam . “Revolutionary Theory, Revolutionary Non
violence, and Revolutionary Rights.” Philosophy in Context, 5
(Cleveland: 1975), pp. 67-78.
B eirhaert, Louis . “Vers une civilisation non repressive? Marcuse et
Freud.” Etudes, 329 (Paris: 1968), pp. 131-135.
B enoist , J ean -M arie . “Marcuse, un Aufkldrer contre les lumieres.”
Critique, 24, 258 (Paris: 1968), pp. 943-964.
B erki, R. N. “Notes on Marcuse and the Idea of Tolerance. In Dis

sent and Disorder: Essays in Social Theory, edited by B. Parekh
(Toronto: W.U.S. of Canada, 1971), pp. 53-59.
____“Marcuse and the Crisis of the New Radicalism: From Poli
tics to Religion?”Journal of Politics, 34, 1 (Gainesville: 1972), pp.
56-92.
B erl, Emmanuel. "En lisant Marcuse.” Preuves, 18, 211 (Paris: 1968),
p p .84-89.
B erman, Marshall. “Theory and Practice.” Partisan Review, 31, 4
(New Brunswick: 1964), pp. 617-626.
B ernstein, R ichard J. “Herbert Marcuse: An Immanent Critique.”
Social Theory and Practice, 1 (Florida: 1971), pp. 97-111.
B essonov, B. N. “Le Sens social de Interpretation de la dialecdque
hegelienne par H. Marcuse” [in Russian]. Filosofskie nauki, 4 (Mos
cow: 1976), pp. 88-97.
B eyer, W ilhelm R. Die Siinden der Frankfurter Schule: Ein Beitrag
zur Kritik der “kritischen Theorie"(West Berlin: Akademie, 1971).
B lakeley, T. “Some Recent Soviet Works on Marcuse and the Frank
furt School.” Studies in Soviet Thought, 13 (Fribourg: 1973),
p p .158-159.
B lanco , Luis. Marcuse (Algorta: Zero, 1971).
B loch, Ernst . “Diskussion mit Herbert Marcuse.” Praxis, 5, 1-2
(Zagreb: 1969), pp. 323-325.
B ontempo , Charles J. (ed.). The Owl of Minerva (New York: Mc
Graw-Hill, 1975).
B orgosz, Jozef. “Herbert Marcuse’s ‘Homo Novus’ as an Expression of
the Crisis of the Consumption-Orientated Personality Model.” Dia
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B ottomore, T. B. Marxist Sociology (London: Macmillan, 1975).
B oudier, C. Struyker. “Alienation and Liberation: Evil and Re
demption in the Thought of Sartre and Marcuse.” Man and World:
An International Philosophical Review, 6, 2 (The Hague: 1973),
pp. 115-141.
B ourdet , Yvon . “L’Espoir des sans espoir: une critique de Marcuse.”
L'Homme et la societe, 9 (Paris: 1968), pp. 131-139.
B raybrook, D avid . “Marcuse’s Merits.” Transaction, 6, 11 (Fulton:
1969), pp. 51-54.
B reines, Paul (ed.). Critical Interruptions: New Left Perspectives on
Herbert Marcuse (New York: Herder and Herder, 1972).
B reuer, Stefan . Die Krisc der Revolutionstheorie: Negative Verges-
scllschaftung und Arbeitsmetaphysik bî Herbert Marcuse (Frank
furt: Syndikat, 1977).
B ronner , Stephen "Eric. “Art and Utopia: The Marcusean Perspec
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B ykhovskii, B. “Marcusism against Marxism: A Critique of Uncritical
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C allahan , D. “Dissent on Marcuse.” Commonweal, 87 (New York:
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C ammarano , L eonardo . “La rivoluzione come bene di consumo.” Ri-
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C arandini, G. “La dimensione di Marcuse: note al saggio ’uomo a
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C astellet , J ose M. Lectura de Marcuse (Barcelona: Ediciones 62,
1969) .
C erteau , M ichel de . “Savoir et societe: une ‘inquietude nouvelle’, de
Marcuse a mai 68.” Esprit, 36, 10 (Paris: 1968), pp. 292-312.
C erullo , M argaret . “Marcuse and Feminism.” Telos, 41 (St. Louis:
1979), pp. 185-186.
C hazaud, D'Jacques. Les Contestations actuelles de la psychanalyse
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C hirpaz, Francois. “Alienation et utopie” [Herbert Marcuse]. Esprit,
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C iafre, G iuseppe. “Uno studio italiano su Herbert Marcuse.” Logos, 1
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C lecak, P eter . “Marcuse: Ferment of Hope." Nation, 208 (New
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C lement , M arcel . Le Communisme face d Dieu, Marx, Mao, Mar
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C ohen , A lain J. Marcuse, le scenario freudo-marxien (Paris: Editions
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C olletti, Lucio. “Von Hegel zu Marcuse.” Alternative, 13, 72-73
(West Berlin: 1970), pp. 129-148.
C ranston , Maurice. “Herbert Marcuse.” Encounter, 32, 3 (London:
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D e B odoya, J. Marcuse y cl socialismo: el socialisrno imposible
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D e Feo , N icola M. “Ragione e rivoluzione nel pensiero dialettico”
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D elbo, Charlotte . La Theorie et la pratique: dialogue imaginaire
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D emichel, Francine. La Psychanalyse en politique (Paris: Presses uni-
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D espotopoulos, C onstantin . “Une Critique de la society industrielle
avancee.” Archives de philosophic du droit, 14 (Paris: 1969), pp.
97-118.
D eV itis, Joseph L. “Marcuse on Education: Social Critique and Social
Control.” Educational Theory, 24, 3 (Urbana: 1974), pp. 259- 268.
----- . “Mannheim and Marcuse: Social Control in Reconstruction and
Revolution.” Southwestern fournal of Philosophy, 6 (Norman:
1975) , pp. 129-141.
Die Frankfurter Schule im Licht des Marxismus: Zur Kritik der Philo
sophic und Soziologie von Horkheimer, Adorno, Marcuse, und Ha
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D workin, Gerald. “Non-neutral Principles. "Journal of Philosophy,
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Eickelschulte, D ietmar. “Ein Pseudoprophet und seine Schuler: Die
Westliche ‘neue Linke’ in Ostlichem Licht.” Wissenschaftlicher
Dienst Siidosteuropa, 17, 5-6 (Munich: 1968), pp. 98-99.
____“Revolution und Ethik bei Herbert Marcuse.” Lebendiges Zeug-
nis, 1-2 (Paderhorn: 1972), pp. 83-100.
Eickhoff, Friedrich-W ilhelm. “Uber Herbert Marcuses Freud-rezep-
tion.” Wege zum Menschen: Monatsschrift fur Seelsorge, Psycho-
therapie, und Erziehung, 24, 8-9 (Gottingen: 1972), pp. 281- 289.
E idelberg, P aul . “The Temptation of Herbert Marcuse.” Review of
Politics, 31, 4 (Notre Dame: 1969), pp. 442-458.
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ophy of Education: Proceedings of the Twenty-eighth Annual Meet
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I
Index
Adorno, T heodor W ,, 1, 139, 350, Babeuf, Gracchus, 3 0 8 -3 0 9

