Herbert Marcuse’s

Utopia
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Canadian Cataloguing in Publication Data

Martineau, Alain
Herlrerl Marcuse’s utopia
Includes index,
llihliographs: p.
ISBN 0-88772-027*7
I. Marcuse. I lei ben. 1808- 2. Philosophers—
United States— Biography. 3. Utopias.
I. Title.
B945.M.2984M37 198b 191 C8b-090243-9
Herbert Marcuse’s
Utopia

b y
Alain Martineau

Translated by
Jane Brierley

Harvest House
MONTREAL lUH(i
To the memory of my father
and to my mother
without whom my education
woidd have been impossible
 Translator’s Note
I would like in iliank die auiltor, Dr. Alain Martincau, lor his
generous cooperation, despile a busy leaching and research
schedule, in discussing the text and providing material lor many
of the English citations throughout die work. In the course of
translation, the author has taken the opportunity to make slight
changes or clarifications to the original manuscript (or the
benefit of English-speaking readers. My thanks are also due to
Drew McCarthy, for reading the manuscript and notes.
Not all of Marcuse’s translated writing is the same as the
original, for he too sometimes took the opportunity of adding,
retouching, or even revising his work for publication in another
language. 'Texts that were originally speeches, or recorded
<]uestion-and-answer periods, do not always contain identical
material in English and French versions. Wherever possible,
the published English version has been ({noted. Where this
proved impossible or impracticable, the translator has provided
an English rendition, but the citation refers to the original work.
The same method has been used for other writers cited in this
book.
 Contents
Introduction
1

I. Marcuse the Man

7

II. The Forerunners of Marcuse’s Utopia

27

III. Mai cuse’s Romantic Aesthetics

61

IV. Marcuse’s Ideological Politics

88

V. Marcuse’s Revolutionary Ethics

105

Conclusion
112

Notes
114

Index
149
 Acknowledgments
This translation, as well as the original work, has been published
with the help of a grant from the Canadian Federation for the
Humanities, using funds provided by the Social Sciences and
Humanities Research Council of Canada. We also gratefully
acknowledge a translation grant from the Canada Council.
 Introduction 1

Introduction
We only seem to have absorbed what u<e don't
understand about M arcuse. 1

1here are many utopias. No one has ever seen them except in
imagination, and yet they are real enough, for they have influ­
enced our destiny over the centuries. Utopias are created in
response to the existing world. Just as the worlds of Plato, Sir
Thomas More, and Karl Marx differed, so did their philo­
sophical utopias. It is Herbert Marcuse’s utopia that has made
him so significant and controversial a figure in our generation,
and possibly for generations to come.
Marcuse endeavored to describe a viable alternative to the
present dilemma of civilization through the projection of utopian
ideals, and to liberate humans front the repressive forces of
modern society in order to build a better world. Not surpris­
ingly, his philosophical ideas took shape in relation to socialist
and Marxist theory and its application to reality. Unlike many
of his utopian predecessors, including Marx, he was privileged
to witness the progress of a full-scale social experiment based
on a philosophical concept.
Marx wrote in his 1844 “Contribution to the Critique of
Hegel’s Philosophy of Law" that the head of man’s “emanci­
pation is philosophy, its heart is the proletariat. Philosophy cannot
be made a reality without the abolition of the proletariat, the
proletariat cannot be abolished without philosophy being made
a reality."2 Marx’s programmatic statement did not mean that
philosophy is doomed, however. As Henri Lefebvre remarked
in 1947, “It is not a question of suppressing philosophy, but of
waking it a reality by transcending abstract philosophy and by
suppressing the abstract element of speculative, metaphysical
philosophy.”5 Gerard Raulet, in a fairly recent study of Marx­
ism and critical theory, noted that Marcuse’s aim in 1937 was
to give philosophy status within Marxism, as demonstrated in
2 Herbert Marcuse's Utopia

lilt* following passage from “Philosophy and Critical 1heory

“Bourgeois society’s domination reveals itself not only in the
dependence of thought Inn also in the (abstract) independence
of its contents. For this society determines consciousness such
that the latter’s activity and contents survive in the dimension
of abstract reason; abstractness saves its truth. What is true is
so only to the extent that it is not the truth about social reality.
And just because it is not the latter, because it transcends this
reality, it can become a matter for critical theory. ”'
Dialectical materialism therefore has idealistic components
that will be necessary, said Marcuse, “as long as the reality toward
which they are directed is not yet given.”5 But how can or must
philosophy be made reality? If, according to Marx’s eleventh
thesis on Feuerbach, “The philosophers have only interpreted
the world in various ways; the point is \o change it,”1’then philos­
ophy ought to play an active part in its own realization. Far
from being a sign of realization, however, the current frag­
mentation of philosophy into various subdisciplines seems more
like a symptom of disintegration. Will there be a complete break
between past and future philosophy? Mow are we to consider
the problem of modernity in philosophy today? One thing is
certain; such questions must be examined in relation to Marxist
theory.
Prior to Marx, the accepted model of philosophical debate
was the famous f/uereUe des Amiens et des Modernes in the French
Academy, embodying a conf rontation between two camps. One
camj) advocated exploiting the past in order to prolong it, while
the other placed greater reliance on the future and sought to
promote new theories. The question is, has one of these camps
now gained ascendancy? With Marx himself , we are still looking
at a model with dual tendencies. In his most traditional stance,
Marx retained his belief in progress and the importance of
Reason. He declined to formulate a philosophical program as
such, however, and instead constituted himself the theoretician
of social practice. But do we still take into consideration these
two aspects of Marx’s thought? Post-Marxian discourse takes it
for granted that the philosophical process occurs within the
current social context. Vet philosophers, even Marxist philos­
ophers, try to maintain a certain detachment f rom this context,
the better to fully comprehend it. We can therefore say that
 Introduction 3
there are still two tendencies influencing the debate on modern-
ity.
At present, however, we are being forced to consider the
fundamental nature of modernity in a new light. The distinctive
feature of our time seems to be a state of general and perma­
nent crisis, a crisis that is unique in history and conditioned by
an unprecedented technological explosion. In days gone by,
during the Renaissance for example, humanism encouraged
man’s self-awareness in order to combat the mysticism of the
medieval world. Today, in a world “disenchanted" by science
and technology, mysticism is being rediscovered in numerous
and varied forms. Sixteenth-century moderns relied on the
future to change society. The Marxist revolutionary spirit
counted on class war to bring about abrupt historical change
and alter social structures. Present-day proponents of this revo­
lutionary spirit, disillusioned by the practices and regimes
invoked in the name of Marxism, are burning their idols and
looking toward a movement or a revolution with no predeter­
mined model. Yet, when we look at the so-called cultural revo­
lution and the phenomena of consciousness-raising, counter­
culture, protest, or even libertarian socialism, certain common
features become apparent. In a word, there is a renewed sense
of modernity in our contemporary society.
One of the major aspects of this modernist current seems to
me to be The Spirit of Utopia, to use Ernst Bloch’s expression.
The present interest in utopia is no coincidence. Intoxicated
by the frenetic pace of technology, and deprived of the tradi­
tional heritage of communal knowledge, contemporary man
thinks he can see what Marcuse calls “the end of utopia”—the
possibility of realizing the wildest dreams of the Utopians. Clas­
sical utopia as a literary genre is dead, although in a sense it
survives in the form of dystopia. Utopianism has endured,
however, despite this eclipse. It defined the mental atmosphere
of the New Left, of which, rightly or wrongly, Marcuse was
considered a guru. As a Marxist philosopher and sociologist,
Marcuse was consciously utopian, as well as being concerned
with “the m ost. . . ‘eschatological’ conceptions of Marxian
theory.”8 It is important that we understand Marcuse’s contri­
bution to contemporary utopianism. Our present situation may
indeed be such that we desperately need utopianism to buttress
critical and philosophical thought.
4 Herbert Marcuse's Uto/iia
Marcuse though! so. Me devoted his life’s work to finding
an alternative to the status quo, which is essentially distin­
guished by the absence of one particular event: the revolution
that has not yet happened, that cannot happen under present
historical conditions, but that, as a preparatory measure, he
attempted to justif y in advance, so as to halt the growing and
excessive repression of natural aspirations lor happiness and
freedom. Marcuse's sole project was to redefine “socialism and
its preconditions,"'' and to take a fresh view ol “the conception
of the transition to socialism.”10 In so doing, he used “the concept
of a non-repressive way of life to demonstrate that a new stage
of civilization is now possible."11All the material and intellectual
preconditions for a socialist society exist. The only thing stand­
ing in its way is the repressive organization ol the existing forces
of production.>~ For Marcuse, therefore, the transition from
capitalism to socialism cannot be defined as the planned devel­
opment of the means of production and the rationalization of
resources, even though such rationalization is still a precon­
dition of liberation in any form. It is only "if socialism is defined
in its most utopian terms," that it can be "a force for transfor­
mation of human existence and of its e n v iro n m e n t.’ Marcuse
was only concerned with libertarian socialism—"a socialism that
does not yet actually exist."1' Contrary to F.ngels, Marcuse urged,
“We must face the possibility that the path to socialism may
proceed from science to utopia and not from utopia to science."1’
Bloch held a similar view. Just as Marx foresaw the realization
of philosophy, so Marcuse foresaw the realization of utopia. As
he himself said, “ The utopian element was long the only
progressive element in philosophy.”"’ This is why utopian
thought is necessary to philosophy in general, and to critical
theory in particular.
In sum, does the contemporary utopianism underlying all
Marcuse’s work oblige us to redefine modernity? We must
recognize the fact that Marx’s collective aim has not been
achieved, and that all past revolutions have ended in disillu­
sionment. Nevertheless, we should also realize that the revo­
lutionary spirit still inspires hope, especially when coupled with
a utopian faith that includes the elements described by Leszek
Kolakowski: the belief that we can control our future, the
persistent idea that effective theory and action do in fact exist,
and the conviction that we can understand the true nature of
 Introduction 5
man.17 It is these basic questions that I have endeavored to
explore.
In dealing with Marcuse’s utopia, I have begun by outlining
its development, linking the various phases of his life to his
principal theses. I have adopted a historical approach because,
apart from Sidney Lipshires’ work,18 biographical information
is fairly sparse. Recent monographs published since his death
do not fill the gap. Neither Morton Schoolman1'' nor Vincent
Geoghegan20 provide an actual biography, although Barry Kat/.'s
relatively recent book, Herbert Marcuse and the Art of Liberation,
gives considerable detail. I have to a great extent relied on
commentary by the people who knew him, and their various
accounts have proved very useful throughout this work. The
area of Marcuse’s relationships with his colleagues in the Frank­
furt School has already been amply covered, however. Martin
Jay has written a definitive history of the group.21 David Held
summarized its principle ideas brilliantly,22 while George Fried­
man brought together its political philosophy.23 Gerard kaulet
demonstrated Marcuse’s place in critical theory, in its wider or
revised context.21 File work of Ben Agger, notably his intro­
duction to Western Marxism, has provided an extended synthe­
sis of Marxism and American populism, somewhat in the style
of Marcuse.2 ’
File second chapter documents the background of Marcu-
sian utopianism, tracing the connection between Marcuse and
his major utopian predecessors in order to further our under­
standing of the role of utopia in critical theory and its subversive
function in society. File subsequent chapters form a critique of
Marcusian utopianism in relation to man's four basic activities:
art, economics, politics, and ethics. I have adopted a Marcusian
approach to the question asked by Marx in his 1858 introduc­
tion to Capital: What is it that gives art an eternal value despite
its historical nature? In addition I have looked at the place
assigned by Marcuse to politics, in relation to the Marxist view
of economics. Finally, I have considered the place of ethics in
Marcuse’s scheme for liberation.
In general, I have attempted to examine the following ques­
tion: Does the hope of modernity lie with Marcuse’s utopia?
Utopianism is "a perennial type of thinking as ineradicable as
realistic philosophy itself,” according to I homas Molnar. It is
a system of thought or philosophy that, far from representing
6 Herbert Marcuse's Utopia
an aberration of the modern mind, attacks die major problems
of existence, just as the authentic philosophers do.2,1 I refer to
Molnar because he is considered “one of the rare reactionary
writers worth reading,” according to Jean-Marie Domenach in
“Utopia or Reason in the Imaginary World,” an introduction
to a special issue of Esprit.'2' Although Marcuse’s utopia has its
roots in a tradition as old as thought itself, it represents a fresh
initiative. It is an attempt to conceive of social change, not in
the light of class conflict, but of a critical theory that is itself
basic to the change in question. Marcuse’s utopia, while Marxist
in nature, is the very opposite of specialized theory, for the
perspective that he embraced was universal.
Alain Martineau
 I

Marcuse the Man

Herbert Marcuse was born of Jewish parents, Carl Marcuse and
Gertrud Kreslawsky, on July 19, 1898, in Berlin—a birthplace
that some socialists might have considered a misfortune.
Marcuse, however, was always proud of his Berlin origins. He
said it was probably because of the Berliners’ sense of humour.1
On the subject of Marcuse and his Judaic heritage, his third
wife, Erica Sherover, and his son, Peter, told the press at the
time of his death: “Although he was not religious, it was impor­
tant for him . . . that he was Jewish," particularly with respect
to the idea of using “life to help bring about a better life."* As
Gershom Scholem explained in his book of essays on contem­
porary Judaism, Fidclite et utopic, when one views present history
as the prehistory of humanity, or links liberation and the self-
determination of human beings to the effects of a redemptive
critique, "All discussion of real and authentic human values is
reduced to eschatology. It opens the way to an impenitent and
optimistic utopia, which cannot be described in terms of concepts
based on an unredeemed world. "I'llis is the attitude underlying
the writings of the major ideologists of revolutionary messi-
anism, such as Ernst Bloch, Walter Benjamin, Theodor Adorno,
and Herbert Marcuse, whose ties with their Jewish heritage,
whether acknowledged or not, are evident."1Such was the case
with Marcuse in his commentary on Walter Benjamin’s philos­
ophy of history, when he said, “Peace (in Kant’s sense of
‘perpetual peace’) represents the end of the prehistory ol
humanity, which has become history. True peace is real, mate­
rialist ‘redemption,’ non-violence, the advent o f ‘the just man’ . . .
therefore redemption is a materialist and political concept: the
concept of Revolution."1
Obviously one’s origins do not account for everything. I have
therefore thought it worthwhile to outline the main stages of
Marcuse’s life as a background to his evolving thought. These
stages fall quite naturally into the following periods:
8 Herbert Marcuse's Utopia
- The Weimar period (1919-1933) of political involvement
- The Frankfurt School period (1934-1942) in the United
States
- The Washington period (1942-1949) of literary silence
- The Brandeis period (1950-1965) of growing radicaliza-
tion
- The San Diego period (1965-1979) of fame and notoriety
- The period of posterity (1979-)
Marcuse himself acknowledged in 1972 that the influence
of the Weimar culture had marked him forever. ’The Weimar
Republic, as historians have labeled it, covered the fourteen
years (1919-1933) of libera) democracy during which the Social
Democrats played a dominant role either in government or
opposition. The Social Democratic Party is one of the oldest
major political parties in Germany. It originated with two
groups—one Marxist, the other reformist—although it actually
reflected several tendencies. But in 1918 Germany lost the war
and social democracy was anything but revolutionary. It even
opposed the Spartacist movement, which came into being in
1914 in response to the voting of funds for World War I. In
1916 this movement adopted the name Spartukusbund, after the
slave revolt led by Spartacus against the Romans in 73 A.D. Its
leading activists in 1918 were Karl Liebktiecht (1871-1919) and
Rosa Luxemburg (1871-1919), who advocated dictatorship of
the proletariat and the formation of workers’ councils on the
Russian model.
Marcuse did his military service from 1917 to 1919. In 1917-
1918 he was a member of the Social Democratic Soldiers’ Coun­
cil in Berlin, although his sympathy with the German Social
Democratic party did not last long. Nevertheless, this brief period
taught him the following lesson: “I resigned from it after the
murder of Rosa Luxemburg and Karl Leibkneclu, and from
then on 1 have criticized this party’s politics. Not because it
believed that it could work within the framework of the estab­
lished order—for we all do this, we all make use of even the
most minute possibilities in order to transform the established
order from inside it—that is not why I fought the S.P.D. The
reason was rather that it worked in alliance with reactionary,
destructive, and repressive forces.”0 Marcuse’s subsequent
thinking was influenced by this idea of political conf rontation
outside active politics, and indeed he admitted in 1978 that his
 Marc use the Man 9
political convictions were already firmly established at the time
of the Weimar Republic, that he was revolutionary, and that his
philosophical inquiries gradually became part of his political beliefs?
As the heir to the Luxemburgist left, wrote Johann Pall Arna-
son, Marcuse and the other Frankfurt theorists held “firmly to
the principle that this revolution must be linked to the demo­
cratic and humanist ideals of the bourgeois period.”8 This is
what Marcuse meant when he wrote, “It is by looking to the
past, not the future, that the fight for freedom finds its
strength."9
After the Luxemburg-Leibknecht murders, Marcuse’s
concrete political involvement was to remain extremely limited,
although significant. It was limited in the sense that his sympa­
thy for Marxism did not restrict his critical faculties. This was
true of all the members of the Frankfurt School. They disap­
proved, for example, of the Moscow trials of 1936-1938 during
the Stalin purges. "When Marcuse did make a political gesture,
it was significant because his public involvement was not a
response to his judgment of a particular event, but a defense
of the individual. This was the case with his former student
Angela Davis to whom he wrote an open letter in Ramparts
Magazine at the time of her imprisonment.11 Similarly, when
Rudolf Bahro was imprisoned in Fast Germany, Marcuse made
a point of producing a detailed study of The Alternative. As
for student protests, even though he hailed their potentially
revolutionary tendencies, he later acknowledged that they had
not produced the effect expected and were not sufficient to
trigger true qualitative change.1' Basically, his political views
were often far more moderate than his critics may have thought.
Douglas Kellner tells us that Marcuse supported Eugene
McCarthy in 1968 and George McGovern in 1972.11
All in all, his commitment was that ol an intellectual more
interested in cultural values than civilization, and in this he
reflected the German Weimar period.1’ In 1914, the French set
out to defend civilization, whereas the Germans asserted that
they were fighting for their culture.19 Marcuse, in the tradition
of German idealism, had such abnormally high expectations
for humanity that, as his Time biographer said, he "came to the
conclusion that only revolution could realize them.”1' Alter his
participation in the Soldiers’ Council, he never joined another
political party.
10 Herbert Marcuse's Utopia
In 1910 Marcuse began his studies at Freiburg University
where, he said, lile and politics did not mix.,M It was here in
1922 that he received a doctorate tnagna cum luude lor his disser­
tation, “Der deutsche Kunsllerronian," on German novels deal­
ing with the lives of artists. We will be looking at the role of art
in Marcuse’s revolution later, but I should point out now that
in the Germany of 1919, several groups had formed that were
interested in revolutionary art. Jean-Michel Palmier wrote about
these groups in his contribution to L'Expressionismecomme revolte,
a book on the artistic life of the Weimar Republic. He recog­
nized that it is not easy, for example, to analyze the political
ideas of the Novembergruppe, or to define art as a revolu­
tionary weapon, since “utopian and realist elements were inter­
twined.'”20
During the six years that followed, between the ages of 25
and 51, Marcuse worked in publishing and bookselling in
Berlin."1 In 1929 he returned to Freiburg University. It was to
some extent the political climate of the period that influenced
his intellectual interests. He wrote, “It was evident that fascism
was coming and that led me to an intensive study of Marx and
Hegel . . . with the aim of understanding just why, at a time
when the conditions for an authentic revolution were present,
the revolution had collapsed or been defeated, the old forces
had come back to power, and the whole business was beginning
all over again in a degenerate form.”2" So there he was, a student
at the age of 31 under Husserl and 1leidegger, among others.
The latter directed his major dissertation on Hegel, published
in 1932. But the Marxist orientation evident in his early articles
meant that he was moving away from Heidegger, who tended
more toward the right. Since Marcuse could not become
Heidegger’s assistant and had no idea where to find work,
Husserl asked Kurt Riezler of Frankfurt University to give him
a recommendation. Riezler, an enthusiastic admirer of I leideg-
l | ,1

ger, approached Horkheimer, director of the university's

Institute for Social Research. Its founders had not dared call
it the Marxist Institute—such a name would have been too
provocative*’1—and its work was formulated in Hegelian terms
in order to disguise its Marxism. According to Marcuse, this
precaution was justified by the desire "to maintain their foot­
hold in the academic world."*'
 Marcuse (he Man 11
Marcuse’s first article in 1928, “Contributions to a Pheno­
menology of Historical Materialism," revealed both his Marxist
orientation and his interest in Heidegger’s theories, since it was
published in a special issue of Philosophische Hefte on living and
/ ime. During his four years at Freiburg, Marcuse prepared his
doctoral dissertation on “Hegel’s Ontology and the Theory of
Historicity," as well as publishing nearly a dozen articles, six of
which appeared in the German Social Democratic review, Die
Gesellschaft Internationale Revue fin Sozialismus und Politik. This
period was characterized by a crucial debate: Marx or Heideg­
ger? Superficially, Marcuse appeared to have decided in favor
ol Marx, for he was far more of a Marxist than an ontologist.
In the deeper sense, however, he was indelibly marked by
Heidegger. Just as for Heidegger, philosophy involved harking
back to the Greeks, so for Marcuse, philosophy meant harking
back, but from Marx to the latter’s philosophical past.
The achievements of the Weimar period can be summed up
as follows. In 1928, Marcuse provided the first example of
phenomenological Marxism, viewing the young Marx from the
standpoint of existential phenomenology. In 1932, he was the
first in Germany to devote a major commentary to Marx’s
Economic and Philosophical Manuscripts of 1844, as well as being
among the first to suggest a new interpretation of Marxism
based on Marx’s early writings.20 This Heideggerian Marxism
anticipated that ofJean-Paul Sartre, Karl Kosik, Fnno Paci, and
others. Moreover, it extended the Hegelian Marxism of Lukacs
and Korsch, centered on the theory of class consciousness that
they had developed to explain why the working class failed in
its revolt against capitalism, but these major Marxist preoc­
cupations should not obscure Marcuse’s critical distance from
Marxism per se, as can be seen in his other studies of the same
period on Karl Mannheim, Wilhelm Dilthey, and Hans Freyers.
During the 1930s Marcuse worked with the Frankfurt School,
the group whose history has been so definitively set forth by
Martin Jay.27 When the Nazis took power on January 30, 1933,
the Institute moved to Geneva. It was here that Marcuse, at the
age of 35, began his teaching career. He taught sociology for
ten years, although he did not confine himscll to this one subject,
since the avowed aim of the International Institute for Social
Research, as it was now called, was the interdisciplinary study
of problems encountered in social theory, for the purpose of
12 Herbert Marcuse's Utopia
arriving ai a comprehensive theory of society.“HWhen Marcuse
joined the group it was composed of Max Horkheimer (philos­
opher, sociologist, and social psychologist), Friedrich Pollock
(economist and specialist in problems of national planning),
Leo Lowenthal (a student of literature and popular culture),
Erich Fromm (psychoanalyst and social psychologist). Franz
Neumann (political scientist specializing in law), and Theodor
Adorno (philosopher, sociologist, and musicologist).
In July 1934. Marcuse, accompanied by his first wife, Sophie,
and his son, Peter, traveled to Columbia University in New
York. There, as a lecturer in sociology, he continued to work
with the other members of the Institute, for during the same
year the Institute—revolutionary and Marxist though it was—
also moved to new quarters in the heart of the world’s largest
capitalist city, at the same time becoming af filiated with Colum­
bia University.'" Despite the massive influx of German intel­
lectuals to the United States at that time, this move was some­
thing of a surprise, since it ran counter to Marx’s expressed
views. When Cabet suggested that the French communists form
a utopian community in “Icaria,” by which was meant the free
American states or California, Marx apparently opposed the
scheme because he felt that the establishment of communal
ownership presupposed its accomplishment in the here and
now, not in another time or place.'1 Marcuse, in his preface to
the original edition of Reason and Revolution, went so far as to
flatter his American public by referring to Hegel’s description
of America as the only “land of the future.”'2 In the context,
however, it seems that the move was dictated by circumstances.
If ever there was a Frankfurt School, it was never in Frank­
furt, but in New York in the 1930s, in the house on 117th Street
lent by Columbia University. Marcuse described life at the Insti­
tute in answer to a query from Habermas.'3 Its main activity
was to publish work in the official review of the Instilut fur
Sozialforschung, the Zeitscliriflfiir Socialforschung. The selection
of articles was discussed in Horkheimer’s office. Those who
happened to be there could take part. For a variety of personal
reasons, the group was divided into two camps: on one side,
Otto Kirchheimer, a political scientist specializing in law like
Neumann, and Henryk Grossman, a political economist; on the
other, Pollock, Lowenthal, Adorno, Marcuse, and Horkheimer.
Manuscripts were usually submitted to Lowenthal, then to
 Marcuse the Man 13
Horkhcimer, alter which they were discussed in seminars, either
with Columbia students or the general public. Marcuse’s contri­
bution included seven articles and over fifty reviews covering
about 150 books.
In 1937, Horkheimer published an article entitled "Tradi­
tional and Critical Theory" in Zeitschrift filr Socialforschung.31 He
distinguished theory, in the traditional sense of Descartes’
Discourse on Method, from the critical theory of society, which
originated in Marx’s critique of political economy.’’ A few
months later be added an "Appendix,"34' to which Marcuse
responded in his article "Philosophy and Critical Theory."37
Generally speaking, the expression “critical theory” denoted
the theoretical position taken by the Frankfurt School, which
sought to revise Marxist social theory while remaining, accord­
ing to their way of thinking, faithful to the Marxist spirit.38
Interpretations of this position varied so widely, however,
that the principal figures of the school, such as Horkheimer,
Adorno, and Marcuse, gave it a very different theoretical and
practical meaning. In 1970, William Leiss, interested in work­
ing with those who wanted to bring about genuinely human
change and revitalize the intellectual foundations of the modern
revolutionary tradition, underscored these differences when
discussing how to implement an adequate theory of contem­
porary political action.3'*Whereas Marcuse had become publicly
involved in the campaign against the war in Vietnam, for exam­
ple, Horkheimer was fairly sympathetic to the United States.
And while Marcuse was sympathetic to student protest, Adorno
took a very different view."*
Marcuse contended that for him critical theory was essen­
tially based on two premises, which he put forward at every
opp o rtu n ity ,11 and formulated in One-Dimensional Man as
follows: "Any critical theory of society . . . implies value judg­
ments: . . . thejudgment that human life is worth living.. . . the
judgment that, in a given society, specific possibilities exist for
the amelioration of human life and specific ways and means of
realizing these possibilities.",J
This second Marcuse period was marked by two significant
events. The first was his being chosen in 1937 to reply to Hork-
heimcr’s article on critical theory.13 One might go so far as to
say that he adopted the Frankfurt master’s conclusion as a
personal motto: “The future of humanity depends on the exist-
M Herbal Mo raise’s Utopia
ente today of the critical attitude.**11The second event was the
11)41 publication ol Reason and Revolution, with which he became
the fust to present “critical theory" and its ideas to an English-
speaking public.1’
Alter the publication of Reason and Revolution and a reply to
a review by Karl Lbwitli, there began a long period ol what can
be termed literary silence, broken only by live reviews. However,
one of these, on Sartre’s L'lit re el le Meant, was more substantial
than the rest.
Marcuse spent eight years of his life working for the Amer­
ican government, starting in MM2. Although, as Martin Jay
remarked, “ I bis was not precisely what the Frankfurt School
had meant when it advocated revolutionary praxis,”u*Marcuse
explained that he tried "to do everything that was in (hisJ power
to help defeat the Nazi regime.”1'
Between the ages of 44 and 52, therefore, Marcuse worked
for two military intelligence services: First the Office of War
Information, and then the O.S.S. or Office of Strategic Services,
where he ended up as interim director of the Western Euro­
pean Section after working under his friend Franz Neumann.1*
He stayed on in Washington after the war to work in the first
large-scale American espionage agency, because his wife devel­
oped cancer and they were unable to leave, lie himself said
that we “must abstract” this period.u*
In 1950-1951, when he was 52, he gave a series of lectures
at the Washington School of Psychiatry, ’0 in which he suggested
that psychological and political modes form a dialectical unit,
and that if this unit can be penetrated it might be possible to
“explode” the irrationality of capitalist production relations and
bring material comfort and freedom to an alienated humanity.
These ideas were to be developed later in liras and Civilization.
In 1951-1952, he once more began lecturing at Columbia
University in sociology. At the same time he was named senior
fellow at Columbia’s Russian Institute, occupying a similar posi­
tion the following year at the Harvard Russian Research
Center.’1 These research posts led to the publication of Soviet
Marxism in 1958, the first part having been prepared at Colum­
bia, and the second at Harvard with the aid of a Rockefeller
Foundation grant/-’
Because of the concentration of his activity. Marcuse was now
no longer working directly with his Frankfurt friends. Possibly
 Marcuse the Man 15
it explains why he alone of the Frankfurt group produced a
booklength critique of Stalinism. But, as Arnason wrote, it may
also have led to “a divergence on certain basic questions of
critical theory,”53
At the age of 56 Marcuse obtained his first full-time teaching
post at Brandeis University in Waltham, Massachusetts,54 where
he taught philosophy and political science for eleven years.
Brandeis, however, was primarily for undergraduates, as
Andrew Hacker noted in The New York Times Book Review.
Consequently, while there, Marcuse never conf ronted graduate
students with his message.55
In 1955, again at age 56, Marcuse published his analysis of
industrial society based on a neo-Freudian theory of repression,
Eros and Civilization. In this work he endeavored to explain the
role of the individual in social change. Even though the indi­
vidual is increasingly engulfed by totalitarian society, never­
theless, by the use of his reason, he can hope to revive his rebel­
lious subjectivity, which has its roots in an instinctual nature far
older than the causes of the present situation. Habermas wrote,
‘‘Marcuse has a chiliastic trust in a revitalizing dynamic of
instincts which works through history, finally breaks with history
and leaves it behind as what then will appear as prehistory.”56
Parenthetically, it should be noted here that Marcuse’s second
marriage took place on February 19, 1955, to Inge S. Werner.
She was the widow of his friend Neumann, killed in a car acci­
dent in Switzerland on September 2, 1954.°'
It was in 1956 that Marcuse first returned to Germany as an
academic. He traveled to Frankfurt for the centenary celebra­
tions of Freud’s birth. While there, he delivered two lectures,
“Progress and Freud’s Theory of Instincts,” and “Freedom and
Freud’s Theory of Instincts,” which eventually appeared in
English in Five Lectures in 1970. He was lecturing alongside such
figures as Alexander, Balint, Erikson, and Spitz, and it was on
this occasion that Habermas, later to become a friend, met him
for the first time. Habermas explained that the anniversary
made young German students realize that Freud was the father
of a thriving scientific tradition. At the time, he noted, “Freud
and Marx were ‘dead dogs’ and practically unknown at German
universities.
With One-Dimensional Man in 1964, Marcuse demonstrated
that, “In the medium of technology, culture, politics, and the
1( y Herbert M an use's Ctojiia

