When Karl Marx and Frederick Engels released “The Communist Manifesto” into the wild in 1848, they did so in the manner of radical optimism. There was a firm belief that an improved society, the right society, would inevitably emerge. History was unkind to the notion, and the upheaval of the capitalist order never happened; the dictatorship of the proletariat continues to thrive only in the fantasy realm. Certainly, however, Marxist naivety is not sufficient in warranting the expulsion of Marx’s societal diagnosis — that an oppressive capitalist order has emerged that strips man of the very things which used to make him human, which used to give his life meaning and purpose outside of profit production. This was the belief of Max Horkheimer, the father of Critical Theory.
Critical Theory is a discipline which emerged in the early-to-mid 20th century out of the so-called Frankfurt School. Rooted in a Marxist analysis of class relations, economic structures, and socio-cultural superstructures, Critical Theory seeks to officiate the marriage between theory and praxis, between discussion and action. As its end goal, it situates the complete liberation of man. I have heard a professor of mine complain more than once that his students will call for liberation without ever defining it. That error will not occur here.
To tackle liberation is to supplant it with its twin: freedom. Freedom is neither a lack of obstruction nor ability to act on one’s innermost desires. As a concept worth proliferating, freedom is the ability of man to construct a system of laws and mores, to then subject himself to that system, and to be fulfilled in doing so. Generalized, this gloss of freedom translates into a society which is self-ruled, self-governed, self-interested — and pleased to be so.
However, how can one reasonably suspect that any contemporary society could ever reach a state of absolutized freedom? With the aim of Critical Theory in mind, one anticipates the objection that Horkheimer’s mission is simply infeasible. This objection is understandable, but wasteful. Regardless of the likelihood of reaching an absolutely free society, the only end any debate on the matter can reach is delaying the vital work needed to foster such a society. Human liberation is a universally-appealing end, and the first step towards grasping a more profound future for Critical Theory is this particular abandonment of reason. The aim does not need to be feasible when it is universally preferable.
Casting these concerns at least temporarily into the void allows for progression into another space for exploration. What becomes of Critical Theory upon reaching that state of universal human liberation? I offer two scenarios.
The first scenario pictures Critical Theory as the rocket which propels a capsule of freedom beyond the realm of atmospheric suffering. In essence, when the state of liberation is arrived upon, that vector which brought it about necessarily implodes, just as the thrusters tear off from the capsule in outer space. Critical Theory is fueled by contradictions: Why does the West espouse equality yet profit from slave labor, for instance? Why do those who claim to fight for children actively support leaders accused of violently raping them? A lack of contradictions, then, would spell the end of Critical Theory’s propulsion. There is little room for nuance in such finality, however. Nuance is the shadow kingdom of the theorist.
The second scenario for Critical Theory rebukes the silent death of the first. To envision contradiction as less of a fuel and more of a drug opens up the possibility for a future in which the theorist clings desperately to what little traces of contradiction they can find. Encountering none in their field of view or periphery, they must resort to subtleties. In utopia, the last remaining contradiction is temporal: that difference between then and now. If contemporary man exists in a context devoid of aspiration — having achieved all previously deemed desirable — his species-history complicates the present. For how could there have ever been a state of such abject unfreedom?
Having found contradiction in paradise, the critical theorist subsists via lamentations on an unkind past. Thus emerges the era of what I refer to as Critical Commiseration.
I have called this piece a defense of critique. Yet, thus far, the primary path for Critical Theory I have sketched is one fraught with desperation. But desperation need not detract from significance. After all, who among us would prefer to exist in a society ripe with cultural, economic, sexual, and educational contradictions as opposed to one whose only contradiction is its imperfect past? That future is rendered impossible without substantial, loud, and exponentially-growing critique. Accepting, explaining away, or merely turning a blind eye to the contradictions surrounding us will foster only complacency, plunging each and every one of us only further into the myriad modes of slavery running rampant in contemporary society.
Up until this point, I have argued that modern society should strive for a utopian end. To quote Miranda Priestly: “Groundbreaking.” However, while the mental gymnastics required to appreciate the obvious are commendable, I ask for no medal. But just how obvious is it that society should strive for utopia? Does one suppose that was Sam Altman’s charge? Or Elon Musk’s? Jeffrey Epstein’s? Hundreds of billions of dollars between the men, and who, at the end of the day, are truly better off because of them? The artists losing their livelihoods to Altman’s AI? Or maybe it was the former Veteran Affairs employees who could not afford Christmas gifts last year thanks to the Department of Government Efficiency led by Musk. The children whose lives withered before ever getting the chance to blossom, courtesy of taboo-suckling elites like Epstein.
Every now and then, the tree of common sense must be watered by a restatement of the obvious. If we had not gone to hell, I would not have to write an article reminding us of the project here.
Critique, the very essence of Critical Theory, runs on contradiction. And there is no shortage of contradiction today. Look up: See children ripped from the arms of their parents in the name of the law while those tearing them away support the lawless. See politicians resting on their morals while dining with the convictionless. See a country weeping for the abused while continuing to elect their abusers. See good people rationalizing their parts in the expansion of technologies that can do only harm. There is no shortage of contradiction today.
And yet, with the surplus of suffering burned into our retinas, we are met still with the echoes of delusion: Why come to the United States if you are just going to complain about it? Why not take a refugee into your own home if you are so concerned? Why not go to Palestine and see how much they support you? Why try to regulate AI if you have already opened Pandora’s box?
The programmatic rebuke to critique is constant. It is baked into us from infancy and only escaped through deeply intentional periods of unlearning. So when, inevitably, I am asked how long I will continue to complain about genocide, pedophilia, inhumanity, and AI, my response will remain unchanged: until all there is to complain about is an unjust past. Until utopia.