356n Bachelard, Gaston, 137
Aesthetic form, 107, 328, 3 3 0 -3 1 , Bahr, Hans-Eckehard, 322n
334-35, 3 3 7 -4 6 , 348n; s e e a ls o Basic repression, 9 4 -9 7 , 122, 145, 182,
Beauty 250, 260n
Affirmative character o f culture, 5 5 -5 7 , Baum garten, A lexander, 124
329, 331-32, 335 Beauty, 107, 124, 3 3 0 -3 1 , 3 3 6 -4 1 ,
Affluence, as factor in social transfor 3 4 3 -4 4 , 346
m ation: s e e Prosperity aesthetic response to, 107, 3 3 0 -3 2 ,
Aggression, 91, 9 5 -9 6 , 107-108, 117- 336, 338, 3 40-41; s e e a l s o Sub
22, 174, 2 4 0 -4 1 , 2 4 3 -4 4 , 252, 256, lim ation, and art
342-43 Bechofer, F., 213
Aggressive impulses (drives, instincts, Bell, D aniel, 228n
wishes): s e e Instinct theory Benjam in, A. C ., 226n
A lienation, 125, 133, 263; s e e a l s o Berm an, Marshall, 3 2 In
Marx B iological foundation for socialism : s e e
and art, 114, 328, 332 Critical theory, Marcuse's, anthro
and desexualization, 100, 101, pological foundation for
114-15 Bonald, Louis. 54
and sublim ation, 121-23 Bravenjnan, Harry, 228n
as surplus-repression, 9 5 -9 6 Breslauer, George W ,, 228n
Argyris, Chris, 228n B ridgem an, Percy, 196, 226n
Aristotle, 284 British Conservative party, 213
Aron, Raymond, 224n, 228n British Labour party, 171, 213
Aronowitz, Stanley, 225n Burjte, Edm und, 54
Austin, J. L., 167 Butler, David, 214, 228n
A uthoritarian society, 47, 4 8 -6 7 , 71, 80
Authoritarian state, 4 4 -4 8 , 5 4 -5 5 , 57- Calvin, John
59, 62, 71, 73. 80 authority in, 5 0 -5 2 , 84n , 85n
Authority, 4 8 -4 9 , 53, 5 8 -5 9 freedom in, 5 0 -5 2 , 84n, 85n
in Calvin, John, 5 0 -5 2 , 84n, 85n theory o f the fam ily, 52,84u , 85n
in the fam ily, 5 2 -5 5 , 5 9 -6 2 Chisholm , Roderick, 207, 227n
in feudalism , 49 C obb, Jonathan, 352, 357n
in H egel, 5 1 -5 2 , 84n, 85n C om ponent instincts. 9 8 -9 9 , 1 02-106,
in Kant, Im m anuel, 5 1 -5 2 , 84n, 85n 1P9, 113, 1 1 8 -2 0 , 128n, 129n ; s e e
in Luther, Martin, 5 0 -5 2 , 84n a l s o Instinct theory
in the R eform ation, 49-51 Concrete philosophy, 3, 1 0 -1 4 , 37, 351
%
394
In d ex 395
Connolly, W illiam , 3 52-56, 357n and alienation, 100-101, 114-15