economy merge into an omnipresent system which swallows up

or repulses all a l t e r n a t i v e s . I n Iact. however, his intention
was to denounce “repressive tolerance." The short work ol this
name, which still generates discussion today, formed part of
the original manuscript ofOne-Dimensional Man, and was prob­
ably lef t out for lack ol space.1’"
It wasalso in 196*1, following his lecture on “Industrialization
and Capitalism in the Work of Max Weber" at the fifteenth
congress of Ccrman sociologists,"1 that violent reaction to
Marcuse’s views began to surface. Benjamin Nelson wrote a
particularly harsh piece in The Mew York limes Hook Review!'2 If
we are to believe Raymond Aron, Nelson’s reaction was justified
by the fact that Marcuse’s lecture "seemed to be inspired by a
sort of fury against Max Weber, as though he were still alive
and indomitable.’’"' Marcuse made a point of replying to Nelson,
saying that neither he nor the other participants had described
Weber’s work as a "total failure.’*"1Actually, Marcuse paid trib­
ute to Weber both at the beginning and end of his lecture.
(Incidentally, the Knglish translation, “Industrialization and
Capitalism in Max Weber," published in Negations in 1968, is
based on a revised 1905 Cerman version. The French trans­
lation in Culture et soriete dif fers considerably.) In the last para­
graph of the French version, Marcuse acknowledged with regard
to Weber that “justpie dans ses limites, sa sociologic manifeste
son eclatante superiorite sur toutes les sociologues cjui se croient
concretes sous pretexte qu’elles ref ttsenl toute theorie.” ("The
whole of Weber's sociology demonstrates his brilliant superi­
ority over all sociologists who. because they claim to reject theory
entirely, consider themselves concrete.’’)"’ Similarly, he made
a point of stating early in the lecture that: "This authentic
concretion is the result of Weber's mastery of an immense mate­
rial, of scholarship that seems unimaginable today, of knowl­
edge that can af ford to be absract because it can distinguish the
essential from the inessential and reality from appearance.”""
In 1965, in his sixty-seventh year, Marcuse was obliged to
leave Bratuleis after taking a public stand against its president,
the historian Abram L. Sachar, who had founded the university
twenty-two vears earlier. As one of Marcuse’s students that year
tells it. a well-known anthropologist, Kathleen Aberle, said to
the students one day, "Viva Fidel! Kennedy to hell!’’"7 Sachar
disapproved of such statements, fearing the university would
 Marcuse the Man 17
be labeled Marxist. Marcuse, in what was probably the most
important political act ol his career, publicly opposed Sachar.
“When I came to this country in the Thirties," he said, “there
was a spirit ol hope in the air. Now 1 detect a militarism and
a repression that calls to mind the terror of Na/i Germany."08
In May, Marcuse accepted an offer from the University of Cali­
fornia at San Diego, where he was to end his teaching career
after becoming a world-famous figure.
The Boston period had produced three of Marcuse’s prin­
cipal works as well as the German edition of collected essays
that later appeared in Five Lectures and Negations. The message
that was emerging was clear: it was imperative to develop an
increasingly utopian form of thought in opposition to the status
quo,t,w since total liberation would be possible if the forces of
opposition were not so powerful.'"
The year 1967 was marked by Marcuse’s visit to the Free
University in West Berlin. There he gave two highly publicized
lectures, later to be published in English as “The End of Utopia”
and “The Problem of Violence and the Radical Opposition,”
and he took part in three debates. His image as a prophet of
revolution was in the making. For the time being, however, he
was back in the city of his birth, “where, as a young man, he
listened to Karl Liebknecht and Rosa Luxemburg,” reported
Melvin J. Lasky, who vividly described the atmosphere of these
visits in the review Preuves.'1
Debate centered on the dilemma of reform or revolution.
As a student explained to Lasky, Marcuse taught them that the
whole system was breaking down, that everything must be
changed, and that revolution was the only way out. Here was
the theorist confronting an assembly of practical revolution­
aries, eager to hear what he would say next. I he lecture was
punctuated by shouts from the audience.
Not long after this came “the events of May '68," as the student
occupation of the University of Paris has come to be called.
Marcuse’s name was linked to the events, and in April The Times
of London asked, “Who is Henry Marcuse?” Who indeed? His
correct Christian name was unknown, and yet the world press
placed him beside Marx and Mao as one of the trinity looked
to by young radicals, because he gave them a critical analysis
of the system they were defying. Recalling his July 1967 visit
to the Free University of West Berlin, The Times pointed out
18 Herbert Marcuse's Utopia
that although Marcuse supplied a theoretical basis for the student
protest movement, members of the latter were disappointed by
their mentor’s negative theory, and reproached him for his lack
of practical advice. One student disapproved of his cultural
pessimism because it did not offer any concrete way of carrying
out the revolution.72
While Marcuse did not go so far as to claim that his philos­
ophy had established a link with practice, he thought that a
Marxist philosopher like himself “participates in practice, at
least to the extent that he takes a clear position on political
questions, that he participates in demonstrations and in certain
cases in the occupation of buildings, etc.”71 Marcuse actually
took part in at least one sit-in of a San Diego building.71
On June 18, 1968, Harry L. Foster, a founding member of
the American Legion in 1919, pushed a resolution through a
Legion committee asking Governor Ronald Reagan to hold an
inquiry into Dr. Marcuse, claiming that the latter wanted to
bring Rudi Dutschke to San Diego. It is true that in Germany
Dutschke had used Marcuse’s name as a reference/ ’ But “in
reality, Dutschke intended to come to the United States for
treatment at a Boston hospital.”71’ Foster feared trouble on the
campus. The Union, a San Diego newspaper, published an edito­
rial staling that Marcuse had invited Dutschke. In the course
of a single night, a little more than a dozen people contributed
a S20.000 fund to buy out Marcuse’s 1969-1970 contract. The
University of California rejected the offer, however. Chancellor
William McGill spoke to several groups, explaining how a
university functions and pointing out the difference between
theory and action. In his opinion “the Marcuse furor is just one
facet of widespread anti-university sentiment transcending
California’s boundaries. Dr. Marcuse calls himself an analyst of
society. He doesn’t advocate the violent overthrow of the
government.’’" And so, despite this campaign, Marcuse kept
his post for another year.7” But the storm was gathering.
Marcuse received a letter dated July 1, 1968, apparently from
the Ku Klux Klan. It read: "You are a dirty Communist dog.
You have 72 hours to leave the United States or you will be
killed.*' On July 3, following an anonymous call, he had his
telephone disconnected. On the July 4, after talking it over with
his colleagues, he left home early in the morning with his wife.79
Incidentally, a local newspaper had reported the threat, giving
 Marcuse the Man 19
his lull home address.80 The Times of July 12 mentioned the
disappearance, but added that the chairman of the philosophy
department was in touch with him and had stated that Professor
Marcuse had never tried to indoctrinate students, that he was
probably the most popular professor on campus, and that he
had never hidden the fact that he was Marxist. The Saturday
Evening Post of Philadelphia described the event in detail,81 and
Edmund Stillman in Horizon compared it to Trotsky’s last days
in exile.8'
The drugstorisation of Marcuse, as the French called it, was
in full swing.8' Comic strips,81 plays,8’ posters,80 crosswords,87
and films88 were made about him. Me left “the groves of
Academe to become a political slogan, embodying a whole
current of ideas that guided an entire generation."89 But
Marcuse was still Get inconnu—“This Unknown”—as La Nef of
March 1969 described him in a subtitle.
It was in 1969 that Marcuse reconfirmed his support,
encouragement, and hope for the student movement in An Essay
on Liberation. In January Francois Perroux introduced Marcuse
to his students at the College de France. '" In a book based on
the course, Perroux wrote that “Marcuse does not seem inclined
toward an anarchist utopia."91 And yet, in an exclusive inter­
view with Louis Wi/.nit/er published in the Montreal La Presse,
Marcuse, when asked about the possibility of “redefining social­
ism," replied: “It has been said of the May revolution that it
was ‘surrealistic,* utopian. That's right, and it’s a good thing.. . .”
(LAV.): “They’ve been criticized for being anarchists?" Marcuse:
“That's right, and it’s a good thing. Their anarchistic acts force
the government to use brutal means of repression, thereby
weakening society’s laissez-faire ethics, reducing its effectiveness,
and creating a climate of indifference [to authority]."9'
In February, further pressure for Marcuse’s resignation arose
in the form of “a demand by Mr. John Stull, a Republican
member of the state assembly, that they dismiss Dr. Herbert
Marcuse, the theoretician of the student revolt, from his chair
in San Diego. Governor Reagan has said that Dr. Marcuse’s
position as a state employee ‘makes no sense.’ " MIn the fall of
1970 his contract was not renewed.91
Pope Paul VI, addressing thousands of pilgrims during his
weekly audience on October 1, 1969, spoke out against the
unbridled and disgusting expression of eroticism, mentioning
20 Herbert Marcuse's Utopia
Freud and Marcuse together. “In this sad phenomenon
he said, “we find the theory that opens the way to license cloaked
as liberty, and to the aberration of instincts called liberation.”'1'
The world press described Marcuse as the prophet and guru
of the New Left. But in fact Marcuse’s career was above all that
of a teacher. What, then, did people think of his courses in
social and political philosophy? Michael Horowitz, who took a
course in modern political theory during Marcuse’s last year at
Brandeis, quoted him as follows: "In the classroom I believe in
only one power—faculty power. When we were students in
Berlin, we never dictated to our professors, we listened to
them!’’,M’ It may come as a surprise to learn that while Marcuse
supported and encouraged student protest, he refused to allow
protest in his classes. And yet lie is reputed always to have been
very attentive and perhaps even indulgent toward his students.
According to Horowitz, sometimes Marxists and liberals would
argue until the janitor came to complain. As for exams, Horow­
itz pointed out that there was no use taking them unless you
could discuss Kant. Marcuse, he said, felt that “there is a certain
amount of material that every intelligent person should learn—
the basics of history, economics, psychology, philosophy, and
so on. *'.»7
It is worth noting, however, that when Marcuse referred to
history he nearly always went back to the Greeks of the sixteenth
century B.C., as though nothing had happened since. As for
economics, it is astonishing to learn from someone as well-known
in the field as Allen Newman that Marcuse was ignored by
economists generally/'8 But it is perhaps Marcuse’s approach
to all these fields that makes him so original. One may exclaim,
as Horowitz did, “Poor Marcuse. Even in his popularity, he is
out of step with the youth he seeks to guide." Yet the fact remains
that in the Boston area Marcuse became “so popular that a
newly endowed chair was named for him."99 This popularity
continued in California where, according to Sol Stern, Marcuse
taught the classics of Western political thought in a setting of
palm trees, beside sunny beaches where the students spent their
afternoons surfing. “Marcuse has the unique talent,” he wrote,
“of making Kant, Hegel, and Marx seem relevant to a student
body that looks like the cast ol one ol Hollywood’s teen-age
beach movies."100
 Marcuse the Man 21
Jean-Michel Palmier also noted Marcuse’s talent for getting
through to people: “7 hose students or professors who met him,
particularly while he was teaching at Paris VIII (Vincennes) in
May 1974, were struck by his enthusiasm, his generosity, and
his simplicity.”101
Among Marcuse’s best known students were Angela Davis,
Paul Piccone, Jeremy J. Shapiro, Trent Shroyer, Shierry Weber,
William Leiss, Erica Sherover, and John David Ober.102 The
last three wrote an analysis of Marcuse as a teacher,10’ in which
they stated, “The essential element of Marcuse’s teaching is that
knowledge is partisan.”101 This is because “Marcuse insists that
in its origins and intentions knowledge (in the strictest sense:
philosophy) was highly subversive of the established values and
institutions.”105
However if, in theory, knowledge must be partisan and
subversive, does it follow that practical action must be violent?
There is no easy answer. Raymond Aron, for example, reported
the following conversation with Marcuse: “I said to him: ‘Actually
your philosophy is violence in order to achieve a completely
pacified society.’ He replied, ‘That’s it exactly.’ ”|0° On the other
hand, the author of a short Time article reported a private
conversation with Marcuse, in which the latter conceded that
in the United States it might be possible to escape repression
without a violent revolution.107 In the final analysis, such ambi­
guity is perhaps inherent in any concept of revolution. In any
case, this theoretical ambiguity was directly reflected in Marcuse’s
life. In fact, he described himself as a traitor to the cause—“a
fink.”108 His dilemma was that while he believed everything to
be bad and in need of change, he also felt that some American
universities might enable “the movement” to reach its goals
within existing institutions.
The 1977 Annee politique, economique, sociale et (liplo)iiatique en
France referred to Septeml>er as a month of violence.100 In Bonn
on September 5, the Red Army Faction (or Baader-Meinhof
gang) kidnapped and executed Hans Martin Schleyer, presi­
dent of the West German federations of management and
industry. International public opinion was aroused, and the
media launched into a heated discussion. The German federal
government was accused by some of indecisiveness, and by others
of driving the powerless extreme left to despair and terrorism.
Writer Heinrich Boll, Rudi Dutschke,110 and M:ircuse,111 three
22 Herbert Marcuse’s Vtojha
figures well-known in West Germany as sympathetic to the New
Left, publicly disavowed the terrorists. Dutschke and Marcuse
had met on August *1 at the luneral of Ernst Bloch, and now
their names were linked once again. Rucli Dutschke considered
that each violent act increasingly obscured the revolutionary
struggle. Marcuse’s position appeared more complex. He saw
it as a question of revolutionary morality, in the sense that no
action is justifiable unless it has a chance of succeeding. More­
over, “By personalizing the struggle, the terrorists must be held
accountable and judged for their actions. Those representatives
of capital whom the terrorists have chosen as their victims are
themselves responsible for capitalism—just as Hitler and
Himmler were responsible for the concentration camps. This
means that the victims of terror are not innocent—but their
guilt can only be expiated through the abolition of capitalism
itself.”112
On the evening of August 29, 1070, Marcuse died of a stroke
at Starnberg in West Germany. He was 81. In accordance with
his last wishes, his body was cremated. Marcuse had remained
active, and was actually in Germany at the invitation of the Max
Planck Institute. He had given what was to be his last public
lecture on May 17 at the annual Romergespriiche, a symposium
organized by the city of Frankfurt.11:<
Will Marcuse’s work endure? His theories have been subject
to so many attacks that one cannot help wondering whether
they will continue to stimulate interest. One thing is certain: to
read Marcuse is to reflect. 'Plus, in itself, is reason enough to
try to discern what makes his writings so original. Even so, it
does not explain the Marcuse phenomenon. His popularity after
the events of 19(i8 was so great that even those who had never
read his work were interested in him. How had he become so
famous? And above all, what real expectations were (or still
are) fulfilled by Marcuse’s analysis of our society? Is there some
old or new current of thought for which Marcuse became—for
a time at least—the principle exponent?
In the years following World War I, both Marxists and
psychoanalysis were looking for ways to unite the two currents
ol thought which they represented. Phis search was dubbed
“Freudo-Marxism."111 William Reich seems to have spear­
headed the movement, as demonstrated in his 1929 essay on
Dialectical Materialism and Psychoanalysis.11’ It is possible to link
 Marcuse the Man 23
Reich and Marcuse in several ways,"" as Andre Nicolas has
done in studies on both these writers."7 It was not only Marcuse,
however, but most of the Frankfurt School that helped build
Freudo-Marxist theory, notably Erich Fromm, at one time
connected to the Institute for Social Research."* Despite the
fact that they were working in the same direction, Fromm
nevertheless delivered himself of some harsh judgments.
“Marcuse is essentially an example of an alienated intellectual
who presents his personal despair as a theory of radicalism,"
said Fromm. “It is a naive, cerebral daydream, essentially irra­
tional, unrealistic, and lacking love of life.”"'' Fromm was not
the only one who fell this way. Francois Chatelet, for example,
stated that when one dreams of a great Freudo-Marxist synthe­
sis, as Marcuse did, “one’s writing can only be platitudinous
nonsense or pure speculation.”12" Actually, the pessimistic
archeology of Freud and the historical optimism of Marx reflect
basic positions that are too opposed for genuine synthesis. If
we agree with Fromm and Chatelet, then the importance of
Marcuse must lie elsewhere. It seems to me that Andre Nicolas
is correct in his view that “Marcuse’s three major conceptual
spaces” are "the works of Hegel, Marx, and Freud,”121 but that
he is “a heretic” in their regard.122
In my opinion, Marcuse’s contribution is to be found in the
Frankfurt School. Although French interest in this school has
emerged later than in other countries, no one who has read
Martin Jay’s study published in 1973 can doubt its signifi­
cance.123 We can forgive Andre Clair for having omitted any
mention of critical theory, virtually the school’s trademark, in
his 1969 analysis of Marcuse’s work, “Reflexions et interroga­
tions sur les fondements de I’oeuvre,”121 since he did emphasize
utopia, one of the key ideas of this theory. It is harder to under­
stand why Jean-Marie Vincent, in his 1976 book on La Theorie
critique de I’ecole de Frankfort, should decide to exclude all refer­
ence to Marcuse.125 Fortunately, Gerard Raulet has made good
this omission in his 1978 Marxisine et theorie critique.1'1' Generally
speaking, however, the French have judged Marcuse’s work
very severely. Some have deemed it tm massacre four des baga­
telles—a tempest in a teapot.127 Jules Monnerot devoted one of
the 700 pages of his Sociologie de la revolution, a twentieth-century
study, to describing Marcuse as “a mediocre thinker.”,2H
Raymond Ruyer saw “non-rcpressive civilization’ as “philo-
24 Herbert Marcuse's Utopia
sophical demagoguery."121 Jacques Ellul considered Marcuse’s
thinking “completely confused and inarticulate.”1’0 Julien
Freund wrote that Marcusian sociology “ceases to be a science
in which the object is the analysis ol existing or past concrete
societies, and becomes the pretext lor a rhetoric in which
aggressive language hides ignorance.”1” Pierre Masset
concluded his analysis ol La Pensee de Herbert Marcuse by stating
that, "in the end, the answer he brings to the problems ol our
time is . . . not only inadequate or empty, but false and danger­
ous.”1’2 Even Francois Perroux, while sympathetic and friendly
in his approach,m fell that people could be excused for regard­
ing the struggle lor "pacified existence” as “a recipe for bored
petits-bourgeois."131
Rene Vienet, who worked with several members of the inter­
national situationist movement and the Groupe des Enrages,
contended that “Marcusian ideology, already in disrepute, was
lacked onto the movement.”13’ In Russia, Marcuse's “Western
delirium,” as Vadim Delaunay called it,1’0 was denounced by
Motroshilova, a member of the Moscow Philosophy Institute,
as well as by Zamoshkin, president of the USSR Academy of
Science,13' and Yuri Zhukov, editor of Pravda.L'H Alasdair
MacIntyre in England wrote, “Almost all of Marcuse’s key posi­
tions are false,”139 and concluded, “Marcuse has produced a
theory that . . . invokes the great names of freedom and reason
while betraying their substance at every important point."110
Without overstating the case, it seems clear that Marcuse
attracted attention, not despite his weaknesses, but often because
of them. He himself admitted his weaknesses. Caught between
his desire to express his pessimism about the revolution on the
one hand, and to defend his utopian optimism on the other,
he found himself in an awkward if not ambiguous position.
But, as Sidney Lipshires so aptly remarked, “the very ambiguity
of his position in regard to the prospects for revolution mirrors
for us (and for the historian of the future) the revolutionary
utopianism of our times.”111 This is reason enough to study
M;ircuse and the current of thought to which he adhered.
It is my contention that the twentieth century has witnessed
the renaissance, from a new perspective, of a current of thought
that has probably always been with us, although its sudden
resurgence may have been unexpected. Utopia seeks to liberate
desire and the world of imagination. For Freud, ours is the
 Marcuse the Man 25
century of dreams; he deciphered their meaning and gave us
the key. Even so, the lure of the unknown is still strong. The
all-pervading rationalism of science and technology seems to
stimulate a compensatory urge at the primitive levels of the
psyche. Nostalgia for the wilderness appears to go hand in hand
with the “technetronic revolution.” In fact, technological prog­
ress has apparently extended the realm of dreams into a new
space—that of “day-dreams,” as Ernst Bloch put it. If this is
indeed the case, we need to rethink the links that have been
forged between utopia and revolution. This is exactly what
Marcuse did, to the point of meriting, rightly or wrongly, the
title of prophet of the New Left.
Will Marcuse’s revolutionary spirit survive? The last years in
San Diego before his death in 1979 were essentially taken up
with defending the spirit of utopian revolution, not to say revo-
lutionarism. “The End of Utopia,” originally published in 1967,
and the 1969 Essay on Liberation provided a critique of the new
affluence and the student New Left. Counterrevolution and Revolt
in 1972 showed the capitalist system working for institution­
alization of the counterrevolution in order to eradicate the first
symptoms of a world-wide revolutionary movement. Marcuse
criticized those who thought that production relations alone
were responsible for the status quo. All man’s relations with
nature, with man, and with his future must be taken into account.
Me opposed the rilualization of revolutionary theory, and
developed the theory of a new revolutionary sensitivity in nature,
politics, and art. In 1975, the three lectures collected in Actuels
took such ideas even further. Finally, in 1977, came his phil­
osophical testament, The Aesthetic Dimension, dealing with the
possibility of revolutionary art.
How far have Marcuse’s ideas entered the stream of philo­
sophical discussion? English-language writers have maintained
a fairly constant and regular interest in his work. The French
have probably absorbed a few of his ideas through Habermas,
and Gerard Raulet seems to be working in this direction. In
1968, German writers immediately appeared to grasp the fact
that Marcuse was a utopian thinker. This can be seen in the
articles of Gerd-Klaus Kaltenbrunner and Maria Szecsi, for
example.112 Nothing seems to have appeared in China, appar­
ently because he is a forbidden subject for publication. 'The
same is true of Russia, although the young intelligentsia is
26 Herbert Marcuse’s Utopia
inspired by bis work, as shown by ihc public demonstration
involving 200 young people outside the Kazan Cathedra! on
December 5, 1078." ' Led by 20-year-old Aleksander and 19-
year-old Arkady Tourkov, the group known as the “Leningrad
School" (in imitation ol the Frankfurt School), believes that in
the USSR the opposition must do away with the bureaucratic
class through a revolutionary process in which the working class
is to be led by the intelligentsia. The consequence has been a
considerable amount of published material denouncing
Marcuse, a negative but nonetheless real testimony to the pres­
ence of his ideas.'11
 II

The Forerunners of
Marcuse’s Utopia
It is only by studying the long history o f utopia, from Plato
to Thomas M ilnier, from M ore to Fourier and M arx, that we ran
appreciate the real significance o f the utopian theses in
Eros and Civilization.1

So voluminous is utopian literature that a single lifetime would

not suffice to read and analyze it all. Henri Desroche, in an
article with the tongue-in-cheek title, “A Small Utopian Library,”
listed a large number of works that were themselves bibliog­
raphies of the thousands of literary utopias.2 As Alexander
Cioranescu pointed out, the subject of utopia has in turn
produced an abundance of critical works that may well outnum­
ber the utopias themselves.3 Given this plethora of writing, it
seems pointless to look for one definition of all the phenomena
covered by the term “utopia.” The truth of this statement is
borne out by studies such as those by Paul Ricoeur, Lyman
Tower Sargent, Paul Swada, and especially by utopian experts
such as Frank E. Manuel and his wife Fritzie P. Manuel.4 Marcuse
himself professed to be not much interested in “the semantics
of the term Utopianism,” remarking that, “as the word loses
more and more of its traditional content, it becomes an instru­
ment of political defamation.”5 He did not make an issue of it,
however. For example, in a conversation with Raymond Aron
he said simply, “You may call me utopian.”6
Actually, most writers are content with a definition that suits
their purpose, and there seems little reason to approve or
condemn utopian theory out of hand on purely theoretical
grounds. One must remember that where Marcuse is concerned,
each time he spoke of utopia he presupposed “the end of utopia,”
as demonstrated by his definition of “utopian” in An Essay on
Liberation: “The actual evolution of contemporary societies
28 Herbert Marcuse's Utopia
deprives ‘utopia’ of its traditional unreal content: what it
denounced as ‘utopian’ is no longer that which has ‘no place’
and cannot have any place in the historical universe, hut rather
that which is blocked from coming about by the power of the
established societies.” ' In the mid-twentieth century, he
explained, utopia is only an impossible dream for theorists who
use the concept “to denounce certain socio-historical possibil­
ities.’’8 This is why Marcuse offered us a “transcendent project’’
or a project in which utopia is not seen as a threat. Me included
himself in the long list of Utopians stretching from Plato and
antiquity to the eighteenth-century modernity of Rousseau,
Baheuf, and Schiller. For him, the important figures in the
nineteenth century were Fourier, Bakunin, and Marx, and in
the twentieth, Luxemburg and Mannheim.
History books make much of the social utopia connected with
Platonic theory, and it is true that Plato can be thought of as
the precursor of the Utopians in that he inspired them. But
Plato was not the first utopian. The Republic of his predecessor,
Antisthenes the Cynic, offered a world without private prop­
erty established without violence. Plato borrowed heavily from
the urbanist utopia of Hippodamus of Miletus, mainly with
regard to the division of social classes. However, it is not enough
simply to define the Platonic utopia in terms of its socialist aspect,
or to describe “The Egalitarian Utopias of the Hellenic Era,"
as Mosse did.1' For the purpose of this study, it would be more
meaningf ul to find some other perspective, equally important
as socialism, from which to demonstrate the originality of utopian
thought in relation to socialist theory. We can do this by looking
at Plato’s political philosophy as a whole.
The Platonic utopia can be seen f rom at least three different
angles. Ciorenescu wrote: “There are utopian characteristics—
or characteristics viewed as utopian—which he may well have
invented in the myth of Atlantis, as well as in his abstract, ideal
republic. The two images are not identical, however.’’1"
Furthermore, some of the characteristics of the Laws have been
altered in the light of the Republic.
In the first place, the main characteristics of the utopian
genre are discernible in the myth of Atlantis. As described in
the dialogues of Tinmens and ('.ritias, this island, along with many
others, formed part of a large and wonderf ul empire that existed
in the distant past. Solon supposedly told the story of Atlantis
 The Forerunners of Marcuse's Utopia 29
to the grandfather of Critias after fiearing it from an old Egyp­
tian priest.
Secondly, we can see the spirit of utopia or the passion for
perfection operating in the search for “a perfect State," although
Plato warned, "You must not insist on my proving that the
actual State will in every respect coincide with the ideal.”n This
is the pursuit of perfection demonstrated by Ernst Bloch, “the
will to seek an ideal world that always pervades the utopian
consciousness"1* and characterizes "the day-dream. ><i:i
In the third place, the Laws can virtually be analyzed from
the standpoint of a working utopia, given the precise nature
of Plato’s instructions with reference to the Republic, designed
to make his laws more easily applicable. It is illuminating to
note that Plato traveled to Syracuse three times, as the famous
“Letter VII” tells us, to convince Dion of Syracuse to apply his
ideas. Did he intend to realize utopia? Or ought we to make a
distinction between the young and the old Plato, the better to
understand the debate on utopia and reality?
Let us take the single aspect of education, so central to
Hellenic civilization, as Hemi-Irenee Marrou demonstrated.11
It may well have had a utopian tradition, a possibility explored
by Henri Desroche.1’
We can formulate the question in the following terms: is
there a significant relation between education and utopia?
Etymologically speaking, education is supposed to bring the
individual out into the world, whereas utopia implies a tran­
sition to another world. The fundamental question in education
is whether, in learning from those who preceded us, we perpet­
uate visions of the past or create a new future. Similarly, one
of the basic problems of utopia is that when we attempt to take
it seriously, it is difficult to know whether it represents anti­
cipation of the future or simply nostalgia for the past."’ With
Plato, both points of view seem defensible. For example, his
view of ancient Athens as superior to the Athens of his day was
considered nostalgic by Raymond Trousson.1' On the other
hand, Marrou held that not everything in Plato was purely
utopian, and that the theory of education in particular gave
rise to anticipation.18 Since utopias almost always imply both
anticipation and nostalgia, I do not propose to settle the debate
within the confines of this work. File question I have in mind
30 Herbert Marcuse's Utopia
is the following: can culture generally, and education in partic­
ular, bridge the gap between reality and utopia?
In comparing the Republic and Laws, it becomes clear that
education was the means by which Plato intended to realize his
utopia. “Education,” Ruyer wrote, “which was one of Plato’s
constant preoccupations, has a very different meaning in the
Laws as compared to the Republic."™
In the Republic, Plato entrusted the application of his political
ideal to the philosophers. In the Laws, however, he gave a
detailed description of the best possible regulations fora Greek
city of his time. As with most Utopians, the legislators’ main
concern was education. According to Ruyer, this preoccupation
demonstrated their visible anxiety “to work on an entirely new
generation.”20 It is as though they wanted to start from scratch.
The end of Book VII in the Republic makes it clear: "They will
begin by sending out into the country all the inhabitants of the
city who are more than ten years old, and will take possession
of their children, who will be unaffected by the habits of their
parents; these they will train in their own habits and laws, which
will be such as we have described.”21 But why propose a system
of education that denies parents the right to educate their chil­
dren? It is inconsistent. As Molnar pointed out, “Granted that
this is a necessity once, when the great break between the old
and new is effected; but if the new product is reliable from the
|>oint of view of utopian cohesion, then the parents of the future
should be trusted to bring up their offspring in the new spirit
in which they themselves were educated."22
Plato seemed undeterred by this contradiction, and in fact
pushed his idea much further. In The Statesman, he allowed the
rulers of a “true political regime” to kill or exile each other:
“Or if they should effect a wholesome purgation of the state
by executions or sentences of banishment, or again, diminish
its numbers by sending out colonists, as a hive of bees might a
swarm, or swell them by bestowing the franchise on immigrants
introduced from abroad, so long as they only preserve the state
and do all they may to make it better than they found it, by the
application of science and justice, we must still insist that the only
true constitution is that of such a time, founded on such prin­
ciples.”2’ In other words, it is dictatorship, along with educa­
tion, that will assure the transition to utopia.
 The Forerunners of Marcuse's Utopia 31
All this leads me to make three observations. As with other
utopian thinkers, the dominant characteristic of Plato’s utopian
education resides in its proposal of a system of education
destined to change both contemporary and future man, as
Molnar observed. He also noted that “Utopians prefer to work
with the young."*1 (We will see a further instance of this with
Marcuse.) Finally, Plato’s innumerable directives to the rulers
ol his ideal republic, covering everything from birth control to
literary censorship, clearly laid him open to charges of totali­
tarianism. Consequently, the idea of an “educational dictator­
ship,” taken up by Rousseau in the form of compulsory educa­
tion toward freedom, should have been viewed with far greater
skepticism by Marcuse.
Julien Freund was right in remarking that the phrase
“educational dictatorship" did not slip into Marcuse’s writing
by accident, but appeared in most of his work.25 Actually,
Marcuse claimed that “the answer to Plato’s educational dicta­
torship is the democratic educational dictatorship of free men.”20
He put the following question: “Is there any alternative other
than the dictatorship of an ‘elite’ over the people?”2' He subse­
quently answered it, asserting that “The alternative to the estab­
lished semi-democratic process is not a dictatorship or elite, no
matter how intellectual and intelligent, but the struggle for a
real democracy.”2MWas this simply an escape into abstraction?
Or had Marcuse a specific plan of action for this struggle? He
attempted to explain himself on this subject at least three times.
During a 1972 debate, Raymond Aron spoke from his expe­
rience of communism as it exists in the Soviet Union, and of
liberalism as the guardian of individual safety and freedom.
Marcuse replied with arguments based on communism as it
ought to be, and defined democratic communism as “a society
in which the individuals collectively determine the organization
and the direction of the economic and political life, and in which
each individual has an equal opportunity to develop his or her
individual needs."2'1 Aron considered this explanation too
abstract, and asked him to use concrete terms. Marcuse then
added that he would call on general assemblies, to be held in
factories, villages, farms, and residential areas, both locally and
regionally, for the purpose of naming delegates who “would
be revocable—recallable at any moment." Aron felt that this
was hardly original; Lenin had already talked of it, and further-
32 Herbert Marcuse’s Utopia
more, it had been tried and had failed. The dialogue continued
as follows:
Marcuse: .. . the fact that something failed once. . . .
Aron: No, twenty times, twenty times, not once.
Marcuse: No, no, no, let's agree on twelve times. If it
failed twelve times, that doesn’t mean that
the thirteenth time it may not succeed. . . .
Aron: It's an argument in favor of the ideal. If it
failed twelve times, then there are some
reasons for that.
Marcuse: No. II for a thousand years men couldn’t
think of a democratic—and create a
democratic—society, that doesn’t mean that
there must he a reason that it will always
fail.10
But while waiting for his democratic communism to mater­
ialize, what did Marcuse suggest? He adopted the same perspec­
tive as Plato, who was ready to kill or banish various people,
and Rousseau, who, had he been king of Negritia (the Sudan),
would have built gallows on the frontiers, either to hang every­
one wanting to escape to countries ruined by civilization, or
conversely to execute all the civilized people trying to enter.31
Marcuse thus placed himself in the long tradition of revolu­
tionary dictatorship. Instead of dictatorship of the proletariat,
he spoke of “educational dictatorship,” but this only dif fered
from the former in terms of its justification, as Ljubomir Tadic
explained.32 Under present conditions of civilization, Marcuse

