#53: What Is “Left”? A Very Erratic Attempt

Marx famously called for “a ruthless criticism of everything existing” (Marx to Ruge, 1843), in the Original:

“Ist die Construction der Zukunft und das fertig werden für alle Zeiten nicht unsere Sache; so ist desto gewisser, was wir gegenwärtig zu vollbringen haben, ich meine die rücksichtslose Kritik alles Bestehenden, rücksichtslos sowohl in dem Sinne, dass die Kritik sich nicht vor ihren Resultaten fürchtet und eben so wenig vor dem Conflikte mit den vorhandenen Mächten.”

and in English:

“If we have no business with the construction of the future or with organizing it for all time, there can still be no doubt about the task confronting us at present: the ruthless criticism of everything existing, ruthless in that it will shrink neither from its own discoveries, nor from conflict with the powers that be.”

There’s a reason it’s called the “left” – la sinistra, in Italian – the sinister side, not the “right” side, not the straight and narrow, but the other, the alternative, the deviant, creative, non-conforming, erratic, always critical, always critical of criticism, always irreverent part. Insults, hyperbole, aggressive argument (but no physical violence), joie de vivre, endless nights of spirited, no-holds-barred discussion, possibly lubricated with alcohol, THAT is what the left has always been. The chaos out of which a deconstructed order can grow. The cry of the wounded animal seeking healing.

This ruthlessness is an act of respect towards the other disputant. You treat the other person as the idealized version of themselves. You do not give false deference to somebody, you assume they can take it, not that they are weak (does that sound too Klingon? Marx would have loved Klingon blood wine and drink…)

No terms are agreed upon, nothing stands still, thinking never stands still, thinking always has multiple dimensions. There shalt be no orthodoxy. There shalt be no conformity. No collective. No agreement. No safe spaces intellectually, only physically.

Leftism is venal, is concrete, is bacchanalian, both generative and degenerate, both intellectually creative and destructive, but it is not crass – crass is crassism for its own sake. There is always a point to leftism: The destruction of dogma, the liberation of the individual mind, a ruthless and voracious education, and the utopian dedication to shaping a better future made up of a bunch of probably drunk belligerent intellectuals who like to lecture the “little people” on how best to join them, or at least to listen to them. But ideally, the more, the merrier.

Nobody excluded, no dogma, no thoughts forbidden, nothing too inconvenient, everything outright offensive, all language allowed, especially sarcasm, irony, fun, play, and deviance.

This is how the left as an intellectual movement can thrive.

But, sadly, there will always come a point where the creative, destructive, demonic, dialectic energy is contained, harmonized, dogmaticized, in order to bring the troops in line. Manifestos are written, party ideologues take over, discussion is streamlined, the nonconformists swapped out for the conformists, and the character of the “Left” disappears.

The happy catholic spectacle of radical theology (for what else is theology than unhinged philosophy?) turns into the frown-faced and dour eliminationist puritanism that will never tolerate an inconvenient thought. Whatever this new censorious regime of right and wrong, new left and alt-right, of good and evil may be, it certainly should not be called “left,” and it is heading nowhere good.

Personally, I don’t much care for too much causticity in dialog, and Marx’ personality certainly was not very, well, conciliatory. Neither is the talking down to the “little people” helpful. We need to be respectful of each other, and be inclusive of everyone. But respect does not survive well in a puritan thought-control environment either. There needs to be a middle way.

#15: Happiness

I have struggled all my life with some form of sense of mortality and the definite sense of an ending. That is, I guess, due to a Catholic upbringing, in which the theme of death is permeating everything, albeit counterpointed with resurrection. I have not always been able to reap the benefit of an unwavering faith that G-d will take care of me just as I wish; because I do not want to presume to know what G-d might want, or to even dare ask G-d to intercede on my behalf. (I use the Jewish spelling of G-d to indicate that we cannot know what “God” actually is).

Life thus consists in hope, but not certainty, that things may well turn out well, but also in the awareness of the struggle that things do not just magically fall into place.

There is also the medieval “Wheel of Fortune” idea, so popularized by the Carmina Burana, which tells the tale that our lives will be favored by the fates some days, and other days not, and that high and low, rich and poor, will suffer from Fortune’s wheel. Breaking the wheel – the utopian notion that was Daenerys’ hope in Game of Thrones – is impossible:

However, hope may lie in realizing and feasting on the punctuated moments of happiness. Akhnaten did have a good little run, as depicted in Philip Glass’ Opera. At the height of his power, he invents monotheism (pace Freud, S. (1939). Moses and Monotheism: Three Essays), and enjoys his triumphant moments as the founder of a revised Egyptian religion, whose traces will probably survive as one of its followers, Moses, carries it with him when fleeing oppression in Egypt.

Yet joy does not last, and as Akhnaten’s realm falls, his happiness comes to an end. But it was real – in the years that he indeed was the new founder of his religion:

Just because the past is difficult, the future unseen, and the present stuck in the uncomfortable middle, this should not prevent us from enjoying the happiness we can make in the meantime. It is hard, excruciatingly hard, but possible, every day, to carve out a moment of transcendence, of divinity, of spirituality, of utter joy, of ecstasy, and of shameless undiluted humanity. Whatever darkness may have befallen you today, cast it out for a few moments, and remember, this is your life, and you control your reaction to it, so that, in the end, with hope, you can have peace.

I guess this was a very strangely Catholic post. Oh well. It’s Easter, why not have some hope!