Cooper, David, 320n De-Stalinization, 158-59
Critical theory, 84«, 2 8 9 -9 0 , 293, D ialectical materialism, and Soviet
350-52 Marxism, 154-55, 335
Marcuse’s, 4 3 -4 4 , 62, 8 2 -8 3 , 84n, D i e G e s e l ls c h a f t, 4
132, 259, 261; s e e a l s o Marx, and Dilthey, W ilhelm , 16-17, 3 1-32, 40n,
determinism in Marcuse’s critical 41n
theory; Rationality, in Marcuse’s Dodd, Stuart C .. 226n
critical theory D u r c h b r e c h u n g , 2 4 -2 5 , 28-29; s e e a ls o
anthropological foundation for, Theory and practice
88n, 89-1 2 7 , 2 8 1 -8 5 , 296, 311
behaviorism of, 185-86, 211, 221, E c o n o m ic a n d P h ilo s o p h ic M a n u s c r ip ts ,
25 7 -5 8 , 318 4, 16, 2 2 -2 7 , 38n, 80, 125-26,
concern for m an, interest o f free 175, 187
dom , 7 0 -7 2 , 83 Ego, 92, 103, 113-17, 119-20, 173,
determ inism of, 186-90, 221, 231, 234, 257
2 57-59 developm ent of, 113-15, 122, 232,
essence in, 6 8-72 2 34-36, 23 8 -4 1 , 246-47; s e e a ls o
and fascism, 1, 2, 37, 38n, 4 2 -4 4 , Family, rationalization o f
59, 73, 7 6 -7 7 , 8 0 -8 1 , 202, 222, as bodily ego, 2 48-51, 254, 257
26 4 -6 5 , 325, 347, 35 0 -5 1 , 356 and cognitive developm ent,
foundation for, 5 8 -5 9 , 88n, 259, 2 5 1 -5 2 , 254
2 6 2 - 65 m other’s role in, 248, 2 5 2 -5 4 , 258
freedom in, 7 0 -7 2 , 75, 273-74 identity, 231, 2 3 7 -3 8 , 249
and the New Left, 29 0 -3 1 4 , pleasure-ego, 92
3 1 9 -2 0 , 3 2 4 -2 6 , 350 reality-ego, 92
philosophical foundation for, 73- Eldersveld, S. J ., 223n
8 1 , 8 3 ,8 9 , 2 6 5 - 8 2 , 2 8 5 ,2 9 3 ; E m b o u r g e o i s e m e n t , 147-48, 216; s e e
s e e a ls o U n iversal, as philosoph a ls o End o f Ideology
ical foundation for Marcuse's End o f Ideology, 146-48, 2 1 2 -1 6 , 228n
critical theory Engels, Friedrich, 38n, 154
and prosperity, as factor in social Eros, 91, 93, 101, 107-109, 114, 116,
transform ation, 292, 29 6 -9 7 , 118-19, 121. 125, 245, 284, 305,
299, 316-17 3 1 1 -1 2 , 3 2 5 -2 6 , 3 40-41, 343,
as rationalism , 7 6 -8 1 , 83, 185, 345-46; s e e a ls o Instinct theory
189, 222, 225n, 2 5 7 -5 9 , 2 8 0 -8 1 , Essence, 62, 82, 227n
293, 351 in Descartes, Ren6, 64-65
rationality in, 7 3 -7 7 , 114, 116, in Hegel, 6 8 -6 9 , 74; s e e a ls o Hegel,
263- 77, 305-306 u n iversal in
response to authoritarianism , in Husserl, Edmund, 66-67
6 7 -8 1 , 2 6 4 -6 5 , 351 in Kant, Im m anuel, 6 5-66
theory and practice in, 7 1 -7 3 , in Marcuse's critical theory, 68-72
7 6 -8 1 , 83n, 219, 2 6 2 -6 3 , in Plato, 62-64
2 6 8 -6 9 , 275, 2 7 9 -8 1 , 2 9 0 -3 2 0 , and positivism, 6 6 -6 7 , 73
3 2 4 -2 6 , 3 4 6-47 Eulau, Heinz, 223n
violence in, 3 0 5 -1 0 , 3 1 2 -1 3 , 319 Eurydice, 112
Existentialism, 4, 40n, 330
Death instinct: s e e T hanatos
De George, Richard T ., 3 2 In Fainsod, Merle, 228n
de Maistre, Joseph Marie, Conte, 54 Family, 48, 245, 262, 353
Descartes, Ren6, 64-65 and authority patterns, 5 2 -5 5 ,
D esexualization, 9 8 -1 0 0 , 105-106, 108, 5 9 -6 2 , 80
129n, 245 in Calvin, John, 52, 84n, 85n
396 In d e x
in Hegel, 5 2-53 ' Freud, Sigm und, 83, 8 9 -9 1 , 9 3 -9 4 , 97,