educational dictatorship. During a 1908 debate on ethics and

politics, he replied explicitly to Professor Lowenthal: “There is
a technique of liberation, a technology of liberation which must
be learned. It is our duty to contribute to augmenting the
number of these specialists and reinforcing their position.”33
This "moral obligation" connected with the “idea of a prepa­
ratory educational dictatorship,” was analyzed by Marcuse in
Repressive Tolerance. His principle was to grant freedom of
thought to all who agreed with him, and deny it to others on
the ground that they used had violence, whereas he proposed
good violence—violence that would lead to man’s liberation.31
Marcuse had not said his last word on the subject, however.
In a 1978 interview published in Telos, when pressed bv repeated
 The Forerunners of Marcuse's Utopia 33
questions from Jiirgcn Habermas, he made several avowals. His
remarks were surprising, to say the least. Once again he was
led to comment on the following statement from Eros and Civi­
lization published in 1955: “From Plato to Rousseau, the only
honest answer is the idea of an educational dictatorship, exer­
cised by those who are supposed to have acquired knowledge
of the real Good.”35 What M;ireuse now said was: “Today I
wouldn’t talk about educational dictatorship. The passage you
cited was intentionally written for purposes of provocation.
Perhaps educational dictatorship within democracy, but not
simply educational dictatorship period.”30 Perhaps, as Jean Roy
remarked in a 1979 article, this was a rather facile remark, since
Marcuse was claiming in retrospect that he was not serious in
constructing his notion of repressive tolerance.3' At the time,
however, his major critic, David Spitz, and his friends on the
magazine Dissent, reacted very unfavorably.38 It is difficult to
believe that Marcuse meant what he said in 1978. He apparently
wanted to reply to Spitz, but nothing came of it.
To what extent, then, can we credit Marcuse’s thought? We
can only take note of the fact that, as he himself said, his thought
is provocative, partisan, subversive, and revolutionary, and that
different ways of envisaging the transition to the perfect society
add up to the same thing, whether we are talking of planned
revolution, unavoidable catastrophe, or the kind of education
that will emerge when humanity has attained a sufficient degree
of maturity. We can only hope for the millenium foreshadowed
in the utopian tradition, particularly that of the eighteenth
century, when the word “utopia” became a common noun that
gained immediate popularity.
During the eighteenth century, utopia continued to refer to
the limited meaning of an imaginary island, with Sir 1homas
More’s island of Utopia remaining the paradigm. In a larger
sense, however, it expanded to include a universal vision of
social life, radically opposed to existing social reality and its
system of values. Utopia came to represent an awareness of
rupture between social reality as it ought to be, and as it was.
And, finally, it became the rejection of social reform to the
extent that it represented a desire to begin ex niliilo. Utopia
“ceased to be a mental exercise involving a lateral possible world,
and became an exercise involving an ulterior, probable world,
in Trousson’s words.33 In this sense, Ruyer’s definition of the
34 Herbert Marcuse's Utopia
“utopian mode” as “a mental exercise on a lateral possibility”
was too limited.10 Marcuse’s interest in Rousseau, Babeuf, and
Schiller—an interest in “the classical century of utopia,” as Ruyer
called it—can be better understood in relation to the radically
expanded eighteenth-century meaning of utopia."
Marcuse occasionally criticized Rousseau explicitly,12 but he
also used him to support argument,1' although this was most
often implicit rather than explicit. Julien Freund compared the
mentality of the eighteenth century in general, and of Rousseau
in particular, to that of Marcuse.11 This comparison was taken
even further by Jean-Marie Benoist from the standpoint of
structuralist, linguistic philosophy,15 in order to indulge in what
Birou saw as a vicious critique of Marcuse.”’ It is my view that
Rousseau and Marcuse were aware of their utopian outlook,
even if only to reject it, as in the case of Rousseau, who
commented wryly on the furor over one of his woiks: “Well,
sir, if I had merely constructed a System, you may be sure no
one would have said anything. People were quite content to
consign The Social Contract, along with Plato’s Republic, Utopia,
and Sevarambes to the land of chimeras."17 Marcuse demon­
strated his awareness by accepting the utopia, inasmuch as it
represented a means of going beyond advanced industrial soci­
ety: “The utopia of the man who plays has a real basis in the
degree of well-being already attained through productivity. To
approach this utopia, we need to formulate the idea of a liber­
ating humanism: . . . a conversion of productivity by the
suppression of all destructive and parasitic production; the
rebuilding of cities . . . ; the revival of nature . . . ; the limitation
of population growth are the necessary conditions for a humane
society."48
This utopian perspective, whether acknowledged or not,
inevitably involves an essentially ambiguous question, if we arc
right in assuming that all utopias imply a basic ambiguity. Inter­
estingly enough, we find the same question in Rousseau’s Social
Contract: “Where shall we find a form of association which will
defend and protect with the whole common force the person
and property of each associate, and by which every person,
while uniting himself with all, shall ol>ey only himself and remain
as free as before?’’1” Similarly, in the conclusion to One-Dimen­
sional Man, Marcuse asked: “How can the administered indi­
viduals . . . liberate themselves from themselves as well as from
 / he Forerunners of Marcuse’s Utopia 35
their masters? How is it even thinkable that the vicious circle
be broken?’”" But can either philosopher overcome the contra­
diction or break out of the vicious circle? It seems not, since
Rousseau admitted “that men should be, before the formation
of laws, what those laws alone can make them,”51 and since
Marcuse considered “the greatest difficulty in the matter” to
be the fact that, “for new revolutionary needs to develop, the
mechanisms that reproduce the old needs must be abolished.
In order for the mechanisms to be abolished, there must first
be a need to abolish them. That is the circle in which we are
placed, and I do not know how to get out of it.’” 2 Yet both
Rousseau and Marcuse insisted on the same hypothetical solu­
tion, or—as Marcuse expressed it—on “Rousseau’s revolution­
ary principle of compulsory education toward freedom.”53 I
emphasize the word “hypothetical,” because for Marcuse “this
‘if is essential,"’1 and for Rousseau there were only “hypo­
thetical and conditional arguments”” in this domain. Actually,
there is nothing surprising in all this, since both started from
the same premise. Rousseau stated early in his “Discourse on
the Origin of Inequality": “Let us begin by setting aside all the
facts.”5'’ Marcuse proposed "to break the power of facts over
the world, and to speak a language which was not the language
of those who establish, enforce, and benefit from the facts.’” 7
The method of both philosophers is therefore similar. The
same is true of their intention in terms of the possible and the
impossible. Both fell that all things could be measured in terms
of the possible, Rousseau wanting to take "men such as they
are, and laws such as they may be made,’”8 and Marcuse seeking
the “interpretation of that-which-is in terms of that-which-is-
not.”59 But they also felt that all things could be measured in
terms of the impossible, with Rousseau interested in “changing
human nature, to to speak,”00 and Marcuse believing that no
social change is valid "unless we have something that could
almost be called a change in human nature,”01 as well as stating
that “a new experience of being would change the human exist-
• • • yf it* )
ence in its entirety.
All in all, Rousseau and Marcuse conceived a project for
human communal life with no methodical provision for real­
izing it, as Mtihlmann stated in his definition of the utopian
outlook.03 Freund considered it enlightened despotism, summed
up by a German socialist with the typical formula: “ I o prove
36 Herbert Marcuse's Utopia
the truth of'our doctrine, we’ll change human nature il neces­
sary.”"1This point of view has its drawbacks, as Marcuse seemed
to realize. This is why he cited Myrdal, lor whom “the concept
of nature" was a “cliche that functions just like every other
political recommendation . . . when anyone, in some political
question, wants to assert something without adducing proof of
it.”**"' Marcuse was not unduly concerned, however, remarking
in 1978, in answer to a query by I leinz Lubasz, that “It’s entirely
possible for Rousseau to have said something sensible.”66
Perhaps he indicated his sympathetic understanding of Rous­
seau when he said in 1968, “In America we are entering a new
‘Age of Enlightenment..... .
Although the Utopians of the Enlightenment, such as Morelly
and Rousseau, might see the utopian city as being constructed
outside of fact, there were others who insisted that utopia should
have some impact on reality. Such was the case with Gracchus
Babeuf. Like Thomas Munzer, Babeuf proposed utopia in
action. He believed in direct democracy, and 1796 inaugurated
an underground organization for which he was arrested. In
1797, a three-month trial began which confirmed “the failure
of utopia in action," as Raymond Trousson put it.,jMBabeufs
failure did not matter, according to Marcuse’s analysis of his
Defense. Even if Babeuf could not transform his radical ideology
into reality, il was nonetheless valid and “could be transmitted
to future generations and serve as guide in the preparation for
future struggles.”"" On Babeufs theory, centered on notions
of popular sovereignty and conspiracy, he commented, “Its
historical significance far transcends the specific circumstances
under which his trial took place.”'" What exactly was this special
historical significance? We can get a more precise idea by look­
ing at three points on which Babeuf and Marcuse concurred:
the rejection of current democracy, the belief in ideal democ­
racy, and the call to violence to establish direct democracy.
The rejection of existing democracy was recommended by
Babeuf on the basis of the idea that the people are not neces­
sarily sovereign because they have voted for their constitution
and representatives. “The people might be misled; they might,
‘with apparent freedom, have adopted a radically vicious
Constitution.’ 1Babeuf built his Defense on this notion, admit­
ting the fact of conspiracy, but submitting that it was not a true
conspiracy, since this could only be possible where direct
 The Forerunners of Marcuse’s Utopia 37
democracy guaranteed the true interest of the people. Repre­
sentative democracy did not guarantee this, said Babeuf; it only
gave the people apparent sovereignty. As a result (to quote
Marcuse’s summary of Babeufs arguments), “the establishment
of democracy would mean subversion of the established democ­
racy.”72 We can see that Marcuse shared this opinion from his
remark that “democracy certainly has a future. But in my view
it certainly does not have a present.”71 He made this statement
when raising the question, as did Babeuf, of “whether the
majority today is a free majority or not.”71 Both philosophers
apparently felt it was not. This is why Maurice Cranston, speak­
ing in almost Marcusian terms, was correct in saying that Marcuse
shared with Babeuf "the belief that the political sentiments held
by a misled, indoctrinated and ignorant populace are not to be
regarded as the people’s real will, and that the establishment
of a ‘real republic’ involved acting (and writing) against the
majority.”75
But what criterion, what democratic ideal, can justify their
condemnation of factual democracy? Here is what Marcuse
found in Babeuf: “In theory, the criteria for the harmony of
an established social order with the true interests of the people
were the realization of the inalienable rights of man as stated
in the ‘ageless book of nature.’
What about Marcuse’s criterion of ideal democracy? He
acknowledged it in the following manner. Arthur M. Schles-
inger. Jr., remarked to him that his position implied the concept
of a golden age of democracy in which the majority is pure,
totally free, and acts wisely. Marcuse replied: “If you want me
to make it perfectly clear once and for all, I do admit such a
democracy has never existed and does not exist in any society
today. But I do believe that we can have it."7' As Julien Freund
rightly remarked, Babeuf and Marcuse were advocates of the
revolution because they believed that “humanity has evolved
enough to finally realize a form of society ruled by fraternity,
justice, and happiness,” and because they wished to eliminate
the forces of evil that prevent “the realization of such an ideal
society.”7”
But if the moment has at last come to realize ideal democracy,
how are we to do it? Normally, the specific nature of the end
governs the means. When it comes to changing human nature,
however, there can be no middle course. There is only violence,
38 Herbert Marcuse's Utopia
which represses and humiliates man without changing him.
Babeuf, as is well known, preached armed insurrection. Marcuse,
for his part, stated emphatically that “the definition of democ­
racy" must include “the forcible occupation of buildings and
the invasion of private property,” because this is “a part of tltc
democratic process.”
In the final analysis, Baheul and Marcuse wished to impose
direct democracy from above, by forcing the ignorant populace
to exercise “real” sovereignty. Occasionally, it seemed as though
there was a divergence of views, such as in Marcuse's concluding
remarks to the effect that “a theory and strategy which was
quite unrealistic but not utopian in 17% appears as utterly
utopian today.”*0 1'his was not, as some might think, a negative
judgment of Babeufs utopia. One has only to recall Marcuse’s
declared position on this point: “I would really like to confess
to Utopia for the simple reason that nowadays the concept of
Utopia has become meaningless. . . . There is actually nothing
which rationally and with a good conscience we should despise
and denounce as Utopian. We could actually do anything today.
We could certainly have a rational society, and just because that
is such a near possibility its actual realization is more “Utopian”
than ever before; the whole force of the status quo is mobilized
against it."H1 Basically, the more he believed in the possibility
of realizing utopia, the more he was convinced that the ruling
class opposed it and vice versa. This class was doing its best to
hinder realization of a utopia that would eliminate it. But this
resistance did not negate the ever-present possibility of real­
izing utopia, according to Marcuse.
As long as we are convinced of the need to realize utopia,
its failure to materialize, whether in Babeufs day or our own,
only encourages expectation and even preparation. Marcuse
considered that the best way to prepare for utopian realization
was to look first for the possibility or tendency in the aesthetic
domain. The reason was that, in his view, "The utopian idea of
aesthetic reality must be sustained to the point of ridicule necessarily
associated with it today.”*'2 This is what he did, taking his inspi­
ration from yet another eighteenth-century thinker, Schiller.
The great German writer and dramatist wanted to help bring
about a better world through poetry. He used Kantian philos­
ophy, which attempted to explore the preconditions of the status
quo, in order to deduce the hypothetical preconditions for the
 The Forerunners of Marcuse's Utopia 39
emergence of a totally free human personality and a society of
peaceable beings. For Schiller, the eighteenth-century hypoth­
esis of harmony in nature was characterized by two essential
and opposite factors: happiness, the goal of sensual man; and
perfection, the goal of moral man.8’ To overcome the contra­
diction between the “sensuous impulse” (Stofftrieb) and the “form-
impulse” (Formtrieb), Schiller posited the “play impulse” (Spiel-
trieb), which he saw as the basis of artistic activity in general. It
would allow the development of freedom, with humanity no
longer being artifically divided between instinct and reason.
Such was the context within which Marcuse worked from
1937 on, basing himself on a statement at the end of Schiller’s
second letter on the aesthetic education of man. “Schiller says
that the ‘political problem’ of a better organization of society
‘must take the path through the aesthetic realm, because it is
through beauty that one arrives at freedom.’ ”81 This statement
was to become one of the major themes of Eros and Civilization,
and it is in this context that we can understand how Marcuse
arrived at the concept of "the aesthetic ethos which provides the
common denominator of the aesthetic and political.”85 In his
later years, Marcuse made it clear that he was still working along
these lines. In a letter to Morion Schoolman on December 2,
1975, Marcuse said clearly that his philosophy was now prin­
cipally directed toward the problems of art and aesthetics.8*'
What is the connection between art and utopia, therefore?
Frederic Jameson, interpreting Schiller from a Marxist stand­
point, expressed it in terms that apply equally well to Marcuse.
“In art, consciousness prepares itself for a change in the world
itself and at the same time learns to make demands on the real
world which hasten that change: for the experience of the
imaginary of fers (in an imaginary mode) that total satisfaction
of the personality and of Being in the light of which the real
world stands condemned, in the light of which the Utopian
idea, the revolutionary blueprint, may be conceived,”87 But an
even greater understanding of all the resources of aesthetic
utopia can be gained from the French social theorist, Charles
Fourier, who exploited these resources to the full. Marcuse
certainly had no hesitation in looking to him for guidance.
Who was Fourier? The question is still being asked, partic­
ularly since the edition of his complete works does not even
contain all the books and pamphlets published during his life-
40 Herbert Marcuse's Utopia
lime, ;is Futile Lehouck pointed out in IBbb.88 Raymond Ruyer
considered Fourier “a self-taught genius"81 and “a likable
maniac."'" Lehouck felt that Fourier was at least as prolific as
Hugo and Balzac, and that he outstripped them in sheer crea­
tivity.'" Furthermore, not only did his work "herald and
complete Marxism,” it was a hundred years ahead of its time
in propounding “the basis ol psychoanalysis."Raymond
Trousson introduced Fourier with a quote from Tlieorie des quatre
mouvements (ISOS) that seemed to indicate delusions of gran­
deur rather than genius. "1 alone shall have overcome twenty
centuries of political imbecility; present and f uture generations
will owe the beginning of their immense happiness to none but
m e.. . . The book of destiny is mine; I have come to clear away
political and moral cobwebs, and to construct the theory of
universal harmony upon the ruins of the inexact sciences."1'
What was Fourier’s influence on Marcuse? Jean Lacroix wrote
that “the real utopian philosopher of happiness in the nine­
teenth century was Charles Fourier, who identified ‘Happiness
and Harmony.’ Marcuse’s early work contained a similar
identification. The basic link between Marcuse and Fourier was
the search for total happiness in total freedom, both instinctual
and political. This was demonstrated by Jean-Paul Thomas in
his recent Liberation instinctuelle politique: Contribution fourieriste
a M arcuse’ Thomas showed the importance of aesthetics in
Marcuse’s critical theory, and this was exactly what Marcuse’s
reference to Fourier meant; an aesthetic commitment.
Marcuse tried to show that “the utopia of the man who plays
has a real basis."1'’ In Eros and Civilization, he based this argu­
ment on Schiller’s "play impulse” aimed at beauty and free­
dom ,'' and on Fourier’s “attractive labor.’’1'8 Francis Hearn, in
“Toward a Critical Theory of Play," attempted to develop a
theory based on these ideas.1'1' In social theory generally, he
explained, there is no room for a serious analysis of play.
Marcuse was the exception to the rule, because he considered
play essential to the development of the individual and the
human race. Play does not deny reality, but reinvigorates it by
allowing people to look at it critically. In advanced industrial
society, play tends to turn into inactivity or idleness, allowing
us to escape from society rather than making us aware of what
it really is. The Paris student protest of May 1%8 revealed the
power of the play instinct in creating political awareness.
 The Torerunners oj Marcuse's Utopia 41
although the lack ol theoretical basis limited its ability to change
things. We ought to celebrate freedom more, as in a festival.
Such, at any rate, is Francis Hearn’s theoretical analysis, although
it seems to me that this implies a confusion between political
and religious activity, since the phenomenon of the festival is
far more religious than political, because of its transgressive
nature.
Marcuse also referred to "the gigantic socialist utopia of
Fourier” when criticizing Marx and Engels. He stated, "As Marx
and Engels themselves acknowleged, Fourier was the only one
to have made clear this qualitative difference between free and
unfree society.”1"0 He explained that it is not necessary to opt
for scientific rather than utopian socialism. Instead, the most
revolutionary elements of each should be sought. As mentioned
earlier, Marcuse believed that the path to socialism might move
from science to utopia and not from utopia to science.101 But
in the final analysis, it is the utopian notion of socialism that
really contains the innovative idea or idee neuve, as Marcuse put
it.102 I'his criticism of Marxism was so penetrating that in Jean-
Michel Besnier’s words, Fourier "constitutes an argument to
dereify our revolutionary hopes, paralyzed by Marxism."103
Marcuse’s references to Fourier were generally brief. Never­
theless, the latter was enormously important to his critical theory,
since it was from Fourier that Marcuse took the idea of "qual­
itative difference” that alone makes it possible to redefine
socialism in an affluent society. Marx defined socialism in rela­
tion to a poor society, whereas Marcuse felt we must redefine
it in relation to the affluent society that has now developed.104
For the first time in history, we are called upon to free ourselves
from a society that functions relatively well and is relatively rich.
In order for the transition from capitalism to socialism to equate
liberation from the affluent society, we must stop defining
socialism as the planned development of the means of produc­
tion and the rationalization of resources. Obviously, such
rationalization remains a precondition ol all liberation. But we
must redefine the characteristics of socialist society, particularly
its “qualitative difference” from all established societies. For,
wrote Marcuse, “if this qualitative difference today appears as
Utopian, as idealistic, as metaphysical, this is precisely the form
in which these radical features must appear if they are really
to be a definite negation of the established society.”10’ What, we
42 Herbert Marcuse's Utopia
may ask, arc the characteristics of future socialist society?
Presupposing a new anthropology and a total change in values,
they are: the abolition ol labor, the termination of the struggle
for existence or the “pacification of existence,” and the liber­
ation of a new sensitivity or a new consciousness.I(K> How arc
we to achieve this? From the negative standpoint, Marcuse
explained, it would not be a question of revolution but of qual­
itative change: “I say intentionally ‘of qualitative change/ not
‘of revolution,’ because we know of too many revolutions
through which the continuum of repression has been sustained,
revolutions which have replaced one system of domination by
another."1"' On the positive side, he listed the convergence of
technology with art, of work with play, and of the realm of
necessity with the realm of freedom. This is what Fourier’s
“qualitative difference” has become in Marcuse’s terms. It is the
most radical, most utopian possibility of liberation today, an
“aesthetic reality—societv as a work of art.”108
Before moving on, I want to discuss a further question in
relation to Fourier—one that Marcuse appeared to ignore. What
has happened to the utopian image of the polyvalent man that
Marx and Engels borrowed from Fourier’s description of
“attractive labor”? Fourier’s vision of future life showed man
working with a variety of groups—hunters, farmers, fishermen,
and so on—then going to a library, or “to museums, balls, the
theater, and receptions.”10'' This image of the polyvalent man
reappears in The Gentian Ideology: “In a communist society, where
nobody has one exclusive sphere of activity but each can become
accomplished in any branch he wishes, society regulates the
general production and thus makes it possible for me to do one
thing today and another tomorrow, to hunt in the morning,
fish in the afternoon, rear cattle in the evening, criticize after
dinner, just as I have a mind, without ever becoming hunter,
fisherman, shepherd or critic.”110 Marcuse attributed Fourier’s
image to Marx, and seemed concerned with its significance. In
1965, he wrote that it contained “an unfortunate kernel of
truth."111 By 1966 he saw the image as a “monstrosity,”112 and
in 1969 rejected it as no longer “applicable to a highly devel­
oped industrial society.”113
We have been looking at influences on Marcuse’s thought
in the realm of pure imagination. What about his frame of
reference with regard to pure action, as exemplified by Mikhail
 The Forerunners of Marcuse's Utopia 43
Bakunin." For Marcuse, the two were not mutually exclusive,
but mutually inclusive. I his seems to be the implication of his
reply to Raymond Pol in at the major international colloquium
in Paris organized by unksco to commemorate the 150th anni­
versary of Karl Marx’s birth. Significantly, the colloquium coin­
cided with the first few days of the May 1908 student rebellion.
Marcuse presented a paper entitled “Re-examination of the
Concept of Revolution,"m which stimulated the following
exchange:
Question: Do you predict a recurrence of nihilism? Do
you want to revive Bakunin and Kropotkin?
Are you an anarchist?
Answer: Am I an anarchist? No, although 1 feel no
antipathy toward Kropotkin and Bakunin.
Hal ij I hail la acknowledge a master, il unmld
more likely be Fourier." 1Ir>