in Luther, Martin, 52, 84n, 327 9 9 -1 0 5 , 1 0 7 -2 0 , 122, 1 2 5 -2 7 ,
rationalization of, 2 3 1 -4 2 , 2 4 7 -4 8 , 127n, 128m, 129m, 172-74, 185-86,
254-55, 257, 259, 321n 211, 222. 230, 237-40, 243, 248,
Fantasy, 92, 119, 124, 330, 3 39-40, 250-55, 258, 275, 281, 284, 286,
343, 346 305, 311, 348m; s e e a l s o Instinct
Fascism, 264, 329 theory
and art, 3 3 2 -3 3 , 335 Freyer, Hans, 33, 41n
and Frankfurt Institute for Social R e Fromm, Erich, 172, 223n
search, 138-39, 550-51
and liberalism , 4 5 -4 8 , 5 7 -5 8 Genital instinctual organization: s e e In-
and Marcuse’s critical theory, 1, 2, , stinct theory
37, S8n, 4 2 -4 4 , 59, 73. 7 6 -7 7 . 8 0 - German Social D em ocratic party, 171
81, 202, 222, 2 6 4 -6 5 , 325, 347 German Socialists, 4
and the New Left, 291 Gerth, Hans H ., 225n
and technological rationality, G e s c h ' d f ti g h e i t , 6, 38n
134-39, 150, 176-77 Goethe, Johann W olfgang von, 89
Fay, Brian, 356n Goldstein, B ., 226n
Feifel, Herm an, 224n G oldthorpe, John H ., 213, 228m
Feminism: s e e W om en, role o f in social Gouldner, Alvin W ., 227m
transformation G ratification, 9 0 -9 2 , 98, 1 0 0 -1 0 , 112-
Feuer, Lewis, 228 m 16, 122, 124, 127, 231, 243, 246,
Foundation, 1, 81 252. 2 5 5 -5 7 , 2 8 3 -8 5 , 331, 336,
for critical theory, 5 8 -5 9 338, 34 0 -4 1 ; s e e a l s o Instinct
for Marcuse’s critical theory, 5 8 -5 9 , theory
88n, 259, 262-65 Gross, Llewellyn, 226n
anthropological, 88n, 8 9 -1 2 7 , Gum plowicz, L ., 86;i
281-8 5 , 311 Gurland, A. R. L., 138
philosophical, 7 3 -8 1 , 83, 89,
26 5 -8 2 , 285, 293; s e e a l s o U ni Haberm as, Jurgen, 227m
v ersa l, as philosophical founda H am ilton, Richard, 2 1 4 -1 5 , 228m
tion for Marcuse’s critical theory Ham pshire, Stuart, 2 0 7 -2 0 8 , 227m
Frankfurt Institute for Social Research, H am pton. Fred, 314
4 3 -4 4 , 83n, 84 m, 85n, 88m , 137, Hare, k . M., 167, 207, 227m
289 Hart. H ornell, 226m
and fascism, 138-39, 350-51 H artung, Frank E., 226m
Frankfurt School: s e e Frankfurt Insti H egel, 8. 12. 22, 31, 38n, 42, 83m,
tute for Social Research 84m, 185, 284, 327, 330
Freedom, 48-49, 53-57 authority in, 51-52, 84m, 85m
in Calvin, John, 50-52, 84m, 85n essence in, 68-69, 74; s e e a l s o H egel,
in Descartes, Ren£, 64-65 u n iv ersa l in
in feudalism , 49 freedom in, 5 1 -5 2 , 84m, 85m
in H egel, 51-52, 84m, 85n and historicity, 1 5 -2 2 , 40m
in Kant, Im m anuel, 51-52, 84m, 85m and intersubjectivity, 202, 221
in Luther, Martin, 50-52, 84m, 85 m lordship and bondage in, 1 9 -2 2 ,
in Marcuse’s critical theory, 70-72, 2 4 -2 6 , 30, 37, 80
75, 2 7 3 -7 4 , 340-43; s e e a ls o and ontology, 1 7 -2 2 , 27, 6 8 -6 9
Critical theory, Marcuse’s, an and philosophical foundation for
thropological foundation for, p h il Marcuse's critical theory, 7 3 -7 7 ,
osophical foundation for 8 0 -8 1 , 89, 274; s e e a l s o Universals,
in the R eform ation,*49, 50-51 as philosophical foundation for
French Communist party, 171, 215 Marcuse's critical theory
In d ex 397
and Soviet Marxism, 154-55 Kraus, Karl, 198-99, 201

theory o f the fam ily, 5 2 -5 3 Kuhn, T hom as, 197
u n iv ersa l in, 7 4 -7 7 , 8 0 -8 1 , 86n,
87n, 89, 202; s e e a l s o H egel, Legitim ation, 148, 292, 317, 345, 354
essence in Leiss, W illiam , 320n
H eidegger, M artin, 37n, 38n, 137 Lenin, Vladim ir Ilich Ulyanov, 151
and historicity, 3 -1 6 , 21, 40n Lessing, G. E., 261
and intersubjectivity, 202, 221 Libidinal rationality, 83, 109-12, 123,
and Marcuse's early writings, 2 -1 6 , 130n, 173, 28 4 -8 5 , 306, 311, 326,
2 1 -2 2 , 27, 37n, 38n. 39n, 40n 342
and ontology, 7, 12, 21, 27 Libido, libidinal impulses (drives, in
Historical materialism ; s e e a l s o Marx stincts, wishes): s e e Instinct theory
and Soviet M arxism, 154-55 Life instincts; s e e Eros; Instinct theory
Historicity, 2 9 -3 1 , 3 4 -3 5 , 40n, 351 Lipset, Seymour Martin, 223n, 228n
and H egel, 15-22, 80 Lobkowicz, Nikolaus, 224n
and H eidegger, Martin, 3 -1 6 Lockwood, D ., 213
and Marx, 2 2 -2 8 , 80, 351 Lordship and bondage, 2 8 -2 9 , 80; s e e
and M arxism, 8 -1 0 , 351 a l s o Hegel
Horkheim er, Max, 56, 85n, 138-39, Lukacs, Georg, 5 -1 1 , 39n, 139, 142,
224n, 350, 356n 222n, 327
H om ey, Karen, 172 Lundberg, George A ., 226n
Hoselitz, Bert F., 224 n Luther, Martin
Husserl, Edm und, 3, 86/i, 139, 2 82-83 authority in, 5 0 -5 2 , 5 6 -5 7 , 84n
essence in, 6 6 -6 7 , 86 n freedom in, 5 0 -5 2 , 5 6 -5 7 , 84n
and intersubjectivity, 202, 221 theory o f the family, 52, 84/i, 327
Luxem burg, Rosa, 132
Id. 92, 173, 2 4 7 -5 0 , 257
Identification, 100, 130n, 231, 237, M achiavelli, N iccolo, 284
239, 241, 2 5 0 -5 3 M alcolm , N orm an, 2 0 6 -2 0 7 , 227n
Im agination; s e e Fantasy Malcolm X, 314
Instinct theory, 8 2 -8 3 , 8 9 -1 2 7 , 128n, Mann, Thom as, 289, 328
139n, 172-74, 230, 248, 2 4 3 -4 7 , M annheim , Karl, 32, 41n, 228n
2 5 5 -5 6 , 281, 332, 3 3 8 -4 3 , 348n Marck, Siegfried, 9, 39n
Interpretive theory, 199, 3 5 2 -5 6 , 357n Marvick, Dwaine, 191-95, 223n, 225n
Intersubjectivity, 1 99-201, 203, 220 Marx, Karl, 4 -5 , 10-12, 15-16, 2 9 -3 0 ,
in H egel, 202, 221 37, 38n, 77, 80, 86n, 87 n , 125-27,
in H eidegger, M artin, 202, 221 161, 261, 289, 291, 300, 315, 344;
in Husserl, Edm und, 202, 221 se e a ls o E c o n o m ic a n d P h ilo s o p h ic
Israel, H ., 226 n M a n u s c r ip ts
Italian Com m unist party, 171 alienation in, 2 2 -2 5 , 101, 121, 126,
175
Jackson, George, 314 and determ inism o f Marcuse’s critical
Janowitz, Morris, 191-96, 223 n , 2 2 b n theory, 186-90
Jay, M artin, 83n, 84 n , 85n, 222/t and econom ic determ inism , 22
and historical m aterialism . 22, 26,
Kant, Im m anuel 123-25 40n, 6 9 -7 2 , 155, 175; s e e a ls o R a
authority in, 5 1 -5 2 , 84n, 85n tionality, in Marcuse's critical
essence in, 6 5 -6 6 theory
freedom in, 5 1 -5 2 , 84n, 85n and historicity, 2 2 -2 8 , 40n
Khrushchev, N ikita, 217 socially necessary and surplus labor,
Kierkegaard, S0ren, 36, 351 94
King, Martin Luther, 314 and Soviet Marxism, 151, 155'
398 In d ex
as technocratic humanist, \ 1 4 - 1 6 Operationalism, 180