In order to avoid the accusation of being an anarchist, Marcuse

turned to Fourier. He did not reject anarchism, however. For
him, “the anarchic element is an essential factor in the struggle
against domination,"1 and radical revolt includes "a strong
element of spontaneity, even anarchism.”11' He even consid­
ered it the role of the New Left to direct “spontaneous protest
into organized action,” and the “transformation of immediate
into organized spontaneity.”UN What he hoped to see come
about through some form of utopian action was a disciplined
anarchism on the lines of Fourier’s phalansterian community.
An interesting comparison can be drawn between this assertion
and a statement made in 1971 before sixteen hundred people
at the University of California. Marcuse stated: “Anarchism
should be incorporated into Marxism, but to do it now, in the
face of powerful external enemies, is premature. .. . Today, it
is a question of organization and cooperation.”' u' He therefore
made a distinction between his own thought and that of “the
Movement." In his 1968 remarks he spoke for himself, whereas
in 1971 he expressed what the New Left should be now, compared
to what it is. In other words, he saw it as being infected with
an anli-intcllectualism that was damaging "the Movement" and
the university. Furthermore, as he pointed out, “You don’t cut
off the branch on which you are sitting,” and it was therefore
necessary to take “one step backward in order to take two steps
44 Herbert Marcuse’s Utopia
forward."120 This step backward, which was very important to
him, represented the entire utopian tradition, including
anarchism. Notwithstanding the statement of Francois Perroux,
lor whom Marcuse did “not seem inclined toward an anarchic
utopia,"1*1 the evidence obliges us to admit the contrary. In
1969, this eminent French economist introduced him to the
College de France as "the best analyst,” whose “teaching was
essential," possibly because he expressed himself “in terms clear
enough to be scrawled on walls," even if they were “summary
and illiterate."1** In the same year Marcuse stated in An Essay
on Liberation that “the anarchic element is an essential factor in
the struggle against domination.”123
Marcuse’s anarchism was similar to Bakunin's in at least three
major respects: the interpretation of negativity, the choice of
"revolutionary subject," and the notion of revolutionary art.
Bakunin’s philosophic studies brought him into the Hegelian
Left movement. According to Henri Arvon, he was especially
taken with "the Hegelian notion of negativity, which he inter­
preted as the absolute need for humanity to promote its future
through the total destruction of the status quo."121 For Marcuse,
by way of comparison, "Marxian theory . .. can no longer unfold
the dialectic as logic,”125 unless it makes it "a logic of libera-
/»wi,"121' a language that “breaks the power of facts’’12' because
"the whole is false.",2H
As can be seen, the negativity theories of Marcuse and Baku­
nin were very close. The most striking resemblance, however,
concerned the choice of “revolutionary subject." Comparison
has seldom been made, but Arthur Mitchell in The Major Works
of Ilerbert Marcuse and Gil Green in The Neu< Radicalism: Anarchist
or Marxist? have done so.129 We need only look at the following
three extracts, the first two from One-IJimensionalMan, the third
from Bakunin, to appreciate the justice of such comparison.
Underneath the conservative popular base is the
substratum of the outcasts and outsiders, the exploited and
persecuted of other races and other colors, the
unemployed and the unemployable.1*"
. . . those who form the human base of the social
pyramid—the outsiders and the poor, the unemployed and
unemployable, the persecuted colored races, the inmates of
prisons and mental institutions.1*1
 The Forerunners of Marcuse's Utopia 45
By ihe flower of the proletariat I mean exactly that eternal,
basic material of government, that Great Unwashed which,
being almost totally untouched by bourgeois civilization,
carries within it the seed ol future socialism—in its
passions, instincts, aspirations, in all the needs and miseries
of its collective situation. It alone is powerful enough to
initiate and achieve the Social Revolution.132
How can one seriously profess Marxism while praising the
Lumpenpro!etarial so often denigrated by Marx and Engels, unless
one adopts Marx’s own dictum: “I am not a Marxist”? Engels,
for example, thought that anyone “invoking this absolutely venal
and impudent rabble” was “a traitor to the cause."133 Inciden­
tally, Bakunin was Marx’s principle adversary in the First Inter­
national. Marcuse was similarly ‘‘a traitor to the cause,” a self-
styled “fink,” as mentioned earlier.131 Bakunin and Marcuse
seemed to share some fundamental, physiological need for
revolutionary activity transcending this or that anticapitalist
group. The Bakunin extract above reveals this. Marcuse, in An
Essay on Liberation, considered it a genuine instinct.
There is, I feel, one last point of similarity between Bakunin
and Marcuse, and this is their conception of revolutionary art.
Although “Bakunin did not devote any specific work to art,”
as Andre Reszler pointed out,l3:> he nevertheless saw a truly
revolutionary potential in the eternal “great art” of the past. I
will not enlarge on Reszler’s excellent study here, although later
I will be discussing the role assigned by Marcuse to art in revo­
lution.
Whether Marcuse went further than Bakunin is an inter­
esting question. The latter’s mission, according to his Confession,
was to destroy, not build.136 Marcuse felt we must first demolish
our prison, even if we have no detailed blueprint for the house
that will replace it.137 Both felt we could put off building a new
society until some later date. The task at hand was to prepare
the way for the revolution.
The word “revolution” has an almost mesmerizing effect on
intellectuals. A victim of the Stalin regime said that it was
endowed with such an impressive force that it was impossible
to understand why the prisons and mass executions were neces­
sary. The power of the word was almost enough in itself to sap
intellectual opposition.138 This testimony supports Jules
Monnerot’s statement at the beginning of Sociologie et revolution,
‘l(i Herbert Marcuse's Uto/na
to the effect that “the word ‘revolution’ is always taken in good
part. When it ceases to he understood thus, we will have moved
into a new era.",sy Jacques Ellul lelt that this was already
happening: “I think that Western society is actually entering
an era of meaningless revolution,"110 and Raymond Aron en­
titled his analysis of the May 1968 student protest La Revolution
inIronruble—literally "the unfindable revolution."111 As Fran­
cois Chatelet pointed out, the history of the concept of revo­
lution reveals its two sides: revolution based on an established
model, as in Plato and St. Augustine: and revolution without
a model, which takes shape in relation to a model yet to be
constructed, or one in the process of being created, as in Peri­
cles, Machiavelli, Lenin, and Mao Tse-tung.112 The latter side,
according to Gilles I.apouge, could he defined as utopian,11*
and it was to this utopian tradition of revolution, without model
or meaning, that Marcuse adhered. The irony is that in the
final analysis Marcuse, the convinced revolutionary intellectual,
persuaded no one of the need for revolution. Why?
Habermas asked Marcuse in an interview how a model for
revolutionary change could he conceived today. Marcuse replied,
"The revolution itself will he an entirely different project than
it was for Marx," because “we have to look for a model for
revision according to which revolution will occur not because
of progressive economic deterioration, etc., hut rather on the
existing basis of the so-called consumer society."111 In his anal­
ysis of Bahro’s work, he was even more categorical. “Today it
is evident to what degree the Marxist-Leninist model for revo­
lution has become historically obsolete. . . . Is it possible to
develop another model of revolution on the basis of the current
tendencies in class relations?"1,r’ The fact is that revolutionary
masses have no chance of succeeding in an armed uprising,
because the military organization of the dominant class is too
powerful. Furthermore, these same masses have become inte­
grated into the social structure. For both these reasons, argued
Marcuse, if we are to construct another revolutionary model
by reexamining Marxism, we need an Ariadne’s thread to guide
us through the labyrinth. Because of the enormous stabilizing
potential of today’s society, any Marxist analysis of the period
of transition to total socialism must take into account a form
of socialism “that does not yet actually exist," so that “the concrete
utopia . . , becomes the guiding thread of the empirical anal­
 The Forerunners of Marcuse's Utopia 47
ysis,’ with the end or “transcendence” of utopia appearing as
a necessity.146
What is meant by the necessity of revolution? Donald Lee
has given us a very detailed study of the concept of necessity.
Lee was Marcuse’s student and later teaching assistant for a
course in social and political philosophy, and subsequently taught
the same subject from the Marcusian standpoint. He came “to
the disappointing conclusion that Marcuse was after all wrong
in his interpretation of what Marx meant, but fruitful in his
reinterpretation (revision?) of Marx.”147
Lee acknowledged that Marx had often been criticized for
having affirmed the necessity or inevitability of the socialist
victory. He cited numerous sources in support of Marcuse’s
contention that, in Marx’s later work, this meaning of necessity
entails the negative development of capitalism, but not the posi­
tive transformation toward socialism. The whole of Marx’s
message could only be understood if one took into account his
early works, where he demonstrated the positive content of the
necessity, in the sense of a moral duty, for development of a more
rational and humane society. Marcuse therefore rejected Marx’s
notion of scientific historic determinism, while linking himself
to the ethic of the socialist tradition by visualizing utopia and
revolution as two dimensions of the same need. As Maximilien
Rudel explained, “Utopia is the dimension of space, and revo­
lution the dimension of time.”1,K
The socialist movement considers itself as both utopian and
revolutionary. Utopia is the telos that guides the militant toward
the creation of a new state; revolution is the will to abolish
existing forms of society. Revolution and utopia therefore
combine to create the normative foundations of socialist ethics.
Revolutionary spirit and utopian faith meet in ethical necessity.
It is therefore not surprising that Marcuse’s principle work on
revolution should be entitled Ethics and Revolution.l4°
Marcuse admitted that he had always been a revolution­
ary.150 Yet in 1932 he had used the word reform to describe
political and economic revolution. He rejected it in favor of a
demand for total revolution.151 The main revolutionary problem
was not socialization of the means of production, as this could
not resolve the question of liberty and repression. In 1941 he
gave the title Reason and Revolution to his second attempt at
interpreting Hegel's philosophy, but nowhere did he analyze
48 Herbert Marcuse’s Utopia
or explain the concept of revolution, as Guinle remarked in his
review.152 Why was this? Probably, as his 1907 article on “ I he
Obsolescence of Marxism' revealed, it was because “Marx sown
idea of socialism was . . . not utopian enough.”153 However,
according to an interview filmed the same year on "Liberation
From the Affluent Society," Marcuse also considered that past
revolutions had perpetuated repression, and therefore only
qualitative change, not revolution, could produce a new man.1’1
The only definition of revolution which we appear to have is
in Ethics and R e v o lu tio n . Marcuse wrote, "Let me define what I
mean by ‘revolution.’ By ‘revolution’ I understand the over­
throw of a legally established government and constitution by
a social class or movement with the aim of altering the social
as well as the political structure. This definition excludes all
military coups, palace revolutions, and ‘preventive’ counter­
revolutions (such as Fascism and Nazism) because they do not
alter the basic social structure.”155 I bis definition first appeared
in the original German edition of 1905. In May 1908, during
the LNKSCO symposium on Marx and Contemporary Scientific
Thought, Marcuse gave a brief summary of the Marxist thesis,
then offered some thoughts that were merely intended as
guidelines for establishing a definition of a new concept.,5fi
What was new about Marcuse’s revolutionary theory in rela­
tion to Marx? A detailed comparative analysis of the two was
attempted by Antony Ruprecht,1,7 who sought to answer four
questions that Marx and Lngels posed in The German Ideology.15H
To begin with, under what conditions can a revolution take
place? Marx felt that, in accordance with the scientific laws of
dialectical materialism, the internal contradictions of the capi­
talist system (by which he meant the inherent antagonism
between the means and the relations of production) would
explode in revolution, as happened during the transition from
slavery to feudalism, and from feudalism to capitalism.1v>
Marcuse, on the contrary, considered that the dialectical move­
ment of history had been neutralized by the assimilating tend­
encies of the capitalist system.1'’0
What, therefore, are the conditions that engender revolu­
tionary consciousness? For Marx, revolutionary consciousness
was determined by material conditions."’1 Once he became
aware of his alienation from his work, the worker would be
ready to develop a revolutionary consciousness."’2 For Marcuse,
 The Forerunners of Marcuse's Utopia 49
however, revolutionary consciousness required “political
education,” because the worker could not develop it by
himself.103 While is true that Marx wrote The Communist Mani­
festo to educate the proletariat and develop its revolutionary
consciousness, such education was considered an auxiliary
function. With Marcuse, it became the essential task.161
After the development of revolutionary consciousness in
response to the material conditions of society came the question
of who should carry out the revolution. We know that Marx
attributed the role of revolutionary agent to the proletariat.165
As Julien Freund remarked, “It was a brilliant idea to lump the
bourgeois of the world into a single group, and the proletariat
of the world into another, these groups being revolutionary
opposites. It injected new vigor into political life at a moment
when the dominant doctrines were trying to neutralize politics.
We need look no further to find the reasons for Marxism’s
success.”166 However, in One-Dimensional Man, Marcuse asserted
that “the reality of the laboring classes in advanced industrial
society makes the Marxian ‘proletariat’ a mythological
concept.”167 In one of his last lectures he again set forth the
concept of the reification of the proletariat.168 He was in fact
saying that capitalist society had succeeded in transforming
personal relationships between workers into objective relation­
ships between things, a process of reification that he had already
expounded in Reason and Revolution. M a r c u s e did not there­
fore rely on one class of workers or the proletariat as a group
sufficiently outside the system to attack it. He looked, rather,
toward a group capable of providing future guidance in all
cultural sectors. Marcuse, explained Richard King, removed
the problem of revolutionary thought from the political to the
cultural aren a.170 He expected more from a change of
consciousness than from the overthrow of external structures.
Although he agreed that the revolution could only he brought
about by “the majority of the population,"1' 1 he was looking
for the activist minority that would light the fuse of the insur­
rectionist movement. He had no desire to stage an armed march
on the Capitol, in the style of Blanqui, nor was he attracted by
Lenin’s method, whereby the party controlled the masses. His
position was closer to that of Cohn-Bendit and the tradition of
Rosa Luxemburg, for whom, as Jean-Paul Sartre explained, it
was the leaders emerging from the masses at each stage who
50 Herbert Marcuse's Utopia
would spark the insurrectional movement—leaders who would
appear, play their part, and disappear.1'2 “The search for
specific historical agents of revolutionary change in the advanced
capitalist countries is indeed meaningless. Revolutionan forces
emerge in the process of change itself; the translation ol the potential
into the actual is the work of political practice."1 ■'
If we abandon class-based Marxism, where can we find the
revolutionary subject? Harvey Wheeler put this question to
Marcuse, who replied: "1 have been bothered about this for a
long time, and I’m afraid 1 cannot give you a satisfactory answer.
The only thing 1 can say is that it seems to me wrong to go
around looking for agents of historical change. They probably
will arise and become identifiable only during the process ol
change itself.”1' 1
Even so, Marcuse still attempted to define the revolutionary
subject. During a congress at Korcula, for example, he stated:
"It is that class or group which, by virtue of its function and
position in society, is in vital need and is capable of risking what
they have and what they can get within the established system
in order to replace this system—a radical change which would
indeed involve destruction, abolition of the existing system."1' ’
He went on to explain that such a group should at least be
capable of utilizing its vital need for revolution, if not to trigger
it, at least to end it. To the extent that we employ the Marxist
notion of “revolutionary subject, we have to say that revolution
without the industrial working class is still unimaginable,"1
even though most workers in advanced industrial societies have
no such vital need. But, asked Marcuse, can one reconcile these
two obviously conflicting realities? In his answer, he referred
to the Marxist tradition and the distinction between the revo­
lutionary subject an sich, and the revolutionary subject fiirsich.
He thus showed that the working class is still the revolutionary
subject in itself, but not for itself, because it is not only in the
capitalist system but also oj the system.1" But what, he then
asked, are the chances ol increasing its revolutionary potential?
This class must react against its integration at all costs, by
becoming conscious of the intolerable conditions in which it
lives. It is not only the misery and poverty that are intolerable,
but the agressivity, waste, brutality, and hypocrisy ol our soci­
ety, not to mention the many ways in which it perpetuates the
old lorms ol the struggle for existence through poverty, exploi­
 The Forerunners of Marcuse's Utopia 51
tation, and all manner of inhuman working conditions. This is
why the task of developing a radical political consciousness falls
to groups that are not integrated into the system of domination,
to groups who want to develop a radical conscience because
they are aware of the vital need for revolution, not only with
regard to institutions or labor relations, but also with regard to
the revolutionary subject itself: the type of man, his values, and
his aspirations.
In “ I he Obsolescence of Marxism,” 178 Marcuse distin­
guished four possible elements of the “syndrome of revolu­
tionary potential.” These consisted of national liberation move­
ments in underdeveloped countries; workers’ movements based
on a “new strategy” combining traditional Marxism and synd­
icalism; the lowest orders of the welfare state; and the oppo­
sition of the intelligentsia.1/<J He emphasized, however, that there
was little point trying to raise the level of a consciousness that
was well-nigh imperceptible; it was rather a question of trying
to create one in the first place.180 Why was he so pessimistic?
Three years earlier, in “Socialism in Developed Countries,” a
paper delivered at the aforementioned Korcula, he concluded
with the remarks: “This would not be the first time in history
that the real historic subject of the revolution could not be iden­
tified. There have been times in the past when the historic subject
was latent. This does not invalidate Marxism. The concepts
which Marx originated should not be rejected but developed;
their further development is already contained in the basic thesis.
This is why we can and must permit pessimism, in its proper
place.”181
Let us come back to the fourth point of comparison between
the revolutionary theory of Marx and Marcuse. It concerns the
inevitability of the transformation of capitalism into socialism.
According to Marx and Engels, the socialist revolution is neces­
sary and inevitable. The advance of socialism is governed by
inexorable dialectical laws. Revolution makes it possible to sweep
away “all the muck” of the old system and “found society
anew.”182 But Marcuse, in his determination to root his own
critical theory in the Hegelian-Marxist tradition in Reason and
Revolution, left aside the determinist approach in favor of only
the volontarist point of view: “The revolution requires the
maturity of many forces, but the greatest among them is the
subjective force, namely, the revolutionary class itself. 181 In
52 Herbert Mare use's Ulafria
other words, it is the revolutionaries themselves who carry
forward the whole future of humanity by their ethical choice
and the justification they give to the revolutionary cause.
However, they must first rid themselves of Marxist positivist
prejudice, which engenders a belief in the necessary and inex­
orable nature of a transition toward some higher stage of human
evolution, and in the success of this transition.18* Lastly, the
revolutionaries are morally bound to justify the use of revo­
lutionary violence. In “The Problem of Violence and the Kadi-
cal Opposition," Marcuse explained that: “The concept of viol­
ence covers two different forms: the institutionalized violence
of the established system and the violence of resistance, which
is necessarily illegal in relation to positive law. It is meaningless
to speak of the legality of resistance: no social sytem, even the
freest, can constitutionally legalize violence directed against itself.
Lath of these forms has functions that conflict with those of
the other. There is violence of suppression and violence of
liberation; there is violence for the defense of life and violence
of aggression.
Violence has always existed. Our societies are by nature given
to conflict. History is littered with wars and revolts of all kinds.
In the past such unhappy circumstances were considered a
misfortune. But Marcuse, in keeping with the most radical
doctrines, justified recourse to violence in advance. Does the
end therefore justify the means? When questioned by Louis
Wiznitzer on this point, he replied that the end did not justify
the means when the "forces of order" intervened in Nigeria,
Indonesia, or Vietnam.18' But in "Lillies and Revolution” he
wrote: "Can the revolutionary justify all means? . . . In one sense,
the end justifies the means, namely, if they demonstrably serve
human progress in freedom.”188 On the basis of reason, he
therefore claimed to legitimize a need for change that would
be vital in terms of eschatological and utopian ends, such as
total liberation of the human species. In practice, the better the
cause, the less justification needed; with Marcuse’s theory, on
the contrary, justification is apparently bound to increase,
because the realization of concrete objectives undermines the
cause. I mentioned earlier that, not satisfied with calling himself
“a link,"18*he added to his ;usenal of justifications the comment,
"You don’t cut off the branch on which you are sitting."1'ID
Nevertheless, it seems to me that the revolution is nothing if it
 The Forerunners of Marcuse’s Utopia 53
does not remove at least some of the branch. In the event,
Marcuse covered himself by calling on a particular group of
specialists to spearhead revolution. On one hand, in “The End
of Utopia” he took a pessimistic view of “the class of technicians,
scientists, etc.” who are “precisely . . . among the highest paid
and rewarded beneficiaries of the system.” The likelihood of
their becoming a potential revolutionary force “would require
a total change not only of consciousness but of the whole situ­
ation”—or, as Marcuse expressed it in the preface to the French
edition of One-Dimensional Man, “a miracle of discernment and
lucidity.”191 The optimistic view was that, on the other hand,
“intellectuals have the major duty of seeing that the specialists
of the future . . . become specialists in liberation," or “specialists
of peace.”192
In the final analysis, pessimism and optimism were inter­
twined to the point of becoming a way of thinking, a mode or
mentality: utopia became utopianism, and the revolution, revo-
lutionarism. Discourse had to be all the more revolutionary for
not being translated into action. But was this not totally opposed
to Marx’s position? Frederic Jameson asserted that this was
indeed the case. For him, Marcuse’s theory represented a form
of Marxist interpretation designed to show that the task of
philosophy is to regenerate the utopian thrust. In the words of
Eros and Civilization, it should outline “a theoretical construct
of culture beyond the performance principle,”193 with the result
that the Marcusian perspective is the inverse of the Marxist.
With Marx, utopia dissipates revolutionary energy, whereas with
Marcuse, it is practical thought that dissipates revolutionary
energy, because historical conditions are no longer the same.
In the earlier society described by Marx, utopian thought was
directed toward the accomplishment of imaginary desires, and
thus dissipated revolutionary energy. In today’s society, what
obstructs revolutionary energy is the practical outlook that gives
in to the system, because it sees that the system is able to inte­
grate everything, even its adversaries. In our advanced indus­
trial society, only utopia can take the form of a determinate
negation of the status quo, keep alive the possibility of a qual­
itatively different world, and revive revolutionary energy. In a
1974 lecture given in Frankfurt on “Theory and Practice”1' 1
Marcuse emphasized the “kernel of idealism' that historical
materialism “contained from the beginning.” I his kernel was
54 Herbert Marcuse's Utopia
tlie presence of utopia at the heart oi revolutionary action, “a
utopia without which Marxist theory cannot serve as a guide
to socialist practice.” Such a utopia appears today ‘‘as a project”
to be born in the “emancipated conscience that will determine
the social being” alter the “qualitative leap,” that is to say, when
conditions are ripe for “an economy aimed at the elimination
of poverty and exploitation." But the project is blocked. Essen­
tially, Marcuse’s most famous works are a description ol
economic, psychological, and other types of obstruction.
However, even if we are today facing an “impossible revolu­
tion," the historical possibility of realizing utopia should give
us moral support.
We could, at thisjuncture, be tempted to agree with the fairly
current interpretation which says that the vacuum of the Marx­
ist utopia is filled by Marcuse’s Freudian conception of man.
But to slip into Freudo-Marxism would merely add to the intense
"mythilication” that took place after the Paris rebellion of May
1968, as Gerhard Hbhii and Gerard Kaulet pointed out.195
French commentators have not yet really absorbed the critical
contribution of the Frankfurt School, either ignoring or reject­
ing it out of hand.190 There are, in fact, several very specific
points that must be understood in order to grasp Nlarcusian
utopian theory. Of the many elements neglected by French
scholars, I have chosen those with which they seem least famil­
iar. To understand the historical period in question, let us first
look at this passage by Martin Jay:
fhe Frankfurt School was returning to the concerns of the
Left Hegelians of the 1840s. Like that first generation of
critical theorists, its members were interested in the
integration of philosophy and social analysis. They likewise
were concerned with the dialectical method devised by
Hegel and sought, like their predecessors, to turn it in a
materialist direction. And finally, like many of the Left
Hegelians, they were particularly interested in exploring
the possibilities of transforming the social order through
human praxis.
The intervening century, however, had brought
enormous changes, which made the conditions of their
theorizing vastly different. Whereas the Left Hegelians
were the immediate successors of the classical German
idealists, the Frankfurt School was separated from Kant
and Hegel by Schopenhauer, Nietzsche, Dilthey, Bergson,
 The Forerunners of Marcuse's Utopia 55
Weber, Husserl, and many others, not to mention the
systematization of Marxism itself. As a result, Critical
Theory had to reassert itself against a score of competitors
who had driven Hegel from the field. And, of course, it
could not avoid being influenced by certain of their
ideas.197
It is my contention that, among all these opposing doctrines,
there were two that had a marked influence on Marcuse and
that have too often been ignored by his critics. VVe must make
a special place in Marcuse’s background for Rosa Luxemburg
and Karl Mannheim.
There are two reasons for emphasizing the relationship
between Luxemburg and Marcuse. The first is that Marcuse’s
revolutionary spirit was linked, by his own admission, to that
of Rosa Luxemburg. Secondly, it was Luxemburg who origi­
nated the slogan, “socialism or barbarism.”
Rosa Luxemburg was a figurehead of Weimar culture to
which Marcuse belonged. It has been described by Walter
Laqueur, professor of history at Tel Aviv, as “the first authent­
ically modern culture.”1118 Luxemburg belonged to an era of
such upheaval that Alfred Kantorowicz wrote, “The radicalist
tendency is quite understandable; all the roots of subsequent
turmoil date from this era.”1911 As a militant revolutionary within
the German Social Democratic party, Luxemburg denounced
reformism. Some of her articles were collected in 1899 in the
German edition of Social Reform or Revolution!20" She explained
what she meant by this alternative in a short preface.201 Marcuse
used the same terms during discussion with students of the
West Berlin Free University following his paper on “The Prob­
lem of Violence and the Radical Opposition.”202 They weren’t
advocating opposition to reform within the established order.
In one sense, all revolutionaries work within this order. The
idea was never to lose sight of the final objective, the revolution
that will abolish the capitalist regime. The final objective, wrote
Rosa Luxemburg, is the only decisive element that distinguishes
the socialist movement from bourgeois democracy and bour­
geois radicalism.203
As for the slogan, “socialism or barbarism,’’201 Marcuse
considered it more appropriate than ever.20’ He saw it as an
intregral part of the concept of revolution,200 representing a
historic choice for the Subject: “ The Subject is free to choose:
50 Herbert Marcuse's Utopia
in this choice of a possible historical praxis which transcends the
established praxis is the essence of human freedom. And this
freedom is not a ‘fact’, neither a transcendental nor a historical
fact—it is the faculty (and activity) of men ‘synthesizing’ (organ­
izing) the data of experience so that they reveal their own
(objective) negativity, namely, the degree to which they are the
data of domination.”-"' flow does this dilemma arise, and what
does it mean? Michael Locwy wrote a chapter on “ 1he Meth­
odological Meaning of the Slogan ‘Socialism or Barbarism.’ ”“0M
On the basis of Lukacs’s arguments, he explained that before
1914 German social democracy asked whether socialism was
the inevitable product of economic and historic development,
or the result of a moral option inspired by pure intentions.20''
Dialectically speaking, however, Rosa Luxemburg transcended
this question in the formula “socialism or barbarism.” Toward
the end of the /mmo pamphlet,210 she referred to a passage in
Engels’ Anti-I)ithring.J] 1 Michael Loewy, however, was of the
view that, “in the final analysis, it was Rosa Luxemburg herself
who (while basing herself on Engels) explicitly posited socialism
as being, not the ‘inevitable’ product of historical necessity, but
an objective historical possibility. In this sense, the slogan ‘social­
ism or barbarism’ means that, in history, the options are always
open: the ‘final victory’ or defeat of the proletariat has not been
decided in advance by the ‘ironclad laws’ of economic deter­
minism; it also depends on the conscious action and revolu­
tionary will of this proletariat."212 “Socialism or barbarism”
therefore means that there is not only one direction in which to
develop, but several, and that a decision must consequently be
made as to the best historical process. In Marcuse’s work,
however, this meaning was limited to the use of this “classic
alternative” in the singular, so as to show that once again fascism
was threatening to bar the route to socialism.2 1 This is why we
must “develop consciousness to provoke a revolutionary situ­
ation—without losing sight of the fact that the latter can just
as well herald the advent of a new fascism.”211 Both Rosa
Luxemburg and Marcuse felt that the options were open,
however, and that the task of preparation was as formidable as
the objective—the ultimate goal. This is why utopia appeared
indispensable. As a twentieth century philosopher, however,
Marcuse could not ignore Karl Mannheim, even in the context
of utopia as part of a revolutionary platform. He understood
 The Forerunners o f Marcuse's Utopia 57
the significance of Mannheim, and was to some extent influ­
enced by him.
The mere mention of the name Mannheim is enough to
arouse controversy. Rejected by some, respected by others, he
certainly cannot be ignored, as Edward Shils demonstrated in
1973.2' 3 According to Jean-Michel Palmier, “Any attempt to
revive utopia in modern political thinking must first deal with
the critique of Karl Mannheim, expounded in the now classic
work, Ideology and Utopia (1929).”2H> On the other hand if we
were guided by Raymond Ruyer, for whom “Mansheim’s [sic]
distinctions between ideology and utopia seem fairly artificial
and of little interest,”217 we could dismiss Mannheim in three
sentences, as Ruyer did in his work on L'Utopie et les atopies.2I8
(Incidentally, “Mansheim” is a marvellous lapsus calami, as mansh
means mishmash or jumble in German.) Between the two
extremes of Palmier and Ruyer, it seems to me there is room
for a more moderate judgment. Joseph Gabel, for example,
defended a doctoral es letters thesis at the Sorbonne in 1962 on
the subject of “Mannheim and Hungarian Marxism." In his
revised version, he stated that certain aspects of Mannheim’s
thought “presage what is best in Herbert Marcuse.”219
We can sec an example of this in the historical role of the
Freischwehende Intelligent, which Lucien Goldniann translated as
intellectualite sans attaches (intellectuality without strings)220 and
Gabel suggested translating as “marginal intelligentsia.”221 Gabel
made it clear that in Weimar Germany the universities had an
enviable social status which was not without strings, and that
Mannheim was not thinking of his colleagues when he devel­
oped his theory of marginal intelligentsia. We do not need to
speculate on Marcuse’s opinion of this subject, since Goldmann,
“one of Mannheim’s principal French opponents"222 put the
question to him during a debate at the Ecole pratique des hautes
etudes. Is there an objective social force capable of transcending
contradictions and controlling history? In other words, given
the fact, as both Mannheim and the Marxists admitted, that the
scholar belongs to a given class or social group and reflects its
outlook, can he possibly rise above it? And given the variety of
social groups and points of view, is it possible to “synthesize
perspectives”? And who will carry out this synthesis.*' Here is
Marcuse’s answer: “For Hegel, there is only one privilege (and
I agree with Hegel on this point): the privilege of thought, the
58 Herbert Marcuse's Utopia
primacy of thought. In the open arena of history, under the
reign of freedom, thought would be universal, and all men
would have access to this privileged status. We must know the
world before changing it. Hence the primacy of science and
knowledge in guiding social and political action.”22* Marcuse
was therefore emphasizing the role of intellectuals. However,
he took marginal thinkers into account as well, as we saw when
discussing Bakunin. Furthermore, Marcuse extended this priv­
ileged role to the people, the majority, and “all men.” He was
not interested in knowing what single group—proletariat or
otherwise—would have a privileged role. He was looking at the
greatest possible number of groups in seeking the will for
change, a will that the proletariat had lost because “the reality
of the laboring classes in advanced industrial society makes the
Marxian ‘proletariat’ a mythological concept.”221 As for
Mannheim, he considered Marxism a proletarian ideology every
bit as partisan as the ideologies of other classes.22 ’
How, then, could Marcuse, who with his Frankfurt Institute
colleagues desired to defend Marxism, look with favor on the
work of Mannheim, who saw Marxism as merely one ideology
among many? We can understand this paradox better in the
light of the circumstances surrounding the original publication
of Ideology ami Utopia in 1929. Mannheim’s work stemmed from
a controversy between Bloch and Lukacs on utopia.220 At the
time, Mannheim was a professoral the University of Frankfurt-
am-Main.22' Occasionally he even worked on the institute
premises.228 His work, explained Paul Breines, was in the nature
ol a challenge to the interpretations of Marxism put forward
by Lukacs in Iliston and Class Consciousness and Korsch in Marx­
ism and Philosophy, both of which first appeared in 1923.22M
Mannheim sought to destroy Marxism’s claim to having a
prerogative on historical truth. He took some of the Marxist
theories and incorporated them into a bourgeois sociology for
the purpose of refuting Marxism in its entirety.
Marcuse reviewed Mannheim’s work in the same year as it
came out.2*0 What strikes the reader most, wrote Martin Jay,
is how favorably Marcuse reacted,2*1even though “Mannheim
seemed to be undermining the basic Marxist distinction between
true and false consciousness.”2*2 According to Mannheim, “the
common and, in the last analysis, essential element of the
concepts of ideology and utopia is that both imply the possibility
 The Forerunners of Marcuse's Utopia 59
of false consciousness."2'3 For Marcuse, however, “When crit­
ical theory comes to terms with philosophy, it is interested in
the truth content ot philosophical concepts and problems. It
presupposes that they really contain truth. The enterprise of
the sociology of knowledge, to the contrary, is occupied only
with the untruths, not the truths of previous philosophy."234
What Marcuse finally reproached Mannheim for was his inter­
pretation of historical being.23 ’ The concept of historical being
has possibilities that are at present blocked by organized capi­
talism, explained James Schmidt. These should be evaluated to
see whether there is a chance of realizing them through revo-
lution.23'* But what Marcuse clearly appreciated in Mannheim
was that, for him, utopia retained all its creative value. As Roger
Bastide pointed out, Mannheim considered that all ideas were
utopian which transcended the status quo (and were not merely
the projection of our desires), and that had to some degree the
power to change the historical and social order.23. Still, it must
not be forgotten that their interpretions of the end of utopia
were diametrically opposed. Marcuse, in “The End of Utopia,"
spoke of the possible achievement of utopia thanks to tech­
nology. But Mannheim evoked the decline of utopia as a result
of scientific thinking and “the concept of historical time which
led to qualitatively different epochs."238
All in all, was there any great affinity between Mannheim
and Marcuse? I have been referring to the commentaries of
Martin Jay and James Schmidt, among others, although I might
also have cited the interesting study by Joseph Devil is.23*' The
most eloquent testimony, however, and one that seems unknown
to commentators, is by one of Marcuses students, David Kettler,
who reported the lectures given at Columbia University when
the State Department invited Marcuse to talk about Marxism
in 1951.2,0 Marcuse concentrated on the breakdown of “critical
rationalism” at the end of the Roman era. He pointed out that
this basic philosophical tradition can turn into an ideology, in
such a way that social protest against repressive conditions can
only take the form of utopia, doomed to remain powerless. The
process can take one of the three following forms. Ideas are
given a place in a sphere that totally transcends man’s concrete
conditions, so that it is impossible to reply to these ideas except
through the intermediary of utopian novels or visionary tales.
Again, ideas may be internalized so that their realization becomes
60 Herbert Marcuse's Utopia
a matter of internal reorganization; in this case, one cannot
preach change except on the basis of an imaginary conception
of revolution handed down from on high. Finally, the vision
contained in these ideas may he reserved for an elite, thus leav-
ing no means of protest for the rest, except pathetic and fore­
doomed slave uprisings. This Marcusian typology of ideology
and utopia echoes much that is in Mannheim, and indeed
Mannheim’s influence on Marcuse was more than superficial.
As we have seen, Marcuse shaped his vision of utopia in the
light of the work of distinguished and innovative predecessors.
His exact place in this long heritage may be disputed, but there
is no doubt of his imaginative contribution to the literature.
 Ill