theory o f the state, 148-49 in art, 336
Marxism, 4, 8, 10-11, 13-14, 26, 32, in language analysis, 167-68
35, 171, 289, 295, 297-98, in Neo-Freudian psychology, 173
301-302, 311, 329. 334, 351 and ordinary language, 165-67
and aesthetics, 344-46 in scientific m anagem ent, 168-69,
and historicity, 8-1 0 , 13-14 209-12
Marxist: s e e Marxism in social science, 162-65, 190-98,
Maslow, Abraham, 209-10, 228n 221
Master and slave relation: s e e Hegel, in Soviet realism, 334-35
lordship and bondage: Lordship Orpheus, 111-13, 115
and bondage
Mayo, Elton, 208-209 Partial mobilization, 56-57
McGregor, Douglas, 209, 228n Pennington, L. A ., 226n
Menashe, Louis, 321n Performance principle, 94, 97. 100,
Merseberger, Peter, 322n 105-106, 109, 111, 122, 189, 325,
Metapsychology: s e e Ego; Eros; Fan 338-39
tasy; Freud; Gratification; Id; Plato, 36, 351
Identification; Instinct theory; dialectic in, 202 -2 0 5 , 207, 221,
Oedipal conflict; Pleasure princi 227n, 276
ple; Reality principle; Regression; essence in, 62-64
Repression; Sublimation; Super universals in, 63-64
ego; Thanatos Platt, J.. 213
Mills, C, Wright, 225n, 228n Pleasure principle, 9 1 -9 2 , 101, 105,
Milton, John, 131 173, 247, 332, 346
Muller-Lyer, F., 86n Pluto, 112
Mumford, Lewis, 137 Political economy, 32, 72, 80, 264,
326
Narcissus, 111-15 Pollock, Friedrich, 138
National Socialism: s e e Fascism Positivism, 6 6 -6 7 , 7 3 -7 6 , 180, 183,
Negative thinking, l b - 1 1 , 177 190, 198, 221, 330
Neo-Freudians, 112, 161, 172-74, Praxis: s e e Theory and practice
185-86 Pregenital instinctual organization: s e e
Neumann, Franz, 138, 222n Instinct theory
New Left Primary narcissism, 113-14
and fascism, 291 Prometheus, 111
and Marcuse’s critical theory, Proserpine, 112
290-314, 319-20, 324-26 Prosperity, as factor in social transfor
New science, 83, 139, 282-85 mation, 292, 2 9 6 -9 7 , 299, 316-17
New sensibility, 291, 295-96, 305, 311- Psychosexual development: s e e Instinct
14, 316, 335-36 theory
Nietzsche, Friedrich Wilhelm, 284, 324
Nirvana principle, 112-16 Radosh, Ronald, 3 2 In
Nixon, Richard, 314 Rationalism, of Marcuse’s critical
theory, 7 6 -8 1 . 83. 185, 189, 222,
Oedipal conflict. 98-100, 105, 110-11, 2 5 7 -5 9 , 2 8 0 -8 1 , 293
236-37, 239, 253; s e e a l s o Instinct Rationality, 31-34
theory in Freud's instinct theory, 9 3 -9 4 ,
Ontology, 6 3 -6 5 , 69. 80. 267, 274. 277 K14, 116
in Hegel, 17-21, 27, 68-69 in Marcuse’s critical theory, 7 3 -7 7 ,
in Heidegger, 7, 12,,21. 27 114, 116, 2 6 3 -7 7 , 3 05-306
in Marcuse’s early writings. 2, 7. 12, and Marx's conception o f historical
17, 18-22, 27-28 development, 2 6 2 -6 4 , 274
In d ex 399
Reality principle, 92, 94, 9 7 -9 8 , 111, Surplus-repression, 94-97, 108, 122,

189, 246, 284, 311, 325, 336, 340 260n
Receptivity (passivity), 91, 123, 125, and alienation, 95-96
284-85, 311, 325
Regression, 109-10, 115, 119, 122, 286 Taylor, Charles, 356 n
Reich, Wilhelm, 110 Taylor, Frederick W ., 209
Reification, 5 -1 0 , 2 3 -2 5 , 36, 340, 352 Teodori, Massimo, 320n
Repression, 82, 9 1 -1 0 1 , 106-11, 114, Thanatos, 91. 112-14, 116, 118, 174;
117-19, 121-22, 127, 174, 236. s e e a l s o Instinct theory
239, 245, 251, 256, 313, 322n, Theory and practice, 4 - 5 , 20-22,
338-39; s e e a l s o Instinct theory 24-31, 34-37, 40n, 289-90, 351,
primary, 2 4 9 -5 0 , 257 356; s e e a l s o D u r c h b r e c h u n g
Repressive desublimation, 150, 184, o f Marcuse’s critical theory, 58-59,
2 4 5 -4 7 , 2 5 5 -5 7 , 338-39 71-73, 76-81, 83n, 219, 262-63,
Riehl, W. H., 86 n 268-69, 275, 279-81, 290-320,
Role theory, 189, 225n 324-26, 346-47
Roper, Elmo, 195, 223n, 226n Thompson, Manley, 206, 227n
Rorty, Richard, 227n Thucydides, 284
Rousseau, Jean-Jacques, 229 Total mobilization, 57, 332
Ryavec, Karl, 228n Toynbee, Arnold J., 284
Ryle, Gilbert, 167
Universals, 31, 83, 227n
Sartre, Jean-Paul, 137 in Hegel, 74-77, 80-81, 86n. 87 n ,
project, concept of, 269 89, 202; s e e a l s o Hegel, essence in
Schiller, Friedrich, 123-25 as philosophical foundation for Mar
Self-sublimation, 110, 114-15, 122 cuse’s critical theory, 74-77, 80,
Sennet, Richard, 352, 357n 83, 89. 267-68
Shils, Edward, 228 n in Plato, 63-64
Sjoberg, Gideon, 226n Utilitarianism, 330
Socrates, 3 5 -3 6 , 351
Spengler, Oswald, 284 Veblen, Thorstcin, 137
Stahl, Friedrich, 54 Vico, Giambattista, 284
Stalin, Josef, 154, 157 Violence, in Marcuse's critical theory,
Stark, Franz, 320n 305-10, 312-13, 319
Stevens, S. S., 226n Vorlander, Karl, 40n
Stokes, Donald, 214, 228n
Sublimation, 82, 9 7 -9 8 , 102-108, 110, Walters, R. H., 226n
113, 115, 117-23, 125-27, 129n, Waltzer, Michael, 85n
130n, 174, 245-46, 2 5 5 -5 7 , 286; W axm an, Chaim, 228n
s e e a l s o Instinct theory Weber, Max, 81-82, 87 n , 137, 139,
and alienation, 121-23 179-83, 322n
and art, 107, 124, 326, 330-32, Weimar Republic, 93
338-42 Winch, Peter, 202
Sullivan, Harry Stack, 172 Wittgenstein, Ludwig, 167
Superego, 100, 111, 117, 119-20, Women, role of in social transforma
2 3 1 -3 2 , 234, 236 40. 246-47, tion, 303-304, 325-26
2 5 3 -5 4 , 257 Woodward, Julian, 195, 223n, 226n
\
*
THE IMAGINARY W ITNESS
TH E CRITICALTHEORY OF
HERBERT MARCUSE
MORTON SCHOOLM AN
“The Imaginary Witness is the most thorough and

painstaking analysis of Marcuse’s work yet written in
any language. Morton Schoolman engages in a critical
dialogue with Marcuse on a consistently high level. He
brings little comfort to Marcuse’s friends or enemies,
but rather forces them tore-think their responses to one
of this century’s most influential radical theoreticians.”
Martin Jay '
University of California, Berkeley
ISBN O-QH-TBAOMD-D

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Schoolman, Morton (1980) - The Imaginary Witness. The Critical Theory of Herbert Marcuse

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TH E IMAGINARY W ITNESS

THE FREE PRESS

Collier Macmillan Publishers

The Free Press

Library of Congress Cataloging in Publication Data

CAN1S1US COLLEGE LIBRARY

T he S econd D imension 108

__________Four _____________ _______

___________________ Seven ________________ _

Few figures in contemporary social theory have been as contro­

occasions his positions encouraged discussion and debate of the

also for a reevaluation of the majority of his arguments already

and thoughtfulness I am very grateful. Guy Dodge, Duncan

Early W ritings, Early Hopes

M ore th an a half century stands between our time and that of

undertakings. From time to time the project is given depth, but

Lordship and Bondage

Several years before his death in July 1979, Marcuse reported in

Marcuse’s recollection provides an insight into the nature of

which Marcuse is concerned. Marcuse’s problem, and one that in

refer to political or econom ic states o f affairs but focus on the e x is­

Instead o f having a suitable m ode o f existin g in term s o f m an agin g

These passages are outstanding for two important reasons.