Marcuse’s
Romantic Aesthetics
“In a world that has descended to the prosaic, the most impor­
tant thing to bring back is the aesthetic dimension . . . which
alone can guarantee the revolution of the twenty-first century.”1
Marcuse was speaking about his short work, The Aesthetic Dimen­
sion, during a final conversation with Jean Marabini. “This is
the heritage I leave to world youth on the threshold of the
terrible years that seem imminent.”2
It is no accident that Marcuse’s philosophical testament should
be a work on aesthetics. Throughout his life the question of art
was central to Marcuse’s thinking. His first academic disserta­
tion in 1922 contained the seeds of several themes that were
to mark his intellectual journey, and dealt with the German
Kiinstlerroman, the genre of novel in which art plays a signif­
icant role.*1 It is therefore crucial to ask exactly what place the
aesthetic dimension occupies in the critical theory of Herbert
Marcuse.
Before we can answer this question, however, there is a
preliminary problem to be resolved. The fact is that, while some
commentators ignore or are unaware of Marcuse’s explicit
utopianism, others have read into Marcusian aesthetics mere
resignation instead of the renewal of his revolutionary spirit.
Ben Agger and Fred Alford were two cases in point. In 1973
Agger wrote an article entitled “The Aesthetic Politics of Herbert
Marcuse.” Referring to Counterrevolution and Revolt, Agger
represented Marcuse’s interest in art as the most recent devel­
opment in his critical theory.1This was largely untrue. Not only
was Marcuse always interested in art—it could be considered
his main concern in one sense, as we shall see—but art was a
symbol of the Great Refusal, ’ at least in its extreme forms. Agger
contended that art does not take the place of politics, although
it can “become political by maintaining a ‘dialogue’ with the
()2 Herbert Marcuse's Utopia
natural world and with social fact." He pointed out that
“Marcuse’s argument is really quite simple and plausible: we
create ourselves through our art which depicts our true relation
to nature and to our fellow man and woman. Art raises our
consciousness and helps us to imagine a new world. It acts as
a theoretical and spiritual catalyst when all else has failed.”0 It
is perhaps our only hope, Agger concluded. His interpretation
was generally correct, except that he considered Marcuse’s
involvement in aesthetics as the final phase and ignored his
early interest in the subject. This meant that six years later, in
1979, Agger would try to save Marcuse from “aesthetic
resignation"' on the basis of Paul Piccone’s notion of “artificial
negativity."” Piccone asserted that it is possible to go beyond
one-dimensionality by penetrating the world of spontaneous
subjectivity. But surely spontaneity and creativity are both
inherent aspects of art and the revolutionary spirit? (It should
be mentioned in passing that Ben Agger is, in my view, one of
the rare commentators who respects the spirit of Marcuse’s
work.)
Fred Alford also purported to save Marcuse from an impasse.
In reviewing The Aesthetic Dimension,9 he compared some of its
statements with others taken from Marcuse’s essay on Rudolf
Bahro.10 According to Alford, Marcuse’s theory would have
been trapped in a vicious circle, had he not been able to break
out of it with Bahro’s help. Alford wrote, “He did integrate
Bahro’s catalog into the structure of his own project, in order
to begin to overcome its outstanding theoretical deficit: the
vicious circle, which has led to so much unwarranted resigna­
tion. No assessment of Marcuse’s work that fails to take seriously
this last step can be complete.”11
I shall refrain from commenting on the idea that Marcuse’s
theory can be better understood by referring to his sources
instead of his own statements. A good many commentators have
seen in Marcuse an interpretation of Marx, Freud, or some
other writer—Bahro in this instance—whereas he almost never
interpreted anyone, except in book reviews. Marcuse was a crit­
ical theorist who expressed his own ideas and whose thinking
was not deflected by affinities of thought encountered in his
long intellectual journey.
Alford found two basic tendencies in Marcuse: one good—
his commitment to human happiness; the other bad—his
 Marcuse's Romantic Aesthetics 63
romanticism. Fortunately, said Alford, Marcuse appeared to
have sublimated the less desirable of these two tendencies in
the following ways.1* In the first place, Marcuse supposedly
admitted in The Aesthetic Dimension that certain elements of his
vision of liberation, such as “the resurrection of nature,” would
never be realized. Alford supported this by Marcuse’s statement
that “the world was not made for the sake of the human being
and it has not become more human.”13 This freed Marcuse to
solve the problem of “the vicious circle that recurs so often . ..
in Bahro’s book.”11 Alford wrote: "The way out of the vicious
circle turns out to be remarkably easy. Bahro’s book, says
Marcuse, implies that socialist strategy must be essentially the
same before and after the revolution. The cultural revolution
implies the total transformation of society, but the subjects of
the revolution must think and act today as they will after the
revolution.”1’ This, according to Alford, was the only means
of avoiding aesthetic resignation and breaking out of the vicious
circle. It was by no means the only way out, however; Marcuse
stated his own view clearly in his essay on “Protosocialism and
Late Capitalism.” The only acceptable means of altering the
status quo, he said, was through “Plato’s position (an educa­
tional dictatorship of the most intelligent) and Rousseau’s
(people must be forced to be free),” and however scandalous
it might seem, one had to uphold the paradox that a socialist
stale needs “a recognized . . . elite.”n’
But how did Marcusian aesthetics strive to renew the revo­
lutionary spirit? To answer this question, we must establish
Marcuse’s objectivity in relation to Marxist aesthetics by defin­
ing and evaluating Marcusian aesthetics.
One of the errors of Marxist aesthetics, according to Marcuse,
was “the denigration of romanticism as simply reactionary.”17
And yet romanticism, adventurism, or imagination form the
basis of any revolution in Marcuse’s view. “If the revolution
does not contain an element of adventurism, it is worthless,”
he stated in a L'Express interview.18 What did he mean by this
romanticism, in this sense?
To begin with, even if the Romantic Movement per se was a
nineteenth-century phenomenon, the elements were present in
eighteenth-century culture. As Georges Gusdorf noted, “Not
one of the elements of what was called Romanticism in the
nineteenth century was absent from the arts and literature of
64 Herbert Marcuse's Utof/ia
the preceding century.”1'' In “L’Existence esthetique," the last
chapter of Xaissance de la conscience romantique an siecle des lumieres,
Gusdorf demonstrated that the contemporary definition of
aesthetic activity was fairly specific. He analyzed several essays
on the arts, beginning with Baumgarten, who first used the
word “aesthetic” in the manner specifically referred to by
Marcuse in Eros and Civilization. 20 Consequently, there was no
contradiction in Marcuse’s attempt to trace aesthetic romanti­
cism back through Marx to Fourier and beyond. Fhe active
cultivation of imaginative commitment and an emphasis on the
creative will of the ego are rooted in a long tradition. In any
case, even Marx contained romantic elements, and these were
precisely what interested Marcuse.
The presence of these elements has not always been recog­
nized. Michael Loewy, for example, in his 1976 sociological study
on revolutionary intellectuals, wrote that “Marx’s socialism has
nothing to do with anticapitalist romanticism, sociologically or
ideologically.”21 Fortunately, he later corrected this statement.
Admitting the justice of criticism leveled by the Americans Paul
Brcines22 and Jeffrey Herf,2Mhe even went so far as to devote
an entire book to the subject, Marxisme et romantisme revolution-
naire,21 which included a demonstration of the profound influ­
ence of Thomas Carlyle2, and Honore de Balzac2*’ on Marx
and Engels. A year later, in a 1980 essay in Telos,27 Loewy again
emphasized the romantic dimension in the theory of Marcuse
and Benjamin, although he weakened his argument somewhat
by maintaining that there was a periodic waning of Marcuse’s
interest in aesthetic and romantic questions, and in the problem
of art and culture.
If we look at the major stages in Marcuse’s life outlined in
chapter 1, it is evident that aesthetic and romantic considera­
tions remained constant throughout his work. When complet­
ing his studies during the Weimar period, he produced “Der
deutsche Kiinstlerroman,” his 1922 dissertation on novels with
the artist as protagonist. The central theme of this dissertation
was "the contradiction between the world of Idea and empirical
reality, art, and bourgeois life—a contradiction painfully
perceived and expressed by the Romantics,” as Loewy pointed
out. Marcuse, he said, stressed “the burning aspiration of many
Romantic or neo-Romantic writers for a radical change of life,
bursting through the narrow limits of bourgeois philistine
 Marcuse's Romantic Aesthetics 05
materialism," and compared them with "contemporary utopian
socialists such as F o u rie r.L o e w y felt that Marcuse had
repeated some of his earlier ideas without alteration in Eros and
Civilization and One-Dimensional Man. Barry Katz explained that
the issue raised in this dissertation reflected the neo-Hegelian
principles of Georg Lukacs outlined in The Theory of the Novel
(1920). This work originally appeared in 1916, in a journal
devoted to aesthetics and art criticism. The journal’s director
was Max Dessoir, one of Marcuse’s teachers at the time. Conse­
quently, Marcuse wrote very much in the style of a young
romantic whose theory and method were taking root in the
aesthetics of Hegel, “the most serious of all serious philoso-
i **29
pliers.
During the period between 1933 and 1942, Marcuse’s
aesthetic interests centered on the Frankfurt School’s analysis
of mass culture. As Martin jay noted/0 he made a considerable
contribution to this analysis. An example is his 1937 article,
“The Affirmative Character of Culture.” In the later phases of
his work, beginning with Eros and Civilization, Marcuse’s aesthet­
ics and utopianism clearly assumed greater importance as his
criticism became more radical. Marcuse’s commentators gener­
ally ignore this fact, often more or less intentionally, depending
on their view of Marxist orthodoxy. The more importance they
attach to the latter, the less they give to the romanticism and
libertarian idealism present in Marx himself.
Other scholars have readily admitted the importance of the
romantic dimension in Marcuse’s thought, either to criticize or
commend it. Peter Clecak, for example, in an excellent 1973
study on Marcuse and the paradoxes of American radicalism,
saw him as a romantic and revolutionary intellectual/1 although
this was apparently a reproach. In reviewing Clecak’s study
Richard Flacks concluded that the New Left need not shed its
romanticism, and that adequate practical strategies would
provide a balance.42 The title of his article, “The Importance
of the Romantic Myth for the Left,” left no doubt on this score.
At the beginning of this chapter, I stated that Alford was
wrong in believing that Marcuse could break out of the vicious
circle in which he had confined himself. To be more exact, I
consider Alford mistaken on the practical level, since Marcuse’s
article on Bahro did not offer an effective new strategy for
implementing the true revolution. On the theoretical level,
66 Herbert Marcuse's Utopia
however, there is a logical way out of Marcuse’s dilemma, and
a very simple one at that. One need only demonstrate which
elements can occur both before and after the revolution.
Romanticism as revolutionary conservatism is one such element,
since it is possible to say of Marcuse, as Martin Buber said of
Gustave Landauer: “Ultimately what he has in mind is revo­
lutionary conservatism: a revolutionary choice of the elements
of the social being that are worth preserving and that are valid
in a new construct."*3 Seen in this light, romanticism, far from
being a paradox or a mark of resignation, is one among a number
of factors of change. It must be understood that romanticism
conforms to the revolutionary spirit and is not to be rejected
where the interpretation of Marcuse is concerned.
Some writers have not understood this distinction. Eric
Volant, in a thesis submitted to the University of Montreal, was
a case in point.*’1 After reminding his readers that “during
debates at the Berlin Free University, Marcuse described himself
as ‘an incurable and sentimental romantic,’ ” he went on to say
that Marcuse did not belong to the romantic tradition because
his argument was based on the future. *3 Volant also attempted
to contradict John Ra/.er's analogy between Marcuse and the
European romantic tradition, which appeared in “A Conver­
sation with Herbert Marcuse” in Psychology Today.36 Brigitte
Croisier, when only a student in 1969, was aware of Marcuse’s
romanticism.37 Yet commentators nevertheless persist in turn­
ing a blind eye to it. Michel de Certeau, commissioned by the
Encyclopaedia Universalis to prepare an entry on Marcuse for
Umversalia 1980** had reservations similar to those of Volant.
While Marcuse’s philosophy, said de Certeau, could be construed
as “revolutionary romanticism,” it probably originated in the
Jewish tradition to which he belonged.’9 Marcuse had never­
theless denied this explicitly. In a conversation with Richard
Kearney, he stated that the qualitative change he proposed was
certainly aesthetic, but had nothing whatever to do with the
messianic optimism of Judaism.’0
What, then, is the meaning of the revolutionary romanticism
to which Marcuse laid claim? Among the definitions of roman­
ticism that come closest to the truth, stated H. Peyre in Ency­
clopaedia Universalis, “are those that emphasize its inherent spirit
of revolt: not only the metaphysical revolt already evident in
certain German writers and in Rousseau when he cried out
 Marcuse's Roman lie Aesthetics (>7
against the sullocating limitations of the universe; hut also social
and political revolt."11 The term romanticism in this context
does not mean a particular literary genre, but a social and polit­
ical vision ol the world. The romantic figure is one who tries
to change the world, said Hegel.,J According to Jean-Michel
Palmier, “Generally speaking, any action that violently contests
the existing order in the name ol ethical, aesthetic, or instinctual
demands is an act of ‘revolutionary romanticism.’ Roman­
ticism as a negation of established order is therefore to be found
at the basis of all art. It is this thesis that Marcuse developed
in One-Dimensional Man,11 as Michel Haar noted.1’ But to what
extent can art be revolutionary? Marcuse replied that it must
transcend, without eliminating, all particular class content.10
We are therefore dealing with two levels of consideration: the
proletarian and the revolutionary. The question is, what are
the respective preconditions of proletarian and revolutionary
art from the Marxist standpoint?
In the eighth and final section of Marcuse’s study on “Art
and Revolution,” Marcuse asked point blank if proletarian art
were possible. What is “the meaning and the very possibility of
a ‘proletarian literature’ (or working class literature)”?1' Rich­
ard Kearney asked almost the same question in bis interview,
and Marcuse replied in more or less the following terms. Let
us presuppose the existence of a proletarian culture; one must
also demonstrate that the proletariat as described by Marx
himself does in fact exist, since today's working class is not always
and everywhere interested in socialism. Even supposing that a
proletarian socialism actually exists, it still must be shown that
this can be the definite negation of capitalism. Marcuse
clearly did not think so. Consequently, efforts to demonstrate
that tlie working class would care about an authentic, radical,
socialist art would only increase the already prevalent atmos­
phere of alienation.
Proletarian art is therefore impossible for several reasons,
the first and foremost of which stems from the universal nature
of art, as Marcuse explained in answer to another ol Richard
Kearney’s questions.Il> Art can transcend any particular class
interest without eliminating it. Art is always concerned with
history—the history ol all classes. It is this all-embracing quality
that accounts for the objectivity and universality of art, which
Marx described as the quality of “prehistory," and Hegel as the
68 Herbert Marcuse's Utopia
“continuity of substance —the truth that links the modern novel
with the medieval epic, the reality of human existence with its
potentiality, and conflict with reconciliation, whether between
man and man or man and nature. A work of art clearly has a
particular class content in that it reflects a vision of a particular
world, whether feudal, bourgeois, or proletarian. In terms of
the human dream, however, it is transcendent. Genuine art
does much more than mirror one class, and is not limited to
the spontaneous expression of the f rustrations or desires of a
single group. The immediate sensuous impact of art, which
popular culture does not always apprehend and which only the
initiated can appreciate, presupposes the formal organization
of experience on universal principles, and it is these principles
alone that give a work any meaning that is not purely private.
It is interesting to note that the most politically radical people
often have apolitical tastes—yet further proof of the univer­
sality of art.
The notion of proletarian art is also doomed to failure,
according to Marcuse, because it presupposes the obsolescence
of earlier forms of art, classical as well as romantic. Unlike
Herbert Read, he did not see classicism and romanticism as
opposites. For Read, “There is a principle of life, of creation,
of liberation, and that is the romantic spirit. There is a principle
of order, of control and of repression, and that is the classical
spirit.’”0 Neither did Marcuse confuse classicism with capital­
ism/ He considered the disruptive characters of bourgeois
literature, such as the prostitute, the great criminal, the rebel
poet, the fool, and others, as representing a negative force
confronting the Establishment.52 Although this literature is not
proletarian, it retains its revolutionary dimension, and this was
what counted for Marcuse.
Present-day artistic realism, however, appears to have lost its
revolutionary dimension. This is surely true of current protag­
onists, who often appear in the guise of beatnik, neurotic house­
wife, star, business tycoon, and the like. “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,” wrote Marcuse.53 In this respect the list is
long: in the United States the songs of the black community
have been swallowed up in white rock music; the indiscriminate
use of scatological terms does more harm than good to sexual
 Marcuse's Romantic Aesthetics 69
liberation; ‘‘living theater” or “anti-art," which has taken root
in the spontaneous feelings of the oppressed proletariat, is
doomed to failure, and so on ad infinitum.
Basically, Marcuse believed that proletarian art, if' it exists,
has lost its revolutionary potential because the majority of the
working class has developed an antirevolutionary conscious­
n e ss/1 This being the case, can there still be a relationship
between art and revolution?
Why should future revolutions be concerned with aesthetics
if they wish to succeed? Marcuse considered it evident that the
advanced industrial nations have long since reached the degree
of productivity and wealth that Marx counted on as a base for
building a socialist society. It therefore follows that quantitative
growth in production no longer provides a sufficient goal, and
that society as a whole must change qualitatively. Merely alter­
ing working conditions is not enough. “The qualitative change
necessary to build a truly socialist society, something we haven’t
yet seen, depends on other values not so much economic (quan­
titative) as aesthetic (qualitative) in character."” In other words,
it is not enough merely to satisfy needs; the needs themselves
must be changed. This is how the new society can become a
work of art.
But can one really consider art as an agent of revolution?
Marcuse faced a genuine dilemma in this regard. Art is both
affirmative and negative. Its essentially negative, critical nature
is seen in the refusal of art to obey the rules of established reality
in terms of language, order, conventions, and images. Art of fers
asylum to disreputable humanity, providing an alternative to
the reality asserted by the Establishment. It can be used to
denounce not only the affirmed reality, but those responsible
for the affirmation. Paradoxically, however, art is also affirm­
ative by nature. Literature, for example, is af firmative in that
it gives pleasure to the reader—otherwise there would be no
reader. The element of entertainment is part and parcel of even
the most radical art. Like Bertolt Brecht, Marcuse made the
point that even when describing the most brutal things in the
world, one must still entertain.50 Actually, a work of art can
acquire an affirmative content through its social and political
character, whereas it remains negative by virtue of its form
(novel, play, or poem), which is forever demonstrating its
removal from reality. Art always transforms reality. "No matter
70 Herbert Marcuse's Utopia
how realistic, naturalistic, it remains the other of reality and
nature.”37
If art can liberate us from the domination of reality—that is
to say, if it can be revolutionary—then why did Marx not say
so? The answer is simply this: Marx did not emphasize the role
of art in the transition to a new society because he lived over
a hundred years ago, and could not see for himself that it is
indeed possible to resolve material problems through genuine
socialist relations and institutions. He did not realize that a purely
economic solution would not suffice, nor did he perceive that
a twentieth-century revolution would require a different type
of human being, striving for totally new personal and sexual
relations, new morality, new sensitivity, and total reconstruction
of the environment. All these values, in the name of which the
revolution must be carried out, are in fact aesthetic values in
the large sense used in Eros and Civilization, and in the tradition
of Kant and Schiller. That is why art is an important factor in
change.
It now becomes clear that the subtitle of Marcuse’s last work,
Toward a Critique of Marxist Aesthetics, was far from indicating a
late and unexpected development of his thought—or resig­
nation, as has been suggested. On the contrary, adhering to his
own logic until the end, he continued his search for all possible
means of revolution. He refused to countenance the form of
Marxist orthodoxy that reduces all cultural phenomena to an
ideological reflection of class interests, or that expects art to
reflect the production relations of a given society and assumes
that art and social classes are necessarily linked. Seen from the
latter perspective, art and society are closely related; political
and aesthetic values coincide so that only the highest social class
is capable of true artistic expression, while the lowest can only
produce decadent ai l. Artistic realism is the only form of art
that mirrors society, according to this argument. Such a concep­
tion of art makes no allowance for variety of subject matter,
personal feelings, or imagination, and equates individual
consciousness to class consciousness. Marcuse, on the other hand,
submitted the following thesis: "The radical qualities of art, that
is to say, its indictment of the established reality and its invo­
cation of the beautiful image (schbner Schein) of liberation are
grounded precisely in the dimensions where art transcends its
social determination and emancipates itself from the given
 Marcuse's Romantic Aesthetics 71
universe of' discourse and behavior while preserving its over­
whelming presence.”:>H He opposed cultural determinism and
made out a case for autonomy in art, giving it a more important
role and an enhanced political function. Instead of limiting
himself to describing art in present-day society, he attempted
to define its potential in the society of the future. For Marcuse,
the world of art embodied “the promise of liberation.”VI
One may ask, however, whether Marcuse’s critique is as rele­
vant as he made it out to be, and whether it did not represent
an outmoded school of thought. He himself admitted that he
was dealing with a theory current between 1920 and 1935,60
meaning the work of Walter Benjamin, Ernst Bloch, Bertolt
Brecht, Georg Lukacs, and several others. It was with Lukacs
that he differed especially, however. Unlike the latter, Marcuse
argued that literature cannot realistically reflect objective social
reality: “But precisely this requirement offends the very nature
of art. The basic structure and dynamic of society can never
find sensuous, aesthetic expression: they are, in Marxian theory,
the essence behind the appearance, which can only be attained
through scientific analysis, and formulated only in the terms
of such an analysis.”61 Nevertheless, by taking up an antirealist
position, Marcuse would seem to be abandoning the only
perspective Marxism had to offer at the time. Gerald Graff
remarked on this, pointing out that one cannot dismiss such
American theorists as Edmund Wilson, Richard Chase, Irving
Howe, Harold Rosenberg, Kenneth Burke, Philip Rahv, Alfred
Kazin, Isaac Rosenfield, and Lionel Trilling.62 Annette Rubin­
stein had much to say in the same vein, noting that Marcuse
completely ignored current writing on Marxist aesthetics by
Robert Weimann in the German Democratic Republic, Arnold
Kettle in England, Zdanek Strbrny in Gzechoslovakia, and others
in such countries as Poland and Hungary.6’ In short, contrary
to the thinking of early twentieth-century Marxist aestheticians,
and without reference to those of the present day, Marcuse
declared it an error to think that only proletarian literature can
develop a revolutionary consciousness. The objectives and
conditions of a revolution against monopolistic world capitalism
cannot be expressed in terms of a proletarian revolution. “It is
by means of the aesthetic imagination that one can transcend
one’s alienated world, in order to ‘experiment with and
72 Herbert Marcuse's Utopia
‘remember’ alternative forms of life.”'*1What, then, is the func­
tion of aesthetic philosophy?
Invited to chair a meeting of the American Philosophical
Association,0’ Marcuse delivered a paper on Marx’s eleventh
thesis on Feuerbach: “Philosophers have only interpreted the
world in various ways; the point is to change it.” Marcuse
contended: “ This never meant that now it is no longer necessary
to interpret the world—we can just go about changing it.” What
it really meant was, “The world must be interpreted again in
order to be changed.”00 During an interview with Pierre Vians-
son-Ponte for the newspaper Le Monde, he commented on the
eleventh thesis in slightly different terms: “It is the intellectual’s
job to promote radical education.”07 In other words, one has a
moral duty to promote any theory that can be used for social
subversion. Marcuse felt this duty to be all the more imperative
because philosophical theory and all forms of critical thought
are today facing a greater task than ever, since historical condi­
tions lend to silence the spirit of criticism. Philosophy underlies
the will to transform the world and make it free and rational,
Marcuse pointed out. Its task cannot end until its goal is reached.
Philosophy has not achieved its goal, however, since theory and
practice do not yet coincide. Even though the philosopher may
realize that unity of theory and practice is a purely utopian
goal, he must never stop working for it until this end is attained.08
Philosophers, said Marcuse, “should be worthy” of the compli­
ment implied by Marx’s statement that philosophy is “the head
of the emancipation of man.”0'' It should perhaps be noted that
Marcuse conveniently omitted the rest of the quotation—“It’s
heart is the proletariat—thereby downplaying the role of the
proletariat in realizing the goals of philosophy, lie that as it
may, Marcuse’s reexamination of Marxism didn’t stop there.
He looked at another well-known thesis, to which he gave a new
direction. Marx stated, “It is not the consciousness of men that
determines their being, but, on the contrary, their social being
that determines their consciousness.’” 1Elsewhere he expressed
it as, “It is not consciousness that determines life, but life that
determines consciousness."72 In fact, wrote Marcuse, “With the
possibility of the revolution being a ‘qualitative leap' comes the
appropriate dialectic for historical materialism—the idealistic
core that was always there. The determination of consciousness
through social assistance undergoes a change. Based on an
 Marcuse’s Romantic Aesthetics 73
economy aimed at eliminating poverty and exploitation, it is the
liberated consciousness that would determine the social being."1*
Marcuse was therefore proposing a philosophy that was both
materialistic and idealistic: “materialistic to the extent to which
it preserves in its concepts the full concreteness, the dead and
living matter of the social reality; . . . idealistic in as much as it
analyzes this reality in the light of its ‘idea,’ that is, its real possi­
bilities.”71 However, the element o f ‘idealism’ present in histor­
ical dialectic assumed such dimensions that, when discussing
the topic in Reason and Revolution, he concluded, “Theory will
preserve the truth even if revolutionary practice deviates from
its proper path. Practice follows the truth, not vice versa.”' 5
Marcuse never abandoned "this faith in the primacy of correct
theory,” stated Martin Jay.76 He was always concerned about
preserving the primacy of reason, although he must surely have
been aware of another famous Marxist thesis: "Not criticism
but revolution is the driving force of history, also of religion,
of philosophy and all other kinds of theory."77 In an affluent
society such as ours, however, revolution is impossible.'8 It is
only possible when based on poverty. Therefore reason has
only one function left, that of recalling both the poverty and
the highest aspirations of the past, because “the authentic utopia
is grounded in reco llectio n .W h ere are we to look for such
aspirations? “In philosophy,” said Marcuse, for this is where
“traditional theory developed concepts oriented to the poten­
tialities of man lying beyond his factual status.”80 One must be
careful, however, not to exaggerate the importance of concep­
tual thought. Marcuse considered it useful only in that philos­
ophy is the basis of liberation. Even though philosophy may
develop into critical theory, "the abyss between rational and
present reality cannot be bridged by conceptual thought.”81
What philosophy did Marcuse use in his process of reinter­
pretation? In his presidential address to the American Philo­
sophical Association, he provided a clear answer in the form
of a four-point program.8* He recommended that several areas
of the history of philosophy be reinterpreted, beginning with
Plato’s demonstration of the best form of government, all too
often subjected to ridicule. In addition, he asked philosophers
to develop political linguistics, because language has become
“an instrument of control and manipulation.” He also suggested
they investigate physiological and psychological epistemology
71 Herbert Marcuse's Utopia
through transcendental “rather than sociological analysis. Such
analysis would differ from Kant" in that "forms of intuition”
and "categories of understanding" would be treated as histor­
ical rather than pure. “These would be a priori because they
would belong to the ‘conditions of possible experience,’ but they
would be a historical a priori in the sense that their universality
and necessity are defined (limited) by a specific, experienced
historical universe." Marcuse also called for "the renewal of
philosophical aesthetics.” Note that he spoke of philosophic
aesthetics and not aesthetic philosophy. Philosophy is limited to
revealing the goals, values, and moral ideals that we should
strive for, as ethics and religion have always done in the past.
However, since all three disciplines are incapable of translating
the said goals, values, and moral ideals into reality, this must
be accomplished by other means. “Only art achieves it—in the
medium of beauty.”83 Marcuse therefore gave aesthetics in
general, and art in particular, a special status that philosophy
does not possess, but which it has a duty to promote. Philosophy
is concerned with the purposes and values governing human
activity, or with what Marcuse understood by "the norms and
aspirations which motivate the behavior of social groups in the
process of satisfying their needs, material as well as cultural.”8'
Through a process of politicization and a fresh analysis of human
potential, philosophy can attempt to show how these eschatal-
ogical aims can be transformed into real, aesthetic needs. As
long as these aims and values do not become real needs,
predicted Marcuse, the qualitative change between past and
future society will not take place.85 “By virtue of its historical
position Marxian theory is in its very substance philosophy."80
Marxian philosophy and aesthetics therefore share the common
task of promoting the realization of beauty. "An animal,” wrote
Marx, “forms objects only in accordance with the standard and
the need of the species to which it belongs, whilst man knows
how to produce in accordance with the standard of every species,
and knows how to apply everywhere the inherent standard to
the object. Man therefore also forms objects in accordance with
the laws of beauty.”*' Of what does this process of aesthelici-
zation consist? It must first be understood that Marcuse
perceived and expressed modernity in terms of crisis.** Before
discussing the social f unction of art and its ontological and
 Marcuse’s Romantic Aesthetics 75
historical position, 1 would therefore like to look at the problem
of the "crisis of art."8'*
Philosophy is not yet obsolete, contended Marcuse. It has a
task to perform: the promotion of aesthetics. The specific, basic
aim of aesthetics is to subvert reality. How can art do this if it
is constantly threatened by developing cultural conditions? In
analyzing social reality, are we forced to consider “the end of
art”? Can art possibly retain its independence? Jurgen Haber­
mas asked Marcuse about this dilemma.90 He pointed out that
in “The Affirmative Character of Culture” written in 1937,
Marcuse had asserted, “Beauty will find a new embodiment
when it no longer is represented as real illusion but, instead,
expresses reality and joy in reality. A foretaste of such poten­
tialities can be had in experiencing the unassuming display of
Greek statues or the music of Mozart or late Beethoven. Perhaps,
however, beauty and its enjoyment will not even devolve upon
art. Perhaps art as such will have no objects. For the common
man it has been confined to museums for at least a century.”'*1
Now, said Habermas, Marcuse was defending another position,
as in this statement from "Art and Revolution" in 1972: “The
‘end of art’ is conceivable only if men are no longer capable of
distinguishing between true and false, good and evil, beautiful
and ugly, present and future. I bis would be the state of perfect
barbarism at the height of civilization—and such a state is indeed
a historical possibility.”'*2 Habermas asked Marcuse what had
led him to revise his initial theory. Marcuse replied that he still
saw art as communication, but was now emphasizing its inher­
ently critical nature for the very reason that this was its most
threatened function. In fact, however, he approached the ques­
tion from three different angles.
As Andrew Arato noted, Marcuse appeared to have changed
his approach in response to a critique by Adorno.'** In the 1937
essay on "'File Affirmative Character of Culture," Marcuse
followed the Marxist tradition, equaling art too closely with
ideology. In 1909, he interpreted the rebellion of the young
intelligentsia as the dialectical cultural leap that makes art part
of life.'*1 With "Ai l and Revolution" in 1972, however, art was
definitively geared to permanent aesthetic subversion: “The
abolition of the aesthetic form, the notion that art could become
a component of revolutionary (and prerevolutionary) praxis,
until under fully developed socialism, it would be adequately
70 Herbert Marcuse's Utopia
translated into reality (or absorbed by ‘science’)—ibis notion is
false and oppressive: it would mean the end of art.”',‘' Adorno’s
influence could not explain everything, however. There were
more deep-seated reasons for Marcuse’s change in outlook.
Where did Marcuse get his interest in art and aesthetics? In
an interview with Bryan Magee he explained that he and the
members of the Frankf urt School shared a critical perspective
based on their justifiable and objective disillusionment with the
progress of social change. Contrary to expectations, the incre­
dible social wealth accumulated by the achievements of Western
civilization in general, and capitalism in particular, have
progressively hindered rather than helped the building of a
more decent, humane society.1"’ The language of art, however,
provides a means of looking at reality from two vantage points.
It stands outside established reality and the reality of everyday
life; and it holds out the promise of a liberated world. The break
with reality allows art to perform a critical function. It can be
subversive as long as it maintains this break. If not, then we
are facing the end of art. F.ven so, nothing can destroy the
promise of happiness inherent in art. Marcuse recounted his
personal reaction to these two dimensions of aesthetic expe­
rience in his lecture on “Art in the One-Dimensional Society.'"!W
The more he felt that traditional forms of artistic expression
had lost their critical powers, the more despondent he became,
foreseeing the end of art. Conversely, however, as more and
more new forms of artistic expression appeared, he became
increasingly hopeful. Then one day, while taking part in an
anti-Vietnam demonstration where young people were singing
the songs of Bob Dylan, he realized that this was the only revo­
lutionary language left today.1WIf Marcuse learned anything
from this experience, it was this: although one art form can
overtake another that has lost its critical edge, the aesthetic form
endures. A careful reading of various aesthetic analyses
throughout Marcuse’s career makes it clear how intertwined
were the two strands of theory concerning the end and the
autonomy of art. These analyses were constructed on a fairly
basic system, and it is unnecessary to review them all in detail.
I would, however, like to list their salient points.
Between 1934 and 1937, the Frankfurt School was interested
in mass culture, as Martin Jay showed.111' Marcuse’s contribution
was a condemnation of the “affirmative culture”1"” of content-
 Marcuse’s Romantic Aesthetics 77
porary Germany.101 In 1958, lie turned his attention to Soviet
culture.10- Between 1964 and 1967 he looked at the situation
in the United States, his adopted country,103 and in 1969 he
evaluated the aesthetic/political aspect of the Paris student revolt
of May 1968.101 In 1972, he produced a critical study of the
New Left and of his own aesthetics, making a clear distinction
between “material culture" and “intellectual culture"10’ in order
to analyze the “culture industry.”100 In 1977 he published the
original German text of The Aesthetic Dimension, which appeared
in English the following year. This was a final and highly critical
review of Marxist aesthetics, as a preliminary to proposing a
revised form—Marcusian aesthetics. At this juncture it is worth
noting that the major French collection of his essays bears the
title Culture et societe, which expresses the underlying thrust of
Marcuse’s work better than the runaway bestsellers Eros and
Civilization, One-Dimensional Man, or even Repressive Tolerance.
Let us look at one or two examples. Each time Marcuse
considered the problem of art, culture, or aesthetics, he asked
questions such as: What is their role under present historical
conditions? Have they preserved their essential nature? Have
they been assimilated by the socio-historic context? Upon care­
ful consideration, it seems to me that these questions fall into
three main categories: What is the socio-historical context with
which we are dealing? Can art (or culture, or aesthetics) contest
this socio-historical context, and if so, what is stopping it? Has
art any real chance of contesting the socio-historical context?
In Germany, as Marcuse demonstrated in an article written
in 1934,107 Fascism had attempted to mobilize all levels of soci­
ety in order to consolidate its political interests. He therefore
spoke out against the decline of bourgeois culture in the face
of National Socialism, asserting that “the greatest intellectual
heritage of German history” must be preserved by being
absorbed “in scientific social theory and the critique of political
economy,” although he felt that the prospect was “clouded with
uncertainty.”108
The Soviet Union was distinctive, as Marcuse pointed out in
Soviet Marxism, in that the state controlled economic develop­
ment, contrary to capitalist countries where the economy
controlled the state.100 By nationalizing socio-economic inter­
ests, the Soviet state stifled effective opposition, so that "the
ideological sphere which is remotest from the reality (art,
78 Herbert Marcuse’s Utopia
philosophy), precisely because of its remoteness, becomes the
last refuge for the opposition to this order.”11" Nevertheless,
art retains its transcendent, “critical cognitive function: to sustain
the image of freedom against a denying reality.”111
O n its d e e p e s t le v e l, art is a p r o te s t a g a in st th a t w h ic h is.
B y th at v e r y to k e n , art is a “p o litica l" m a tte r . . . . B u t art
as a p o litic a l fo r c e is art o n ly in s o fa r as it p r e s e r v e s th e
im a g e s of lib e r a tio n ; in a s o c ie ty w h ic h is in its to ta lity th e
n e g a tio n o f th e s e im a g e s , art c a n p r e s e r v e th e m o n ly by
total refusal.11'

What real chance has art to hold its own in the Soviet context?
The avowed aim of Soviet aesthetics is to reflect reality in the
form of artistic images. “In other words,” said Marcuse, “once
the reality itself embodies the ideal,. . . art must necessarily
reflect the reality.”11’ Aesthetic realism is the only form of art
permitted in the Soviet Union. Even though Marcuse felt that
art should indeed try to reflect the ideal, he criticized Soviet
aesthetics on three counts. In the first place, the reality does
not yet embody the ideal “in its pure form."1M Furthermore,
“In its societal function, art shares the growing impotence of
individual autonomy and cognition.”11' Finally, "The works of
the great ‘bourgeois’ antirealists and ‘formalists’ are far deeper
committed to the idea of freedom than is socialist and Soviet
realism.”1
In the United States Marcuse took a similar approach. In
One-Dimensional Man, he contended that American capitalism
has produced a closed society because the forces of opposition
predating capitalism have been integrated. Assimilation is
complete: the system “swallows up or repulses all alternatives;”
negation and criticism are reduced to cohesion and affirma­
tion.11' “'fhe world of facts is, so to speak, one-dimensional.”,,H
Marcuse continued to develop this idea, first put forward in
1936, including it in his course at the Ecole pratique ties halites
etudes in 1958-59.11!*He worked on it again in articles published
in 1961 and 1962, later to become passages in One-Dimensional
Man, published in 1964.120 Generally, his writing on one-
dimensionality leads one to believe that his theory went from
being a mere stalking horse to an all-pervading idea: the growth
of rationality engenders a corresponding growth in irration­
ality. To combat the latter, however, Marcuse still posited the
 Marcuse's Romantic Aesthetics 79
“total refusal” of 1958,121 the aesthetic “Great Refusal.”122
Aesthetic values are the definite negation of dominant values,
he asserted.123 But the assimilative force of capitalist society is
so great that even aesthetic imagination merges with reality.121
I his is “the end of art”—a theme taken from Hegel by all the
exponents of critical theory.125
Hegel is the key to understanding “the end of art." He
considered all theoretical and practical endeavour to be based
on introspective thought. Liberated subjective consciousness thus
adopts a stance opposed to socio-historical reality, creating a
gap that art can no longer bridge, even by reconciling extremes.
Marcuse, on the contrary, held that it was important to base
oneself on an ethical/aesthetic ideal, an “illusory reality that
neither philosophy nor religion can attain. Only art achieves
it—in the medium of beauty."12'’ He was therefore not prepared
to accept the theory of "the end of art” as being the last word,
and instead looked to the “autonomy of art.” It was Habermas
who touched on the real issue, however, when he asked whether
Marcuse had generally revised his thinking on the “end of art”
to the point of opting for the “autonomy of art.” What distin­
guishes these two viewpoints is how each relates to revolution.
When art is assimilated by the Establishment, it contributes to
its own end. When, on the contrary, it recognizes its revolu­
tionary potential and revives “the categorical imperative: ‘tilings
must change,’ ”12~ then art, by its very function, acquires and
maintains autonomy. What, therefore, is the function of art in
Marcuse’s aesthetics?
Utopia and art have similar functions in Marcuse’s critical
theory. These can be examined in a number of ways. We can
study Marcuse’s ethical perspective for consistency of approach.
We can look at the functions of critical theory, as resumed by
Vincent Geoghegan in his 1981 work, Reason and liras, 7 he Social
Theory of Herbert Marcuse, 128 We can also examine the functions
of utopia, as outlined by Ernst Bloch, the utopian philosopher
par excellence,' ”' and by Paul Ricoeur, a much less enthusiastic
commentator of concrete utopia.130 In addition, there are the
contemporary functions of Marxist utopia described by Pavel
Kovaly,131 and the function of art in Marcuse and Hegel, as
given in George Friedman’s recent work, 7he Political Philosophy
of the Frankfurt School.
80 Herbert Marcuse’s Utopia
Tin.* consistency of Marcuse’s aesthetic perspective through­
out iiis work lias been the subject of comment more than once.
Francois Chirpaz, for example, came to the following conclu­
sion in 1069: “Marcuse’s strong point is that he invites us to
think in terms of a radical transformation of our society and
culture; hut he is nevertheless unable to provide the theoretical
tools for planning and realizing such a transformation. In fact,
it is u'it/iiu the scope of aesthetic utopia to expect such a transfor­
mation, considering the advances that have been made in auto­
mation, not to mention the emergence of new n e e d s . T h e r e
is no doubt that Marcuse wanted to make use of an aesthetic
utopia. Why then reproach him for having done so? Whatever
else it may he, it is not inconsistent.
In a more recent study in 1977, Parviz Piran contended that
Marcuse’s approach dif fered from that of critical theory.1Vl Piran
claimed that the revolutionary change sought by Marcuse
contradicted the change implied by his aesthetic perspective.
Furthermore, on the basis of One-Dimensional Man, one might
agree with Michel I laar’s statement that, “If it is true that tech­
nology represents violence and repression, then it is utopian to
base the advent of a world without violence and repression on
technology."1’ ’ But are these actually contradictions in Marcuse’s
theory, or real contradictions that Marcuse was trying to eval­
uate from a Marxist perspective?
For the sake of argument, let us use Roger (laraudy’s defi­
nition of the Marxist perspective: File vantage point from which
we can see all the avenues of Marx’s thought is his awareness
of man’s basic situation in capitalist society. Marx enunciated
the inherent contradiction of this situation, which is that the
birth and growth of capitalism have created conditions for both
the unlimited development and oppression of all men.1"’
If, therefore, the Marxist perspective consists in demonstrat­
ing society’s contradictions, and if this is what Marcuse did on
the aesthetic level, then one cannot argue that his thought is
confined to the contradictions of the capitalist world. For exam­
ple, although Marcuse advocated a radical aesthetic education,
he considered it obvious that the present concept of education,
designed to promote a better future society, is a contradiction.
However, it is a contradiction that must be resolved if progress
is to be made.1 I his last assertion was not an admission of
weakness on his part, but rather the expression of a desire to
 Marcuse's Romantic Aesthetics 81
benefit humanity. Marcuse tended to express society’s contra­
dictions in pairs, juxtaposing them to a third, utopian element
of his argument, located outside of present time and space so
as to avoid setting arbitrary limits to the historical process.
The consistency of Marcuse’s thought was evident, for exam­
ple, in the following pairs of opposites: total refusal versus one-
dimensionality; the autonomy of art versus the possibility of
the end of art; and non-repressive sublimation versus repres­
sive desublimation. Critical theory was the only intellectual
bridge he offered to span the gap between one historical moment
and another. What, then, are the functions of critical theory?
Vincent Geoghegan considered the functions of critical theory
to be threefold: it sets forth the present historical situation; it
reveals the inherent possibilities of this situation; and it antici­
pates the future by emphasizing the role of imagination. These
functions are, in fact, surprisingly like those of utopia itself.138
Ernst Bloch also summarized the functions of utopia accord­
ing to three principals, as listed by Pierre Furter and Laennac
Hurbon. Utopia is the protest against the status quo; the antic­
ipation of the possibilities of radical change; and the insistence
on realizing everything immediately, which constitutes a refusal
of defeatism.1™
Ernst Bloch was not the only utopian philosopher to outline
these functions, however. Paul Ricoeur, although not a partic­
ular supporter of utopia, proposed using it as a means of refut­
ing the threat of meaningless existence.110 “The basic function
of utopia is to maintain a project for humanity in the face of
meaninglessness,” he wrote.111 In another article, he enlarged
upon this idea: "I believe . . . there is an historic function of
utopia in the social order. Only utopia can give to economic,
social and political action a human intention and, in my sense,
a double intention: on the one hand the will of humanity as a
totality; on the other hand, the will of the person as a singu­
larity.”112
In general, Ricoeur considered it the task ol the educator to
be utopian.111 On the strictly political level, he explained, the
intellectual is responsible for offering a social project geared
to both general and individual human needs, and capable of
maintaining a healthy balance between the ethics of conscience
and the ethics of responsibility.111
82 Herbert Marcuse’s Utopia
Mow does this view of utopian functions compare with the
Marxist approach? Let us look at Paul Kovaly’s critique of the
contemporary functions of Marxist utopia.11’ He based it on a
statement by Adam Schaff, head of the Institute of Philosophy
and Sociology at the University of Warsaw, and one of the most
influential Polish socialist writers. Schaff said, “Reading the
classic Marxist texts on man under communism one sometimes
gets the feeling that they are utopian. No doubt they contain
a residue of utopia.”146 Kovaly felt that it was not enough,
however, simply to admit that Marxism contained utopian
elements. One must also understand how utopia functions in
social and political life, and ask whether it affects society as a
whole.
The ultimate goal assigned by Marx and Engels to future
society may be grand, noble, and just. However, this ideal goal
has become the unique criterion by which Marxists judge and
evaluate Ikx Ii individual actions and social movements. All means
and methods are considered as serving this goal. At this junc­
ture, utopia becomes dystopia. “I think that Marxism can be a
very good tool of analysis—but a dangerous tool when it is taken
as a theory of totality,” stated Ricoeur.117 The social phenom­
enon, whether viewed as civilization or culture, is better under­
stood if a distinction is made among levels of reality, instead
of systematizing every aspect of existence. It is not as though
we had no format for discussing historical totality. On the
contrary, our historical experience seems to affect everything
in our lives. But every imaginable totality is always premature
or else merely a limitation of the historical process.
The Marxist utopia may suffer from a monolithic structure
that makes it difficult to develop in more than one direction,
but this does not lessen the importance of its utopian function.
In a passage on the constituent function of utopia, Ricoeur
explained that, in social theory, the fiction of another society
allows us to distance ourselves from reality and discover how
strange it seems from another perspective. Through utopia, he
said, man distances himself from his symbolical system, thereby
putting all his institutions into question; in oilier words, he
rethinks his status as a political animal.MM
Unlike Ricoeur, Marcuse saw aesthetic utopia as playing a
far more important role. The functions of critical theory and
 Marcuse's Romantic Aesthetics 83
art arc similar, he maintained. In fact, lie used this premise to
define a work of art in the last section of One-Dimensional Man:
L ik e t e c h n o lo g y , a rt c r e a t e s a n o t h e r u n iv e r s e o f t h o u g h t
a n d p r a c tic e a g a in s t a n d w ith in th e e x is t in g o n e . B u t in
c o n tr a s t to th e te c h n ic a l u n iv e r s e , th e a r tistic u n iv e r s e is
o n e o f illu s io n , s e m b la n c e , Schein. H o w e v e r , th is s e m b la n c e
is r e s e m b la n c e to a r e a lity w h ic h e x is ts as th e th r e a t a n d
p r o m is e o f th e e s ta b lis h e d o n e . In v a r io u s fo r m s o f m ask
a n d s ile n c e , t h e a r tis tic u n iv e r s e is o r g a n iz e d by th e im a g e s
o f a lif e w ith o u t f e a r . . . . T h e m o r e b la ta n tly ir r a tio n a l th e
s o c ie t y b e c o m e s , t h e g r e a t e r th e r a tio n a lity o f th e a rtistic
* I IM
u n iv e r s e .

As George Friedman so aptly expressed it, Marcuse reworked

the Hegelian notion of the status and function of art.,D° The
work of art maintains a critical relation with the actual world
in order to create a reasonable desire for the beautiful, which
could destroy the ugliness of the real world through practical
politics.
When the work of art can no longer preserve its critical stance
and offer a viable alternative to the irrationality of the world,
it is assimilated; it becomes an affirmation instead of a negation
of the existing world. This is virtually the end of art. It cannot
regain its autonomy, according to Marcuse, unless it becomes
politically involved. The difficulty here is that the aesthetici-
zation of politics may conceal the pitfall of Plato's radical
aestheticism.
The members of the Frankfurt School were united in their
belief that art and life are intimately linked.151 Their goals
differed widely, however. Horkheinter was interested in reli­
gion, but Benjamin, Adorno, and Marcuse continued to explore
art, although from different angles.
Art and politics can be related to one another in many ways.
The philosophical question of their relations is nothing new.
Nevertheless, present historical conditions have forced us to
put the question in special terms, according to Benjamin.152
Briefly, there seem to be two possible relations: either politics
determines art, as in Communism; or art determines politics,
as in Fascism. In other words, either art is subordinated to poli­
tics as in Communist societies, so that the work of art loses its
unique character and is watered down into art for the masses;
or else an attempt is made to aeslhcticize politics, as in fascist
81 Herbert Marcuse's Utopia
societies, and to force an aesthetic ideal on the masses. For
Benjamin, the alternatives appeared so repugnant that he
preferred a melancholy retreat into metaphysics.1’’ Adorno,
on the other hand, took the Fascist threat seriously, but was
unable to resign himself as Benjamin had, and consequently
sought to preserve the work of art’s capacity for negation.ljl
Marcuse, however, took Adorno’s position to its logical conclu­
sion. By recognizing the cognitive function of imagination, he
restored a “repressed harmony."1” 'Through harmony, as
preserved in the work of art, he wanted to organize social reality
to the point where society itself became a work of art.
Here I would like to digress briefly and ask, as did Friedman,
why Benjamin occasionally flirted with socialist realism. More­
over, why did Marcuse take up positions that, by implication,
admitted the possibility of dictatorship? Perhaps there is no
answer to such questions, but Friedman raised an interesting
hypothesis, all the same. He felt that each seemed to have
rejected what he understood best—Benjamin, Fascism, and
Marcuse, Soviet Communism. Each accepted the unacceptable
because the alternative seemed the greater evil.1
Let us return now to the idea of society as a work of art, an
idea that goes back to Plato, and one that Marcuse held dear.
Both shared a radical aestheticism that deserved the criticism
leveled at it by Karl Popper. For Marcuse, the construction of
the ideal society was based on a new science, a "science of the
Imagination,"1,7 a science that must be the principal guide to
social and political action,1 a “science of the beautiful" and
“of redemption and fulfillment”1^ that, taken to its limits, would
become art.",<l Plato said that “a king’s government is a science”
and "an art,"UA Popper noted. Indeed, Plato was of the view
that politicians, like artists, should work on a clean canvas.
N o S ta te c a n b e h a p p y w h ic h is n o t d e s ig n e d by a r tists w h o
im ita te th e h e a v e n ly p a tte r n . . . . T h e y w ill b e g in by ta k in g
th e S ta te a n d th e m a n n e r s o f m e n , fr o m w h ic h , as fr o m a
ta b le t, th e y w ill r u b o u t t h e p ic tu r e , and leave a clean
surface. T h is is n o e a s y ta sk . B u t w h e t h e r e a s y o r n o t,
h e r e in w ill lie th e d if f e r e n c e b e t w e e n th e m a n d e v e r y o t h e r
le g is la t o r ,— t h e y w ill h a v e n o t h in g to d o e it h e r w ith
in d iv id u a l o r S ta te , a n d w ill in s c r ib e n o la w s, u n til th e y
h a v e e i t h e r r e c e iv e d fr o m o t h e r s , o r t h e m s e lv e s m a d e , a
c le a n s u r f a c e . 1*’2
 Marcuse's Romantic Aesthetics 85
How are we to interpret this idea of making “a clean surface”?
Popper s answer followed the principles laid down by Plato.163
I he “authorities” must, “by the application of jc/ewccand justice"
create the best possible stale, even if they have to use “execu­
tions or sentences of banishment” to do so.161 This seems oddly
reminiscent of the prison to be demolished before building the
house,,6j and the justifications of revolutionary violence advo­
cated by Marcuse.
The extreme positions adopted by Plato and Marcuse cannot
withstand Popper's two arguments, which may be summed up
as follows. To begin with, when Plato called for a clean surface
and Marcuse advocated demolishing the prison before building
the house, they meant that the existing social system must be
destroyed. The trouble with this is that both painter and archi­
tect belong to the system, and will therefore destroy themselves
and their utopian plans as well. They would need an Archimedes’
fulcrum outside of society to obtain the required leverage—
something that only exists in imagination. Secondly, romantic
aestheticism leads to the sacrifice of reason in exchange for a
desperate faith in political miracles.166 It should be noted here
that both philosophic and literary romanticism go back as far
as Plato, who clearly influenced Rousseau. Kant recognized in
Rousseau a romantic obscurantism, despite his admiration for
the Social Contract.
No discussion of Platonic and Marcusian radical aesthetics
would be complete without an explanation of why it is partic­
ularly appropriate that Popper’s arguments he used to refute
them. The Marcuse-Popper debate was one of the many contro­
versies that have enlivened German sociology over the years.
First there was the controversy led by Max Weber on the axiol­
ogical neutrality of the social sciences. Next came the positivist
controversy between Adorno and Popper, later the debate
between Hans Albert and Jurgen Habermas, and finally that
between the latter and Arnold Gehlen regarding values in the
social sciences.16'
The one point I should like to make is that I agree with
Popper in favoring clear, written commentary over Marcuse's
voluntary confessions or avowals. To illustrate, let us compare
the respective statements of Popper and Marcuse on Adorno.
Popper criticized Adorno’s writing style because it was confus­
ing. When Adorno wrote (in German), "Totality has no exist-
8() Herbert M ax use's L'tof/iu
cnee outside of that to which it gives cohesion, and in which its
components are to he found," he could have simply said that
society consists ol social relations.lhM In contrast, Marcuse
remarked of Adorno (also in German), “His language is exces­
sive because of the fear of succumbing to reification, . . . the
fear of being too easily understood and becoming familiar and
theref ore misunderstood. I must admit that Adorno’s sentences
have often enraged me, . . . hut I think that is what they’re
supposed to do. And I don’t think I need be ashamed of it.”10 '
In an interview with Marcuse, Bryan Magee spoke of the
difficulty of reading work by the Frankfurt School in general.
At times Magee found them unintelligible—particularly Adorno.
He therefore asked Marcuse's opinion, knowing that Marcuse
considered Adorno a true genius. Marcuse replied that he
agreed with Magee to a point, admitting that there were several
passages in Adorno that he did not understand. He excused
Adorno, however, on the grounds that there was a possible
danger in prematurely popularizing the terrible and complex
problems of today.1
I must admit that I share Marcuse's reservations in this
respect. Language can distance us from the real world. It can
isolate us from the world of things unless we are seeking to
make contact through philosophy. If I choose Popper and
reform rather than Marcuse and revolution, it is not to exclude
Marcuse, but in fact to include him. In the final decades of the
twentieth century, I think nothing is more important than being
able to understand Marcuse’s discussion of the "end." Can theory
ever be the same after Auschwitz? And does not the real possi­
bility of humanity's nuclear destruction force us to find new
means of expression? The answer is yes, and this is what Marcuse
understood in his way. It is important now and for the fore­
seeable future to comprehend Marcuse’s apocalyptic message,
his cry of despair. He pushed his theory to the limit, to the
point where it became an urgent warning. And if we follow the
reasonable course of maximal reform instead of universal revo­
lution (which Marcuse admitted was impossible), we do not
thereby deny the importance of dialectical imagination, aesthetic
or otherwise. The Popper-Marcuse controversy must not make
us forget the true debate of the twentieth century. This is the
inspiration we should derive from Popper, who said, “1assuredly
do not think that the debate about social reform must be
 Marcuse’s Romantic Aesthetics 87
confined to those who begin by demanding that they he recog­
nized as practical revolutionaries, and who consider the only
function of the revolutionary intellectual to be the deliberate
flaunting of all that is most repugnant in our social life (outside
their strictly sociological context).”171
It is my contention that reality is complex and that language,
as part of reality, is equally complex. It must remain that way,
to the extent that it reflects the intricacies of reality while
attempting to enlighten it through knowledge. The existence
of such knowledge is beyond question, because without it we
would be in total darkness. It is for each one of us to enlighten
reality as best we may, for the flicker of shadows on the wall
of the cave is perhaps all we shall ever know.
 IV

Marcuse’s
Ideological Polidcs
Inevitably, when we think of Mart use the phrase “political liber­
ation" conies to mind. Yet there seems to be widespread confu­
sion as to what this phrase means, and more particularly, what
Marcuse meant by it.
Martin jay, in his article on Marcuse and "The Metapolitics
of Utopianism," ended with the following words: "The political
imperative that follows from all of this is the cul-de-sac of apoc­
alyptic metapolitics, which is really no politics at all."1 Jay’s
conclusion was correct, in mv view. He had reached it after
4