than a higher stage of development. “High capitalism,” though a

sen zusammen in ihrer Grundbestimmtheit als Geschichtlich-

The importance of Marcuse’s statement cannot be overem­

perspective of ideological principles in which he is believed to be

And by focusing on the concretely existing individual, Marcuse

of commonplace existence, covers over the deeper layers of hu­

concepts, and themes', Marcuse is attempting to draw out their

Thus, on the one hand, we demand that Heidegger’s phenomenolo­

It is important to be clear about the developmental lines of

in terminology, and'the assimilation of Hegel’s concepts to Hei-

cance of a particular feature of Dilthey’s philosophy for Mar­

tuted by the relations of living individuals (lebendigen Individ-

a result of something prior to it. Although life (history) is sup­

thought to be proper'. Mastery and servitude become the univer­

Phenomenology Hegel is thus left with a double or dichotomous

cuse’s writings can his position on the relationship between ontol­

M arx and H istoricity

the extent of reification, Marcuse answers, through his labor the

Marcuse thus returns us to Hegel’s relation of lordship and

the objective world in their historical-social situation, the m aster, as

there is no automatic,' inevitable transition from one society or

grated. By rooting historicity in a praxis of labor rather than in a

sio n o f h u m a n p o te n tia lity , to view it in s tr u m e n t a l^ as th e v e h i­

The Historical Tasks of Philosophy

newly acquired insight is a radical or critical perspective in the

should be recalled, Marcuse meant a primitive understanding

occasion Marcuse characterizes the problem in very similar

Marcuse’s definition of this problem is familiar. It does, in fact,

worked out in extremely different ways.”36 Its future is not un­

philosophy and no justification for any such claim is ever exempt

Marcuse has proposed a political but not a revolutionary polit­

Marcuse’s theory of historicity seeks to prove that the individual

Marcuse’s project placed the Marxist theory of revolution on a

event the truth of concrete philosophy would be obscured —that

H eidegger while con tin u in g the project through in terp retation s o f

o f the P roletariat” in G eorg Lukacs’s History and Class Consciousness

3 5 . H erbert M arcuse, ‘‘Zur W ahrheitsproblem atik der soziolo*

Fascism, Rationalism, and the

If in the development of the State itself, periods are

Follow ing the Nazi assumption of power in 1933, Marcuse ini­

pies. The impact of crisis on the reflective capacity may be dra­

____Four _ _

___ Seven _

Few figures in contemporary social theory have been as contro

refer to political or econom ic states o f affairs but focus on the e x is

The importance of Marcuse’s statement cannot be overem

of commonplace existence, covers over the deeper layers of hu

Thus, on the one hand, we demand that Heidegger’s phenomenolo

cance of a particular feature of Dilthey’s philosophy for Mar

a result of something prior to it. Although life (history) is sup

thought to be proper'. Mastery and servitude become the univer

cuse’s writings can his position on the relationship between ontol

sio n o f h u m a n p o te n tia lity , to view it in s tr u m e n t a l^ as th e v e h i

worked out in extremely different ways.”36 Its future is not un

Marcuse has proposed a political but not a revolutionary polit

Follow ing the Nazi assumption of power in 1933, Marcuse ini

pies. The impact of crisis on the reflective capacity may be dra

its preservation constantly endangers the social order. If eco

tution of private property. These are liberalism’s “naturalistic in

tory. Fascism, in fact, is “produced” by liberalism as an institu

When Marcuse’s critique of the concepts of freedom and au

Marcuse explains that Luther first introduced a dualistic con

individual to make (silent) moral claims against authority’s viola

society’s ventures into imperialism.12 Bearing no promise of ulti

First encountered in Marcuse’s analysis of Luther, the concep

tent for the inner freedom nourished by affirmative culture ulti

sence has been lost through the reduction of essence to episte

ing that is given to the concept of essence which signifies philoso

also an exceptional measure of the extensiveness of the integra

son, but also potentiality is limited by Reason in virtue of its be

The “interest of freedom” is “thus preserved in materialist theo

human essence because it robs man of his self-productive free

Critical theory is not invalidated by the absence of a class con

We need go no further to understand how Marcuse’s new in

Considered in light of its historical context, Reason and R ev

it concludes that they do not qualify as subjects of correct politi

It is obvious, and ih my estimation painfully so, that the con

viewed as the seeds of opposition to authoritarianism —an uncer

casionally alludes to Weber; at other times his arguments and in

W hereas H egel’s universal constitutes the philosophical foun

modification of the instincts in order to accomplish socially pro

balance ought to occur between the requisites of social organiza

borne equally by all social orders. Freud’s reality principle ob

loss of the latter concept’s critical significance. But a prior seri

the instincts begin to be localized in the genital zone, polymor

other words, through labor genital sexuality is subjected to fur

that is inherently bisexual to an exclusively heterosexual identifi