showing that the principal form of political action advocated

by Marcuse was the Great Refusal. This involved the aeslhe-
tici/ation of politics, which amounted to a complete rejection
of the mechanisms of political change in the existing system.
Rejection of present political mechanisms is easy to justify, since
they all too often fail to live up to their promises. But a total
and final ref usal, without appeal, is in fact a rejection of politics
itself. I cannot believe that politics is destined to disappear from
our lives at some future period. Political activity is a basic, specific
activity, which works toward a clearly determined goal and has
its own dynamic. It is from this standpoint that I want to exam­
ine what Marcuse meant by political liberation, as well as discuss
his political economy and evaluate his ideological politics.
Marcuse believed that everything today is political. The ulti­
mate goal to which he dedicated himself was total emancipation
of the human race and of the individual. Total emancipation
therefore meant complete freedom from politics. "Political
freedom would mean liberation of the individuals from politics
over which they have no effective control,” he asserted.-’ What
we have to ask ourselves, however, is whether such a position
implies a false conception of freedom, and whether it confuses
liberty with liberties.
 Marcuse's Ideological Politics 89
1 feel it is important to be aware of the fundamental distinc­
tion between liberty and liberties. Raymond Aron, in his Essai sin­
ks liberies, has reminded us of this distinction in his commentary
on passages from Alexis de Tocjueville.5The use of the notion
of liberty in the singular has grown with the development of
individualism in contemporary Western civilization. The prob­
lem was masterfully dealt with by C. B. Macpherson in The
Political Theoiy of Possesswe Individualism and The Life and Times
of Liberal Democracy.1 Let us consider, at this juncture, the
distinction between the libertarian spirit, which seeks liberty, and
the liberal spirit, which sees things in terms of liberties.
It is characteristic of the libertarian spirit to speak of liberty
in the singular, a tendency that apparently goes back to the
eighteenth century, when ideologies began to assume greater
importance. Previous to this, people spoke of liberties in the
plural, in the sense of freedoms or privileges. These two notions
of liberty conceal an underlying opposition between the “liber­
tarian spirit” and the “liberal spirit.” Marcuse subscribed to a
libertarian humanism, recognizing that “freedom is libera­
tion.”^ But the desire for total liberation may carry with it the
danger of freedom from liberty itself. What, therefore, is the
most acceptible concept of liberty: liberty as liberation, liberties
in the sense of specific feedoms, or liberty as an abstract, ideal
concept?
Let us first consider liberty as liberation. Basically, this means
total liberty, which presupposes the elimination of all religious,
economic, and political alienation in the Marxist sense. There
is a valid aspect to this concept of liberty. In my view, Marx
was right to condemn the conditions of freedom created by the
modern state and to denounce the mechanisms that enslave us
to a brutally indifferent society. It is true to say that if liberty
is not formally enshrined it will never contribute to human
liberation. However, even though the criticism implied by the
Marxist conception of liberty is accurate, it does not necessarily
mean that we must uphold the dream of total liberation. By
criticizing liberty as an abstract concept that can never be real­
ized, and favoring liberation as a historical process to be imple­
mented by a “transcendental project,” Marcuse was elevating
the very thing that Marx made a point of bringing down to
earth, at least partially. Marcuse deliberately put liberty-as-
liberation back on an eschatalogical plane, that is to say, he
90 Herbert Marcuse’s Utopia
related it to a future or final goal. It was from the eschatalogical
standpoint that lie was interested in Marx’s thought.h
The concept of liberty iu the plural, on the other hand, seems
to me to describe reasonably well the liberal spirit that sees a
form of liberty for each human activity. I hese various forms
of liberty compete with one another. Political freedom may
curtail economic freedom. For the liberal spirit, the freedoms
that matter are those which, although described as formal, have
a concrete existence, such as freedom of speech, freedom of
conscience, the right to tree assembly, and so on. These concrete
liberties can guarantee us a minimum of freedom, even if they
cannot always provide the maximum. In politics, it is a mistake
always to desire the ideal maximum and disdain the concretely
possible.
Liberty in the singular, or in the abstract, is an ultimate goal.
As such, its role is to orient human activity as a whole. Human
activity can be inspired by liberty as a norm or model, but that
is all. On this plane it will always be a project. What is involved
is the final or eschatalogical goal which is the common denom­
inator of all human activity. This, according to Julien Freund,
can be clearly distinguished from other planes of finality: the
teleological, which makes it possible to determine the specific
goal of a given activity, and the technological, which is the level
where concrete and limited objectives can be realized.7 These
distinctions, although formal in one sense, are nevertheless very
useful in helping us understand reality—reality being always
rather indistinctly perceived.
The same is true of the three-way distinction among liberty-
as-libcration, liberties, and liberty in the singular. For one thing,
it enables us to keep a clear mental picture of the difference
between the elusive vision of total emancipation and the mini­
mum of liberty to be gained through political activity. For the
liberal spirit, what matters is that man should achieve the great­
est possible liberty, despite the inevitable and inherent
constraints of social life. This spirit deems that liberty is today
part of the human condition. By contrast, the libertarian spirit,
to which Marcuse subscribed, upholds the opposite view. It sees
contemporary civilization as controlling all free activities such
as economics, politics, ethics, and philosophy, and therefore
blocking the genuine liberation made possible by technological
progress through increased leisure. If man were not repressed,
 Alaicitse’s Ideological Politics 91
that is to say, obliged to conform to the system, he could exercise
his creativity in any field he chose to. Man thinks he is econom­
ically free today because he can choose among a variety of prod­
ucts; but in the libertarian view this is not freedom. Politically
there is no genuine freedom either, because government and
opposition alike support the status quo. On the level of ethics,
society is only superficially permissive; instincts are not really
liberated, since sexuality, for example, has been integrated into
the consumer society. As for intellectual activity, it has lost its
critical powers to such an extent that only utopia can fill the
vacuum. Real philosophy, that is, philosophy that has kept its
liberating function, cannot escape the domination of facts except
by becoming critical theory that paves the way for liberation,
even though the forces of liberation may not exist in our time.
Accordingly, Marcuse’s critical theory was part and parcel of
those theories of emancipation that ask man to hope for liber­
ation in order to bring it about, thereby contributing to his
future freedom. In other words, man is asked to wait for others
in the future to take on the cause of his liberty . According to
Marcuse, man can, in the present, actively choose to believe
that maximum liberty is historically attainable in the here and
now, despite the fact that the opposition portrays such liberty
as utopian: ’’The idea of a different form of Reason and Freedom,
envisioned by dialectical idealism as icell as materialism, appears again
as Utopia. But the triumph of regressive and retarding forces does not
vitiate the truth of this Utopia. The total mobilization of society
against the ultimate liberation of the individual, which consti­
tutes the historical content of the present period, indicates how
real is the possibility of this liberation.”8 But what chance of
success does the historical process of liberation actually have,
given—as Marcuse admitted—that “it has its right and wrong,
its truth and falsehood’’?9
This liberating process necessarily involves economics. But
pure economics did not interest Marcuse. It was only Marxist
political economics that attracted him. The focus of his attrac­
tion can be described in terms formulated by Roger Garaudy:
“The central point, from which we get a panoramic view of all
the avenues of Marxist thought, is our awareness of man’s basic
situation within capitalist society. Marx revealed the basic
contradiction inherent in this situation: the birth and growth
of capitalism have created both the conditions for unlimited
92 Herbert Marcuse's Utopia
expansion for all men, and the conditions of man s enslave­
ment.M,n
How can the historical process overcome this contradiction?
Institutions alone cannot achieve it. The men and women whose
fate is affected hv the process must be involved. Marx’s mate­
rialist dialectic and his humanism unite in asserting that human
growth and fulfilment can only come about through the real­
ization of a historical possibility, outside of any metaphysical
considerations. But how, we may ask, can political economics
as such resolve the contradiction that has arisen “between the
possibilities of unlimited human development and the <le facto
enslavement of the majority of human beings"?11Roger Garau-
dy’s answer was as follows: “In speaking of man’s relationship
to nature, Marx, in his critique of political economics, evoked
the hopes and failures of the Industrial Revolution imple­
mented by capitalism, which created real possibilities while
preventing their realization."11’ In theory, Marcuse turned his
attention to this same contradiction. However, what Marx
applied to industrial society, Marcuse reinterpreted for the new
historical conditions produced by the technological develop­
ment of what he termed “advanced industrial society.” In One-
Dimensional Man, for example, he explained this underlying
contradiction of our civilization by showing how current tech­
nology is capable of creating conditions that would assure a
peaceful existence, while this same technology is firmly
entrenched in a status quo that conditions humans to continue
the battle for survival and therefore to oppose any social alter­
native.1' The idea that the productive forces which develop
within the capitalist system destroy the potential for liberation
was not new, since it was in line with traditional Marxism. As
Andre Gorz pointed out, it was “one of Herbert Marcuse’s central
theses.”11 But Marcuse differed from orthodox Marxist tradi­
tion, not as to the existence of such a contradiction, but on how
to overcome it. According to the orthodox view, the system
must be fought from within. For Marcuse, however, the system
could only be overcome from outside—from the utopian base
of a non-repressive civilization made possible by scientific and
technical development. "The End of Utopia" made it even more
explicit. He began by admitting that “the notion of the end of
utopia implies the necessity ol at least discussing a new defi­
nition of socialism. I he discussion would be based on the (pies-
 Marcuse's Ideological Politics 93
tion of whether decisive elements of the Marxian concept of
socialism do not belong to a new obsolete stage in the devel­
opment of the forces of production.”13 He then added: "All
the material and intellectual forces which could be put to work
for the realization of a free society are at hand. That they are
not used for that purpose is to be attributed to the total mobi­
lization of existing society against its own potential for libera­
tion.” ’ Consequently, there was a difference between the old
socialism of Marx and the new socialism of Marcuse. For Marx,
the transition to a classless society was to be carried out through
an intermediary stage, essentially the dictatorship of the prole­
tariat. As a socialist, Marcuse considered utopia immediately
realizable, explaining that “the unrealistic sound of these prop­
ositions is indicative, not of their utopian character, but of the
strength of the forces which prevent their realization."17
Despite these divergences, Marcusian economics neverthe­
less belonged to the Marxist type. And like the latter, his
economics assumed a sociological dimension that extended to
the place and significance of economics in society as a whole.
Before reviewing Marcusian economics, however, it would be
helpful to take a brief look at Marcuse’s perspective of society
as a whole. This has been definitively outlined by George Kateb
in his article “The Political Thought of Herbert Marcuse.”18 He
reduced Marcuse’s thinking to Five theses:
1) a d v a n c e d in d u s tr ia l s o c ie ty , o r th e a f f lu e n t s o c ie ty , in
t h e W e s t, w ith t h e U n it e d S ta te s fa r th e st a lo n g , is
p r e p o n d e r a n t ly e v il, b o th fo r th e h a r m it d o e s a n d th e
g o o d it p r e v e n t s , in te r n a lly a n d e x te r n a lly :
2 ) o n b a la n c e , a n d in te r n a lly , th e S o v ie t U n io n is w o r s e in
a c tu a lity , b e t t e r in p o te n tia lity , but w ith n o g u a r a n te e th at
it w ill in fa c t b e c o m e b e tte r ;
3 ) th e e v il o f e a c h s y s te m is n o t c o r r e c ta b le p e a c e f u lly , by
t h o s e in c o n t r o l o r by th e ir lik e ly h e ir s;
4 ) in t h e a b s tr a c t, r e v o lu tio n may t h e r e f o r e b e ju s tifia b le ;
5 ) w e may b e w it n e s s in g th e e m e r g e n c e o f c e r ta in fo r c e s
th a t c o u ld p e r h a p s b r in g a b o u t q u a lita tiv e , g e n u in e ly
r e v o lu t io n a r y c h a n g e s in t h e W e s t, w h ile d e v e lo p m e n t s in
t h e S o v ie t b lo c a r e , i f a n y t h in g , m o r e p r o b le m a tic .

To round out this picture, I would like to add a further thesis.

'Fite “totalitarian” revolution,1'1 which “may take all but a
94 Herbert Marcuse's l tafna
century,”'20 is at this moment impossible,21 even il the utopia
of a noil-repressive civilization is realizable."
The fact that Marcuse has a Marxist perspective meant that
bis economics involved seeking out basic economic contradic­
tions that would "explode" society. As Marcuse said, "1 he revo-
lutionary process always begins with and in economic crisis."'’
We can summarize bis economic theories, as John Fry d id ,'1in
the following manner. The economy of advanced industrial
society, and more especially of North American capitalist soci­
ety, is prosperous and stable.2’ Externally, this stability is due
to “a defense-bused economy,"2*’ a “war economy,’’2' or “the
Western defense economy.'"2S Internally, stability is assured by
the ability to eliminate cyclical crises,'20 and to deal peacefully
with class conflict by producing an ever-larger amount of
commodities.’" In such an economy, production is continually
increasing because it can rely on accelerated technological
development.’1 Distribution of goods is carried to the point of
waste, profitable for some, detrim ental to o th ers.’2 The
economic expansion of advanced industrial society is guaran­
teed, because it is able to contain the explosive situation caused
by the gap between itself and the Third World.” It is all the
more successful because the Third World is the only genuinely
revolutionary force directed against it.’1 This force should serve
as an example to the New Left,” even though, all things consid­
ered, it does not pose a serious threat.3*’
In Marcuse’s view, these major contradictions ought to
explode the system from within because, as he pointed out,
“The notion that the liberating historical forces develop within
the established society is a cornerstone of Marxian theory."37
But this synthesis was far from proving that the system was
likely to explode. On the contrary, it demonstrated its stability.
Why did Marcuse emphasize the stability of the North Amer­
ican economic system rather than show us the real weaknesses
that could bring about its destruction? After all, this was one
of the essential aims of his proposed revolution. In other words,
why did he state that “the chain of exploitation must break at
its strongest link”?38 The answer is that Marcusian critical theory,
although Marxist in type, differed widely from Marxist critical
theory. The latter analyzed our alienation, while Marcuse
described the “closing" of our political and intellectual universe.
1he philosophy of alienation, by revealing the workers’ predic­
 Marcuse’s Ideological Politics 95
ament, incites them to reject the conditions that cause it. But
a philosophy of containment, which shows how contented
workers are with their lot, cannot reveal the negative aspects
of the system from within. This is why, wrote Marcuse, “qual­
itative change appears possible only as a change from without.”™
1 he many and obvious internal contradictions of the system
are disappearing. Marxist theory taught us that poverty
increased as wealth accumulated, whereas Marcuse pointed out
that today the working class enjoys the advantages of progress
through ever-increasing consumption. Marxist theory was based
on class conflict, whereas Marcuse held that today classes are
becoming so uniform that “the Marxian ‘proletariat’ is a mythol­
ogical concept.”10 Consequently, only one contradiction remains,
and it can only be seen by stepping outside the objectives of
the present economic system. This contradiction involves the
omnipresence of repression on one hand, and the real possi­
bility of liberating ourselves on the other. Marcuse’s economic
theory cannot, therefore, offer us a collective, historical, and
transcendent project.11
As a solution, Marcuse’s non-competitive economy has
numerous snares for the unwary, even though Marcuse held
that it would be historically possible during the transition from
a period of scarcity to a period of affluence. The fact is, we
have been laboring under a misapprehension as to the nature
of violence. For almost two centuries it was thought that viol­
ence was linked to an economic regime of scarcity, and inversely
that the onset of a regime of affluence would provide a remedy.
Not only Marx, but Frederic Bastiat, Saint-Simon, and Auguste
Comte believed it.12 Our present experience, however, shows
that they were mistaken. The great sociologists of the early
twentieth-century, such as Emile Durkheim, Vilfredo Pareto,
and Max Weber, forced us to recognize that violence in an
affluent society, far from decreasing, finds new causes for
erupting. However, we cannot therefore conclude that a period
of affluence automatically produces greater violence. T his would
imply an intellectual conf usion between economics and politics,
since the satisfaction of needs is an economic consideration,
whereas the containment of violence is political.
To expect politics to solve all economic problems would
amount to politicism. But a politician’s job is to supervise social
organization so that human beings can live together for their
96 Herbert Marcuse’s Utopia
maximum, mutual benefit, thereby permitting the greatest
possible growth and fulfilment of each individual and group
in all human activities—science, art, law, and so on.
If we reject politicism, then by implication we also reject ideo-
logism, for another way of expressing the idea that “everything
is politics” is to say that “everything is ideology.” And yet it was
all right for Marcuse to speak of ideology in the singular, as
did Adorno, whom he quotes: “Nothing remains of ideology
but the recognition of that which is—model for] of a behavior
which submits to the overwhelming power of the established
state of affairs.”1* To avoid the pitfalls of ideologism, however,
we can make a point of speaking of ideologies in the plural, as
recommended by Olivier Reboul at the beginning of Langage
et ideologic: “When studying ideology, we ought only to use this
term in the plural, and take care not to evaluate any particular
one as though it were the only ideology.”" It is interesting to
note that we talk of Marcuse’s ideological politics and not his
ideology. Usage has confirmed this distinction between adjec­
tive and noun. As Reboul put it: “No one says, ‘This is my
ideology.’ Some left wing parties do talk of their ‘ideological
battles,’ it is true, but this is because the adjective has a less
deprecatory connotation than the noun. It is as if the word
‘ideology’ referred not only to what is ideological, but to what
is exclusively ideological.” 13
In order to avoid purely polemical considerations, I have not
discussed Marcuse’s ideology in the following pages. Instead,
I have dealt with his ideological politics using Reboul’s working
definition, which combines those of Julien Freund and Jean
Baechler.1'’ To put it another way, I have consciously refused
to use ideology as a purely negative term, because it has the
positive function of enabling people to engage in discussion
without violence. It is this positive aspect of ideology' that Reboul
propounded in his article La Violence et 1'ideologic, which appeared
two years before his book.17 What, therefore, are the principal
characteristics of Marcuse’s ideological politics? And what
reservations have we?
As William Leiss, John David Ober, and Erica Sherover have
clearly expressed it, “The essential element of Marcuse’s teach­
ing is that knowledge is partisan."1* It is a good thing for politics
to be partisan in the sense that we are invited to take sides,
choice being the first and foremost consideration. But what are
 Marcuse's Ideological Politics 97
the choices? We of course know, as Marcuse rightly said, that
no society in history has been able to offer its members the full
range of possibilities open to humankind. Ideally, the widest
possible choice is offered. But in lact this is not what happens.
Choices are limited. Some people try to make choices other than
those offered by a given society in the here and now, appearing
as partisans of the spirit of revolution. There is nothing intrins­
ically wrong with this. All shades of opinion have a right to be
expressed, and all parties a right to be represented. We subscribe
to the premise that pluralism offers the greatest number of
choices. The range of choice, however, depends on one impor­
tant condition: whether or not members of a given society can
make contact with people from outside that society—with
foreigners, in other words. For centuries, European civilization
fulfilled this condition, because its basic drive since the Renais­
sance was to explore the universe. The Europe of our day, by
contrast, seems to be faced with a kind of closed-door mentality
in the sense that it has apparently reached the limit of its explor­
atory thrust. The result is a turning inward, or decadence.
No further outside contribution can revolutionize society. It is
no longer sufficient to describe how some traveler fresh from
foreign parts has brought a new model to stimulate a change
in outlook. This is what Sir Thomas More 'did through the
accounts of that inveterate gossip, Raphael Hylhlodaeus (or
Raphael Nonsenso, as Paul Turner rendered it in his Penguin
Classics translation). Classic literary utopia has given way to a
transcendent project, an indeterminate utopia which tells us to
demolish our prison in order to build a house in its place, before
we have the detailed blueprints for its construction. We must
first bring about the revolution, in other words, and put off
until later the search for new ways to organize society. Marcuse
was thus taking refuge in revolutionarism, or the belief in action
for its own sake, the cult of action pure and simple. But instead
of merely inviting us to take sides as any healthy politics would,
even if it were a question of siding against the establishment,
Marcuse retreated to ideological politics—|X)litics that takes sides
because, in addition to being partisan, it is also partial. The
epigraphs chosen by Marcuse for the opening pages of Philo­
sophic el Revolution testify eloquently to this. Me uses two quota­
tions from Feuerbach. The first states that in order to inau­
gurate a new era, humanity must make a clean break with the
98 Herbert Marcuse's Utopia
past: it must adopt the position that all that has gone before is,
in principle, worthless; consequently it must occasionally throw
out the baby with the bathwater; it must be unjust, partial.’1
The other is the thesis that practice will resolve those doubts
which theory has been unable to solve. ’2
Marcuse’s ideological politics were based on a future stand,
this being one of the distinctive marks of revolutionary and/or
utopian romanticism, as Michael Loewy has shown. 1his form
of politics sees history as progress, and tries to make us forget
that politics should envisage the worst eventualities in order to
avoid them. It attempts to convince us either that tomorrow’s
humanity will possess greater qualities, or else that today’s
humanity has lost all the great qualities it once hatl. While we
can quite legitimately predict that our living conditions are
continually improving in the light of technological develop­
ment, it is far less legitimate to reduce our ancestors to medi­
ocrities.
Politics are not only partisan, however. They have a polar­
izing effect, as Marcuse’s short work, Repressive Tolerance,
demonstrated. There is no room for intermediate views: every­
thing is black or white. One claims to understand the theory
or practice of everybody, even if nobody actually thinks or prac­
tices in a given way. One sees oneself, as Marcuse did, in various
forms of expression, such as a slogan:
I w o u ld lik e to ta k e a s a m o t t o o f m y talk o n e o f th e
in s c r ip tio n s o n t h e w a lls o f th e S ot b o n n e in P a ris, w h ic h
s e e m s to m a r k t h e v e r y e s s e n c e o f w h a t is g o in g o n to d a y .
T h e in s c r ip tio n s a id , “S o y o n s r e a lis te s , d e m a n d o n s
I’im p o s s ib le .” L et u s h e r e a lis tic , let u s a sk fo r th e
im p o s s ib le .

a popular song:
I saw a n d p a r tic ip a te d in th e ir d e m o n s t r a t io n s a g a in s t th e
w a r in V ie t n a m , w h e n 1 h e a r d th e m s in g in g th e s o n g s o f
B o b D y la n , I s o m e h o w fe lt, a n d it is v e r y h a r d to d e f in e ,
th a t this is really the only revolutionary language lejt today."

a movement:
Ideological differences a n d d iv is o n s b e c o m e u tte r ly ir r e le v a n t
a n d r id ic u lo u s w h e n s u c h a m a ss b a s e h a s y e t to b e
cre a ted .
 Marcuse's Ideological Politics 99
a distinctive aphorism:
T h e c la ss ic a l a lt e r n a t iv e " so c ia lism o r b a rb a rism " is m o r e
u r g e n t t o d a y th a n e v e r b e f o r e .57

or in relation to two mutually exclusive poles: for example,

nationalism and revolution in the Weimar Republic,58 to which
Marcuse continually related himself.
In this way Marcuse believed he could escape what he referred
to as the most vicious of today’s ideologies, that which ridicules
projections of a free society because it views such a society as
speculative and utopian.5'1
The pressure on ideologies to justify their position is some­
what superfluous, considering that they are based on unshak­
able conviction and supported by a following that at times
borders on the fanatic. Nevertheless there is pressure, and it
is all the greater because it is symptomatic of another need, the
need for increasing rationalization. There is a general idea that
everything must be based on reason, much as everything must
be explained by science. Faith seems to have no clearly defined
place, with the result that it is everywhere. In politics, especially,
the belief exists that it is possible to base ideological choices on
reason. Marcuse chose total emancipation, total liberation, but
how did he justify this choice?
Marcuse turned to reason to justify his utopianism, despite
the fact that he considered reason a repressive concept.*’0 “The
free play of thought and imagination,” he wrote, “assumes a
rational and directing function in the realization of a pacified
existence of man and nature.”01 Nevertheless, it is easy to show
that utopianism is the result of bad rationalization, as Karl
Popper did so effectively.02 Utopianism has a specific method
of reasoning: an action is rational if, and only if, we have an
end in view; only the end or goal of an action can tell us whether
we are acting rationally. Let us apply this argument to politics:
political action is only rational if it pursues an end. For Marcuse,
this end could only be the utopia of “pacified existence,” in
which political action would only be rational in relation to what-
ought-to-be, that is, to a utopian end. The historical process which
can lead us to this final state is a secondary consideration. All
processes, all means that can put us on the historical path toward
realization of ultimate goals are supposedly good, including
violence. But in trying to justify everything, one ends by justi­
100 Herbert Marcuse's Utopia
fying nothing. Utopianism is indeed a very attractive theory,
but it is dangerous and pernicious: dangerous, because it can
lead us into violence, and pernicious, because it is impossible
to determine ultimate goals scientifically.
Incidentally, Marcuse did not try to provide scientific justi­
fications. To resist the pseudo-science of positivism, he stated
categorically that “critical theory preserves obstinacy as a genu­
ine quality of philosophical thought.”fa3 (We might also say
“persistence” or “opinionatedness” for the original German
Eigetisinn.) He argued in such a way as to make us believe that
any other choice was impossible. By opting for happiness and
freedom at the outset, and particularly by refusing to consider
the initial choice as multiple in nature, he gave ultimate goals
preference over concrete, limited objectives, the latter being
relegated to a more or less distant future. He refused to take
into account the fact that values have conflicting interests and
obey many gods, so to speak, and instead used ultimate goals
as a justification in a jumble of truths, experiences, prejudices,
appearances, facts, myths, beliefs, and certitudes.
Of course, Marcuse’s political justifications were not all nega­
tive or polemical, but they might well become so if the reali­
zation of concrete objectives were ignored, or if one were not
true to one’s own cause. Both these reservations applied to
Marcuse. In the first place, he was not concerned with concrete
objectives. For him, these were details to be agreed on later.'’1
He asked us to sign a blank check, more or less. Then again,
he described himself as a false friend because he urged that
everything must be destroyed and changed while at the same
time believing that a good many American universities must be
protected as bastions of free and critical thought, and as one
of the rare instances where it was possible to realize aims within
existing institutions.'”
But the fact of describing himself as a traitor to the move­
ment in no way eliminated the treason. Indeed, it added to the
confusion. This did not deter Marcuse, however, since he rather
liked confusion.
1 should point out that the confusion meant here is not,
strictly speaking, that arising from intellectual error, which could
be refuted by logical argument. What we are talking about is
ideological confusion, which is essentially dissimulation. Olivier
Reboul wrote: “An ideology necessarily dissimulates. Not only
 Marcuse's Ideological Politics 101
must it cover up facts that could be used to refute it, or hide
the valid reasons of its adversaries, but also, and above all, it
must disguise its own nature. To admit the basis of its ideology
would be to destroy itself, as light destroys shadow.”66 In order
not to destroy itself, therefore, Marcuse’s ideological politics
had to assume an extreme position. His ideology had to be all-
embracing, total, and that is why it took the name of utopia.67
Ideology itself became a totalitarian system “that ceases to serve
politics in order to make politics subservient.”68 There is
obviously nothing wrong in trying to uncover and understand
all the events that influence politics or are influenced by them.
But the attempt to politicize everything ends by completely
obscuring politics as an activity in itself. Reality is confused
enough without deliberately adding to the confusion, whether
by applying a double standard in discussing various circum­
stances, by using only those facts that support one’s own argu­
ment, or by systematically ignoring the standard requirements
of philosophical thought. And yet this is exactly what Marcuse
did.
Jean Marabini, who lived with Marcuse for several weeks
some time before his death, reported him as saying, “There
are .. . points on which I am in total agreement with Voltaire
and Marx: one must fight in order that even one’s adversaries
may have freedom of expression.'
Nevertheless, Marcuse more than once stated the contrary.
In answer to a question during the debate on “The Problem
of Violence and the Radical Opposition,” he said, “We should
concentrate energy and time on those strata and groups of which
we can assume that they will listen and that they can still think.’’70
In a conversation with Richard Kearney, he again distinguished
between those with whom it is worth arguing, and those with
whom it is better to refrain. “A human being who today still
thinks that the world ought not to be changed is below the level
of discussion.”71 Similarly he made it clear in Habermas’s pres­
ence that if someone did not accept the fact (hat his statements
were founded on two immutable value judgments, “there is no
room for discussion.” He went on to enunciate the two main
premises of his thought and work.72
Marcuse seemed to apply a double standard when speaking
of facts. In the first place, we should take no account of facts
that others invoke to support their arguments (by others is meant
102 Herbert Marcuse's Utopia
die enemies of total revolution), because “reality is other and
more than that codified in the logic and language o( facts," and
we need to “break the power of facts over the world.”7’’ However,
when it was a question of the facts on which Marcuse based the
defense of one of bis major theses on the revolutionary agent,
he took a different approach.'1Why? Because “we can no longer
speak of the proletariat as the majority of the population," he
told Jean Elleinstein. “We no longer talk of the dictatorship of
the proletariat. And the reason is the facts."''
Astounding as it may seem, Marcuse held that confusion is
a characteristic of philosophical thought. The following is a
highly significant anecdote recounted by Robert Paul Wolff,
who co-authored A Critique of Pure Tolerance with Barrington
Moore and Marcuse. The authors were looking for a title agree­
able to all. In order to find a common ground, Wolff suggested
that it would at least be possible to agree on the desirability of
a clear title. At this Marcuse lost his temper and stated brusquely
that “in philosophy unclarity was a virtue”!70
We all admit that there is confusion in reality. We also must
recognize that philosophical thought to some extent reflects this
confusion. But reflection, and in particular philosophical
reflection, is an attempt to throw some light on this confusion
rather than obscure it even further. Philosophical thought that
tries to discern the meaning of things and events normally
proceeds by two complementary roads. It first establishes an
initial relationship between an event and one or several other
events, in order to distinguish between them. It then establishes
a second relationship between the event in question and events
in general. Philosophy thus elaborates meanings, first through
their relationship to the parts in order to gain a clear under­
standing of the specificity of each part, and secondly through
their relationship to the whole, in order to arrive at an overall
or global understanding. In the first instance, we can speak of
a desire for clarification or an awareness of distinctions (clarity);
in the second, of a desire to understand everything or an aware­
ness of bidden relationships (depth).'7
Marcuse almost always took a macro-sociological perspec­
tive—in other words, the large view. On this plane the power
of his thought inspired a great many radicals. His weakness lay
at the level of distinctions. By refusing all formalism, be fell
into the major formalistic trap of asserting that all the right is
 Marcuse's Ideological Politics 103
on one’s own side, and that everyone else is wrong. Since he
could not avoid distinctions (it is impossible to think without
distinctions), he was then confined by ail “inflexible inani-
chaean cleavage” characteristic of leftism, as Jean Roy has indi­
cated.78 I o the extent that Marcuse and leftists in general have
subscribed to this distinction between we and they, the good
and the bad, in order to convince others, they have no longer
been willing to operate on the level of mere ideological dissi­
mulation, but have used the power of words for linguistic and
politico-cultural subversion.
In an article in the Los Angeles Times at Marcuse’s death, Russell
Jacoby rightly pointed out that “Marcuse was not only a subver­
sive; he was subversive to the subversives.”7U Nevertheless,
Marcuse himself made a distinction between his status as an
intellectual and that of revolutionary activists. “I particularly
object to the juxtaposition of my name and photograph with
those of Che Guevara, Debray, Rudi Dutschke, etc., because
these men have truly risked and are still risking their lives in
the battle for a more human society, whereas I participate in
this battle only through my words and my ideas. It is a funda­
mental difference.”80 Marcuse wanted to be, and was, a utopian
or romantic revolutionary. And here the confusion resulting
from his romanticism almost led him to contradict himself. On
one hand, he admitted that a fundamental change was probably
possible without violence, particularly in the United States.81
On the other, he recognized that he was preaching violence in
order to achieve a completely pacified society.82 While he felt
somewhat embarassed at passing for a prophet or guru of the
New Left, he was proud that his writing was fanning the fires
of political confrontation on campuses, in black ghettoes, or in
pitched battles with the police. Donald Robinson, in his work
on The 100 Most Important People in the World Today, correctly
identified Marcuse as the one who “firmly supports the violent
moves of frenetic activists all over the world.’’81 For Marcuse,
the important thing was not to implement any particular revo­
lution, but to prepare for revolution in general, or total revo­
lution, "to develop the consciousness that will bring about a
revolutionary situation,"8' to expose everything that impedes
the advent of "the impossible revolution,” as he called it,8 ’ and
to encourage the hope for qualitative change inherent in the
meaning of “a qualitative leap.” He was not interested in assuni-
104 Herbert Marcuse’s Utopia
mg power, which is the real goal ol a revolution, but in the
destruction of power, which is the goal of subversion. For him,
the revolution took place on the plane of ultimate goals, and
subversion was the means to a revolutionary situation rich in
all the promises of utopia. There is, therefore, a difference
between subversive and revolutionary practice, a difference that
Mikel Dufrenne clearly identified in his Sulwersion-pemersion
Revolutionary practice inspired by Marxism denounces utopia,
whereas subversive practice looks to it as a goal. A century of
Marxist revolutionary practice lias brought about political
change—political change that has become bogged down in
bureaucracy and dogma, with the result that today the New
Left has fallen into disrepute. Recognizing that political revo­
lution has not produced the new man so eagerly awaited, the
subversive practice of the New Left ceased to oppose power in
order to oppose society, culture, and the system. As it is impos­
sible to change the entire system through revolution, the system
is therefore attacked piecemeal; “but because the system consti­
tutes a totality,” explains Mikel Dufrenne, “in order to make
inroads at particular points, subversion attacks it as a whole."87
Subersive practice “operates on a terrain other than politics.”88
It is a utopian practice,Hy a practice aimed at creating the new
man right away, and which is connected to what Marcuse calls
“the aesthetic-erotic dimension,"'*0 or “the moral sexual rebel­
lion.”'" The transformation of individuals, who in turn will be
able to transform the system, must take place at the level where
the erotic, the aesthetic, and the ethical meet. In the final anal­
ysis, subjective factors override objective factors so that there
is no real objective means of subversion.
In the end, as with most utopias, it was on the education of
individuals that Marcuse counted most. And yet, with typical
ambiguity, when he spoke of preferring the dictatorship of
intellectuals to that of the proletariat,'*2 it was in a spirit of
deliberate provocation/*3
 V

Marcuse’s
Revolutionary Ethics
Like Rousseau, Marcuse believed in the value of negative
philosophy. One must know that-which-is-nol in order to judge
properly thal-which-is.' The comparison of "that-which-is" to
“that-which-is-not” is the basic requirement of a system of ethics
that is increasingly critical.2 Marcuse demonstrated in his 1938
critique “On Hedonism” that from the ancient world through
the Christian Middle Ages to the bourgeois period, “The moral
interpretation of happiness, its subjection to a universal law of
reason, tolerated both the essential isolation of the autonomous
person and his actual limitation."' However, he himself used
morality to condemn present society because, he said, "morality
has long ceased to be mere ideology,”' and "the humanitarian
and moral arguments are not merely deceitful ideology. Rather,
they can and must become central social forces.’” In Marcuse’s
view, historical conditions changed sufficiently between 1938
and 19G7 to justify both the earlier condemnation of traditional
morality, and the later recourse to “a certain moral tradition,"
as in his 1958 comparison of Soviet and Western ethics in Soviet
Marxism.° On one hand there is the tradition of Western society—
a tradition that, according to Marcuse, presupposes the possi­
bility of fulfilling the nature of reasonable man within existing
institutions. On the other is the heretical tradition to which
Soviet and orthodox Marxist ethics belong with respect to their
use of the humanist ideals of the Enlightenment, the French
Revolution, and German idealism.7 The problem which Marcuse
enunciated was this: what conditions are needed to realize the
humanist ideal today? His solution was “libertarian socialism,”K
which in turn raised other problems. How did Marcuse resolve
the question, inherent in any utopia, of the relation between
the ethics of conscience and the ethics of responsibility? Why
did lie resort to a “double morality”? In the final analysis, did
106 Herbert Marcuse's (Jtof)ia
his use of the notion of "aesthetic morality" transform his poli-
ticism into moralism?
Max Weber’s famous distinction between the ethics of consci­
ence and responsibility in his essay, "Politics as a Vocation,” is
very useful in pinpointing the difficult relation between ethics
and politics.'* Paul Ricoeur employed it in his article," 1he I asks
of the Political Educator.”10 Weber’s solution to this basic para­
dox of action is well known. Reasonable action is based both
on responsibility, which guides the statesman in justifying his
actions, and on conscience, which guides the citizen in his critique
of the statesman. These complementary guidelines meet in the
reasonable man. Marcuse’s solution to this paradox is perhaps
less well known. Me formulated it by trying to imagine the crit­
icisms that, as he put it, "I hope you have long been addressing
to me" for having developed “a utopia in which it is asserted
that modern industrial society could soon reach a state in which
the principle of repression that has previously directed its
development will prove itself obsolete.”11 It was as though he
felt a need to clear himself: “It may be less irresponsible today
to depict a utopia that has a real basis than to defame as utopia
conditions and potentials that have long become realizable
possibilities.”12 Utopia, in fact, offers a good example of how
the ethics of conscience influence the ethics of responsibility.
As Ricoeur explained, it is the historical function of utopia to
give economic, social, and political activity a doubly human aim.
Humanity should be seen both as a totality guided by a universal
ethic, and as a singularity or a unique condition in which the
vocation of each individual is realized.1' I bis is why a healthy
balance must he maintained between the ethics of conscience
and responsibility.11 But in line with the rest of his philosophy,
Marcuse subordinated the ethics of responsibility to the ethics
of conscience, forgetting that, as Ricoeur pointed out, “A utopian
thesis, it is necessary to repeal, does not have an effectiveness
of its own; it has such only to the extent that it transforms step
by step the historical experience that we are able to make on
the level of institutions and on the level of industries. I bis is
why utopia becomes falsehood when it is not articulated correctly
concerning the possibilities offered to each epoch."15 It was
these concrete historical facts that Marcuse consciously and
deliberately suppressed, for example, during the discussion
following his remarks at the 1961 conference on Max Weber
 Marcuse’s Revolutionary Lillies 107
at Heidelberg. This passage has already been cited in another
context, but bears repeating here: “I would really like to confess
to Utopia for the simple reason that nowadays the concept of
Utopia has become meaningless. If we look at present-day intel­
lectual and material wealth, if we look at ourselves, what we
know and can do, there is actually nothing which rationally and
with a good conscience we should despise and denounce as
Utopian. We could actually do anything today. We could
certainly have a rational society, and just because that is such a
near possibility its actual realization is more “Utopian" than
ever before; the whole force of the status quo is mobilized against
it.”16
Basically, he was speaking of himself. Note, however, that
he spoke in the conditional, the utopian tense. We can observe,
as did Weber, that by adopting the ethics of conscience, Marcuse
became a prophet of the millenium.1' What is more, by setting
aside the ethics of responsibility he also postponed the choice
of the means suited to the desired end. The only thing he
retained was an ideal of perfection supposedly handed down
to us through two long and parallel traditions—the heretical
or revolutionary tradition, and the orthodox or reactionary
tradition. This brings us to the eternal problem of a double
moral standard: my ethics are good, yours are bad.
“I believe there is a double moral standard in history," stated
Marcuse unequivocally in answer to Julien Freund during the
discussion following his lecture on “Freedom and the Historical
Imperative.” In the lecture he had stated, “There has always
been a dual morality: that of the status q u o ,. .. and revolu­
tionary morality.”18 Marcuse used this dualist approach in judg­
ing a situation such as the Watergate scandal. Americans tried
to show that it was a case of exceptional corruption, an aber­
ration, he explained, when in fact it was merely “an extreme
political form of the normal state of things.” Watergate should
be seen in context, he maintained, the context being that of
American capitalism, which could only perpetuate itself through
illegal and illegitimate means—in other words, through the use
of violence in the various branches of intellectual and material
culture.19 With Marcuse, as the following statement shows, the
theory of a double moral standard corresponded to a double
standard of violence. “There is a violence of police forces or
armed forces or the Ku Klux Klan, and there is a violence in
108 Herbert Marcuse's Utopia
the opposition to these aggressive manifestations of violence.”'"
Elsewhere, he distinguished between “the institutionalized viol­
ence of the established system and the violence of resistance.”21
He made a further distinction: "In terms of historical function,
there is a difference between revolutionary and reactionary
violence, between violence practiced by the oppressed and by
the oppressors."22 Marcuse appeared to see it as a very straight­
forward matter: two parallel traditions, two kinds of morality,
and two types of violence. Yet, in his contribution to A Critique
of Pure Tolerance, which is a somewhat cavalier mixture of ethics
and politics, the terms he used gave a dif ferent impression. He
appeared to favor the specifically utopian technique of inver­
sion, coining contradictory expressions such as totalitarian
democracy, democratic dictatorship, and repressive tolerance.
Indeed, he seemed to positively wallow in opposites, although
when we look more closely we find that here, too, he distin­
guished between totalitarian democracy23 and real democ­
racy,21 between democratic dictatorship2’ and dictatorship
period,2" and between repressive tolerance and liberating toler­
ance, which he defined as being “intolerance against move­
ments from the Right, and toleration of movements from the
Left."27
What was this liberating tolerance that Marcuse advanced as
one of the principle values of revolutionary ethics? It was the
type of tolerance which must he practiced by the revolutionary
or intellectual in order to reaffirm the existence of “historical
possibilities which seem to have become utopian possibilities.”2K
For Marcuse, then, it was a moral duty to proclaim the end of
utopia, because “all the material and intellectual forces which
could be put to work for the realization of a free society are at
hand. That they are not used for that purpose is to be attributed
to the total mobilization of existing society against its own poten­
tial for liberation.”2"
In other words, as he remarked in One-Dimensional Man, “The
unrealistic sound of these propositions is indicative, not of their
utopian character, but of the strength of the forces which prevent
their realization.”30 Contemporary society must not be
condemned for what it has accomplished (and it has done more
than any other), but for what it refuses to do, by which is meant
the total liberation of the individual, the total emancipation of
humanity. Marcuse submitted to this revolutionary ideal because
 Marcuse's Revolutionary Ethics 109
he did not consider it possible to progress toward a better soci­
ety through the historical continuum. There must be a break. ’1
"A non-explosive evolution" would produce nothing.32 Only an
authentic revolution could guarantee qualitative change, which
was why Marcuse pvit the following question: “Can a revolution
be justified as right, as good, perhaps even as necessary, and
justified not merely in political terms . . . but in ethical terms?"31
Furthermore, “Is the revolutionary use of violence justifiable
as a means for establishing or promoting human freedom and
happiness?”31 He tried to prove that the use of violence for
radical, qualitative, social change was justified if one applied
“ethical terms such as ‘right’ or ‘good’ . . . to political . . . move­
ments.’’3’ In so doing, he confronted us with the distinction
between the just and unjust enemy of revolutionary ideology.36
The just enemy is always revolutionary, while the unjust enemy
is always against the revolution. However, the notion of the
unjust enemy is based on a confusion between ethics and poli­
tics.
Marcuse deliberately maintained this confusion for subver­
sive purposes; the ultimate goals of his lilxnating project masked
the consequences of action. He pretended to be unaware that
the implementation of a generous idea could have dangerous
consequences, in virtue of what Max Weber called “the paradox
of consequences.”37 Marcuse saw the transcendent historical
project as a feasible present-day goal, since both technology and
economy could now guarantee general emancipation. The proj­
ect justified the use of revolutionary violence that would end
man’s domination of man, and inaugurate a reign of happiness.
In effect, revolutionary ethics were to guarantee the transition
from traditional morality, according to which the personal ideal
is impervious to happiness, to a morality that could accom­
modate an aesthetic ideal. Marcuse stated, "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 gratification,
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.”38
These revolutionary ethics were transitory. Marcuse claimed
that they could bring about a “new morality,”3'' an “aesthetic
110 Herbert Marcuse's Utopia
morality"10 that would realize both the ethical and aesthetic
ideals at once. But here again Marcuse was open to the charge
of being misleading. Although it is true that the beautiful and
the good resemble each other in several respects, and that beauty
can be a “symbol of morality," as is the Kantian expression11
used by Marcuse,12 it is no less true that there are differences
which Marcuse passed over. Indeed, we might well compare
Marcuse s vision, which tended toward a unity of all values, with
what Max Weber called "the antagonism of values,”1’
But this is not the only misleading aspect of Marcuse’s
discourse that I feel should be brought into the open. There
is another, and to my way of thinking, more serious aspect.
Marcuse, anxious to discover the "common denominator of
aesthetics and politics," made use of the idea of an “aesthetic
e t h o s He well understood that the fate of a civilization is
decided at this level of values, and he actually proposed a new
ethos that would assume the role of a universal ethos. On the
strictly ethical level, this universal ethos was the direct opposite
of puritanism.1’ On the eihico-religious level, it was the nega­
tion of the Judeo-Christian tradition, although only in part,
since it needed the revolutionary elements inherent in the
promise of happiness and freedom."’ And finally, looking at
the question from the political perspective in the sense that
Marcuse understood it—that is, from a unitary, universal
perspective—this new aesthetic ethos was formulated in accord­
ance with the dual connotation of the word aesthetic.17 On one
hand, it implied a new sensitivity that would create a "libidinal
morality"IK and “aesthetic needs."1'1On the other, it related to
art, which would include science.,0 According to Marcuse, this
was the only valid way, the only permissible telos or ultimate
end. He underscored this view by noting that it involved “the
aesthetic ethos of socialism" in which “the construction of the
world of art” may be “akin to the reconstruction of the real
world.” ' 1 It would not involve just any socialism, however, only
that aimed at realizing utopia.,2
In the last analysis, the ultimate criterion of the Marcusian
perspective is the dichotomy between that-which-is and that-
which-should-be, between barbarism and socialism, Thanalos
and Eros. In discussing the last two basic principles or explan­
atory hypotheses, he asserted that he would have been unable
to comprehend present events, were it not for the concept of
 Marcuse's Revolutionary Ethics 111
the destructive instinct posited in Freud’s metapsychology.
“Today the intensification of this instinct is a political necessity
for those in power. Without this hypothesis I must believe that
the world has become crazy and that we are being ruled by
madmen, or by criminals or by idiots, and that we have let
ourselves go to pieces.’” ' As for the constructive instinct that
would inspire the building of a non-repressive civilization, he
wrote that “today the fight for life, the light for Eros, is the
political light.’” 1
Marcuse saw only one solution, in consequence: while await­
ing the revolution we must prepare future humanity fora radi­
cal change through adequate education. “All education today
is therapy: therapy in the sense of liberating man by all available
means from a society in which, sooner or later, he is going to
be transformed into a brute, even if lie doesn’t notice it any
more. Education in this sense is therapy, and all therapy is polit­
ical theory and practice.’” 5 This political education had already
begun at the university level,3(1 he felt, and must be spread to
include all human activities, “all spheres of culture.’” ' The more
the all-powerful, contemporary technology is dominated by the
establishment, “the more it will become dependent on political
direction.”58 Instead of being “an instrument of destructive
politics,”59 the established technology could be "a political a
priori’’ for “pacified existence.”,>(l Science must therefore be put
to work for social reorganization.'*1 Moral argument must
become a social force.02 Art is not meaningful unless it can join
in the "political struggle,”63 for only the aesthetic dimension
can guarantee the revolution ol the twenty-first century.'*1
 Conclusion
Does the hope of modernity lie in Marcuse’s utopia? That is
the initial question posed by this book. Marcuse tried to convince
us that society was one-dimensional. In the past, he explained,
there were two dimensions. The social dimension allowed man
to integrate himself with society; the personal dimension
permitted him to question society. T his second dimension no
longer exists, he asserted, because the system today assimilates
everything. The loss of man’s faculty for negative thought has
forced him into an impasse. No matter what reforms are made,
they reinforce rather than change the system. Only revolution
is left, but even that is impossible because the forces opposing
it are too powerful, despite the fact that general economic and
technological conditions have never been so promising, and
that the suppression of utopia through its realization has become
a genuine possibility. But, we may ask, is existing society in fact
moving toward the suppression of utopia, comparable to Marx’s
suppression of philosophy? In reality, specific human activities
continue to be numerous. Politics, for example, has its partic­
ular phenomena, such as the police and the army; religion has
its own special manifestations, such as prayer and mystical
theology. One cannot resolve political or economic problems
with ethics, or vice versa. It is impossible to reduce all human
activities to a single entity—even if it were art. And the fact
that there are many activities means that there are many values.
Each activity creates its own values, which do not necessarily
harmonize with the values of others. It is therefore not logically
justifiable to propose a transcendent historical project to
humankind solely because it is founded on values such as free­
dom and happiness. Marcuse relied on the assumption that
man would have the option of choosing so grandiose a project.
But i( man still has the possibility of choice, it is because he has
not yet been totally alienated by his past. In any case, if he makes
a definitive choice such as Marcuse proposed, particularly with­
 Conclusion 113
out knowing exactly where it will lead, he is surely alienating
himself with regard to his future. 'Phis is the underlying signif­
icance of Marcuse’s utopia: it closes humanity in upon itself, as
utopia confines itself within its insular perspective. But let us
immediately add that Marcuse, more than anyone else, was aware
of the problem of encirclement. Indeed, the dilemma of the
vicious circle was one of the things for which he became known.
And this is probably why he wanted his theory to be understood
as a call, a cry of mingled hope and despair. The following
anecdote reported by Reinhard Lettau can perhaps help us
comprehend his desire.1 Marcuse recounted how one day
someone asked Beckett to explain the structure of his writing.
Beckett answered, “I was once in a hospital, and in the room
next door a woman who was dying of cancer screamed all night.
This screaming is the structure of my writing.”
Marcuse has made this terminal cry his own, describing it
with Wedekind’s words from the last scene of Pandora’s Box:
“Es war doch so schon!”—“So fair has it been!”2 And he echoes
Strindberg’s cry from Dreamplay: “Es ist schade um di
Menschen”—“It is a pity about human beings!”’
 Notes
Abbreviations of Works by Marcuse
AC Actuels. Paris: E d itio n s G a lile e , 11)70.
AD The Aesthetic Dimension: Toward a Critique of Marxist Aesthetics.
B o s to n : B e a c o n P r e ss, 11)78.

CRR Counterrevolution and Revolt. B o s to n : B e a c o n P r e ss, 1972.

EC Eros and Civilization: /I Philosophical Inquiry into Freud. B o sto n :
B e a c o n P r e ss, 1 9 5 5 .

EL An Essay on Liberation. B o s to n : B e a c o n P re ss, 196 9 .

EL Five Lectures: Psychoanalysis, Politics, and Utopia. B o s to n : B e a c o n
P ress, 1 9 7 0 .

FU La Fin de I'utopie. Paris: S e u il, et N e u c h a te l: D e la c h a u x e l N ie s -

tle , 1 9 0 8 .

HU L'Homme unidimensionnel, Essai sur l'ideologic de la societe indus-

trielle avancee. P aris: E d itio n s d e M in u it, [1 9 0 4 ] 1 9 0 8 .
NE Negations: Essays in Critical Theory. B o s to n : B e a c o n P re ss, 1 9 0 9 .
ODM One-Dimensional Man: Studies in the Ideology of Advanced Industrial
Society. B o s to n : B e a c o n P re ss, 1 9 6 4 .
RR Reason and Rei’olution: Hegel and the Rise of Social Theory. B o s to n :
B e a c o n P re ss [ 1 9 4 1 ] 1 9 0 0 .

RT “ R e p r e s s iv e T o le r a n c e .” In A Critique of Pure Tolerance. B o s to n :

B e a c o n P re ss, 1 9 6 5 .

SCP Studies in Critical Philosophy. B o s to n : B e a c o n P re ss, 1 9 7 2 .

SM Soviet Marxism: A Critical Analysis. N e w Y ork : R a n d o m H o u s e ,
V in t a g e B o o k s [1 9 5 8 ] 1 9 6 1 .

Introduction
1 A le x a n d r e C io r a n e s c u , L'Avenir du passe (P a ris: G a llim a r d , 1 9 7 2 ),
121.
2. K arl M a r x , “C o n tr ib u tio n to th e C r iti(|iie o f H e g e l’s P h ilo s o p h y
o f L aw , I n tr o d u c tio n ,” Karl Marx, Frederick Engels: Collected Works, (N e w
 Notes 115
Y o rk : I n te r n a t io n a l P u b lis h e r s , 1 9 7 5 ), 3 : 1 8 7 . S u b s e q u e n t r e f e r e n c e s
to M a r x a n d E n g e ls a r e to th is e d it io n , u n le s s o t h e r w is e s ta te d .
3 . H e n r i L e fe b v r c , Pour connaitre la pensee de Karl Mm x (Paris: B o r d a s,
(1 9 4 7 ] I9 6 0 ), 100.
4 . “P h ilo s o p h y a n d C ritical T h e o r y ," in N E , 1 5 1 -1 5 2 . C ite d by G e ra rd
K a u le t, " P o u r tin e r e c o n s t r u c t io n d e la t h e o r ie c r itiq u e : L ’I n te g r a tio n
tie s v a le u r s d e la c r it iq u e ,” in P a u l-L a u r e n t A s s o u n a n d G e r a r d R a u le t,
Marxisme el theorie critique (P a ris: P a y o t, 1 9 7 8 ), 1 24.
5 . I b id ., 1 5 3 .
0 . K arl M a r x , " T h e s e s o n F e u e r b a c h ," Karl Marx, Frederick Engels:
Collected Works, 5 : 5 .
7. “P r e fa c e ” (1 9 0 4 ) , Culture et societe (Paris: E d itio n s d e M in u it, 19 7 0 ),
18. C f ., N E , x x .
8. NE, x ix .
9 . EL, ix .
10. SM, 5 .
11. H e r b e r t M a r c u s e , Eros et civilisation (P a ris: E d itio n s d e M in u it,
1 9 0 8 ), 10 (fr o m a sp e c ia l p r e fa c e w ritten in 1901 fo r th e F r e n c h e d itio n ).
C f ., EC, 5 .
12. S e e ODM, 4 , a n d " T h e E n d o f U t o p ia ,” in EL, 0 4 , 0 5 .
13. H e r b e r t M a r c u s e , “ L ib e r a tio n fr o m th e A f f lu e n t S o c ie ty ,” in To
Free a Generation: The Dialectics of Liberation, e d . D a v id C o o p e r
( H a r m o n d s w o r t h : P e n g u in B o o k s L td ., 1 9 0 9 ), 184.
14. H e r b e r t M a r c u s e , " P r o to s o c ia lis m a n d L a te C a p ita lism : T o w a r d
a T h e o r e t i c a l S y n t h e s is B a s e d o n B a h r o ’s A n a ly sis," International Jour­
nal of Politics 10, n o s . 2 -3 (S u m m e r -F a ll 1 9 8 0 ): 2 5 , 3 3 ; th is e s s a y a ls o
p u b lis h e d in Rudolf Bahro: Critical Responses, e d . U l f W o lte r (W h ite
P la in s, N .Y .: M .E . S h a r p e , I n c ., 1 9 8 0 ), 2 5 - 4 8 . S e e a ls o id ., “S o m m e s -
Partisans 2 8 (A p r il 1 9 0 0 ): 2 0 ; “O n th e N e w
n o u s d e ja d e s h o m in e s ? ”
L e f t ,” in The New Left: A Documentary History, e d . M a ssim o T e o d o r i
( I n d ia n a p o lis : B o b b s -M c r r ill, 1 9 0 9 ), 4 0 9 ; a n d " L ib e r a tio n fr o m th e
A f f lu e n t S o c ie ty ," 1 8 4 .
15. " F h e E n d o f U t o p i a ,” FL, 0 3 .
10. “ P h ilo s o p h y a n d C r itic a l T h e o r y ,” N E , 14 3 .
17. L e sz e k K o la k o w sk i, L'Esprit revolutwnnaire suivi de Matxisme: Utopic
et anti-utopie (B r u s s e ls : E d itio n s C o m p l e x e , 1 9 7 8 ), 1 13.
18. S id n e y L ip s h it e s , Herbert Marcuse: From Marx to Freud and Beyond,
(C a m b r id g e : S c h e n k m a n P u b lis h in g C o ., 1 9 7 4 ).
19. M o r to n S c h o o lm a n , The Imaginary Witness: The Critical Theory of
Herbert Marcuse ( N e w Y o rk : F r e e P re ss, 1 9 8 0 ).
2 0 . V in c e n t G e o g h e g a n , Reason and Eros: The Social Theory of Herbert
Marcuse ( L o n d o n : P lu to P r e ss, 1 9 8 1 ).
2 1 . M a r tin Jay, The Dialectical Imagination: A History of the Frankfurt
School and the histitute of Social Research, 1923-1950 (L o n d o n : H e in e -
m a n n , 1 9 7 3 ).
1 16 Herbert Marcuse's Utopia
2 2 . D a v id I ie l d , Introduction to Critical Theory: Hotkheirner to Habermas
(B e r k e le y : U n iv e r s ity o f C a lifo r n ia P re ss, 1 9 8 0 ).
2 3 . G e o r g e F r ie d m a n , The Political Philosophy oj the Frankfurt School
(I th a c a a n d L o n d o n : C o r n e ll U n iv e r s ity P re ss, 1 9 8 1 ).
2 4 . G e r a r d R a n le t, “ P o u r u n e r e c o n s tr u c tio n d e la ih e o r ie c r itiq u e ,"
1 0 1 -1 4 8 .
2 5 . B e n A g g e r , Western Marxism: An Introduction, Classical and Contem­
porary Sources (S a n ta -M o n ic u : G o o d y e a r P u b lis h in g , 1 9 7 9 ).
2 6 . T h o m a s M o ln a r , Utopia, the Perennial Heresy ( N e w Y ork : S lic e d
a n d W a r d , 1 9 6 7 ), 2 3 4 - 2 3 5 , 2 0 5 .
2 7 . J e a n -M a r ie D o m e n a c h , “ U lo p ie o u la r a iso n d a n s r im a g in a ir c ,"
Esprit (A p r il 1 9 7 4 ): 3 5 1 , n . I I .

Chapter I
1. H e r b e r t M a r c u s e , “O n t h e Q u e s t io n o f R e fo r m o r R e v o lu t io n ,”
Listening, 8 , n o s. 1-2-3 (1 9 7 3 ): 8 8 .
2 . E rica S h e r o v e r M a r c u s e a n d P e te r M a r c u s e , “O p e n L e tte r to
F r ie n d s o f H e r b e r t M a r c u s e ,” N ew German Critique, 6 , n o . 3: 2 8 .
3 . G e r s h o m S c b o le m , Fidelite et ulopie: Essais sut le judaisme content-
porain, (P aris: C a lm a n n -L e v y , 1 9 7 8 ), 2 5 6 .
4 . H e r b e r t M a r c u s e , “ R e v o lu tio n et c r itiq u e d e la v io le n c e : S u r la
p h ilo s o p h ic d e I'h isto ir e d e W a lte r B e n j a m in ,” Revue d'eslhelique, n o .
I (1 9 8 1 ): 1 0 1 -1 0 2 . C L , W a lte r B e n ja m in , “N a c h w o r t,” Zur Kritik der
Gewalt and andere Aufsatze (F r a n k fu r t a m M a in : S u h r k a m p V e r la g ,
1 9 6 5 ), 9 9 - 1 0 6 . O n J u d a is m in th e F r a n k fu r t S c h o o l, s e e G e o r g e F r ie d ­
m a n , The Political Philosophy o f the Frankfurt School (Ith a c a : C o r n e ll
U n iv e r s ity P re ss), 9 2 - 1 0 2 .
5 . “C a n C o m m u n is m B e L ib eral?" N ew Statesman, 8 3 , n o . 2 1 5 3 (2 3
J u n e 1 9 7 2 ): 8 6 1 . A r o n : " Y o u a r e still liv in g in W e im a r G e r m a n y .”
M a r c u se : “Y e s 1 k n o w th a t.”
6 . FL, 1 0 2 -1 0 3 .
7. “ T h e o r y a n d P o litics: A D is c u s s io n w ith H e r b e r t M a r c u s e , J u r g e n
H a b e r m a s , H e in z L u b a s/., a n d T e lm a n S p e n g le r ," tr a ils, by L e slie
A d e ls o n , S u s a n H e g g e r , B e tty S u n , a n d H e r b e r t W e in r y b , Telus, 11,
n o . 3 (W in te r 1 9 7 8 -7 9 ): 1 2 6 . Ita lic s m in e .
8 . J o h a n n Pall A r n a s o n , " M a r c u s e c r itiq u e d e sta lin is m e ," Partisans,
n o . 6 8 ( N o v .- D e e . 1 9 7 2 ): 1 03.
9 . “ R e v o lu tio n et c r itiq u e d e la v io le n c e ," 1 05.
10. C la u d e S a m u e l, "L a F a m e a M a r c u se . . . ," Le Point, n o . 2 5 6 (1 7
O c t. 1 9 7 7 ): 8 8 .
1 1. “ D e a r A n g e la ,” Ramparts M agazine, 9 (F e b . 1 9 7 1 ): 2 2 .
12. M a r c u s e , “ P r o to s o c ia lis m a n d L a te C a p ita lis m .”
13. M a r c u s e s u m m e d u p th e p r o te s t o f th e s ix tie s in a little -k n o w n
sp e c ia l in te r v ie w w ith th e d ir e c to r o f th e c o lle c tio n “L es G r a n d s T h e m e s "
 Notes 117
(G 1 ). H e n r i I is s o t, eel., LesJnines et hi contestation, v o l. 9 3 o f Bibliotheque
Laffont des grands tlihnes (L a u s a n n e : E d itio n s G r a m m o n t; Paris: R o b e rt
L a f f o n t ; a n d B a r c e lo n a : S a lv a t, 1 9 7 5 ), 8 - 1 7 , GO-67.
14. D o u g la s K e lln e r , “ In R e m e m b r a n c e o f H e r b e r t M a r c u se , 1 8 9 8 -
1 9 7 9 ,” Socialist Review, 9 , n o . 5 (S e p t.-O c t. 1 9 7 9 ): 13 3 .
15. I v o F ra n ze l, “U to p ia a n d A p o c a ly p s e in G e r m a n L iteratu re," Social
Research, 3 9 , n o . 2 ( S u m m e r 1 9 7 2 ): 3 0 7 . ( T h is w a s a s p e c ia l n u m b e r
d e v o t e d to t h e W e im a r c u lt u r e .)
16. C f ., P h ilip p e B e n e t o n , Histoire de wots: Culture et civilisation (P aris:
P r e s s e s d e la F o n d a t io n n a t io n a le d e s s c ie n c e s p o litiq u e s , 1 9 7 5 ).
17. “ F b e R e v o lu t io n N e v e r C a m e ," Time M agazine, C a n a d ia n e d ., 13
A u g . 1 9 7 9 , 13.
18. “O n t h e Q u e s t io n o f R e fo r m o r R e v o lu tio n ," 8 8 .
19. J a y , The Dialectical Imagination, 2 8 .
2 0 . J e a n - M ic h e l P a lm ie r , “ L e C r o u p e d e n o v e m b r e o u I’a ri c o m m e
a r m e r e v o lu tio n n a ir e ," in Apocalypse et revolution, v o l. 1 o f L ’Expres-
sionnisme comme revolte. Contribution a I'elude de la vie artistiejue sous la
Republique de Weimar (P a ris: P a y o t, 1 9 7 8 ), 3 9 2 - 4 0 0 .
2 1 . J a y , The Dialectical Imagination, 2 8 .
22. “O n t h e Q u e s t io n o f R e fo r m o r R e v o lu tio n ," 8 9 .
23. “T h e o r y a n d P o litics," 12 6 .
24. J a y , The Dialectical Imagination, 8.
25. S id n e y L ip s h ir e s , Herbert Marcuse: From M a n to Freud and Beyond
( C a m b r id g e : S c h e n k m a n P u b lis h in g C o ., 1 9 7 4 ), 13 n. 4 3 .
2 6 . C f ., J u r g e n H a b e r m a s , " P sy c h ic T h e r m id o r a n d th e R eb irth o f
R e b e llio u s S u b je c tiv ity ,” Berkeley Journal o f Sociology, 2 4 - 2 5 (1 9 8 0 ): 6 .
S e e a ls o K e lln e r , “ In R e m e m b r a n c e o f H e r b e r t M a r c u s e ,” 132.
2 7 . O n th e F r a n k fu r t S c h o o l s e e : A n d r e w A r a to , “P o litica l S o c io lo g y
a n d C r itiq u e o f P o litic s ,” in The Essential Frankfurt School Reader, e d s .
A n d r e w A r a to a n d L ik e G c b h a r d t ( N e w Y o r k ,: U r iz e n B o o k s , 1 9 7 8 )
3 - 2 5 ; Esprit, s p e c ia l is s u e o n t h e F r a n k fu r t S c h o o l, n o . 17 (M ay 19 7 9 );
D a v id H e ld , Introduction to Critical Theory, Horkheimer to Habermas, s e le c ­
t i v e b i b l i o g r a p h y 4 8 3 - 4 9 9 , i n d e x 5 0 1 - 5 1 I, a n d p a s s im ; R ic h a r d
K ilm in s te r , Praxis and Method: A Sociological Dialogue with Lukiics, Gram-
sci and the Early Frankfurt School ( L o n d o n , H e n le y , a n d B o s to n :
R o u t le d g e & K c g a n P a u l, 1 9 7 9 ), c f ., in d e x 3 2 9 ; L e sz e k K o la k o w sk i,
" T h e F r a n k fu r t S c h o o l a n d ‘C r itic a l T h e o r y ,’ ” tr a n s la te d b y P .S. Falla,
in The Breakdown, v o l. 3 o f M ain Currents o f Marxism, Its Origin, Growth,
and Dissolution ( O x f o r d : C la r e n d o n P r e ss, 1 9 7 8 ) 3 4 1 - 3 9 5 , e s p . 3 4 4 - 3 4 5 ,
3 4 8 , 3 7 7 , 3 9 0 ; P h il S la te r , Origin and Significance o f the Frankfurt School:
A M arxist Perspective ( L o n d o n : R o u t le d g e & K e g a n P a u l, 1 9 7 7 ), in d e x
1 8 3 -1 8 5 .
2 8 . P a u l A . R o b in s o n , The Freudian Left ( N e w Y o rk : H a r p e r a n d R ow ,
1 9 6 9 ), 1 5 1 , c it in g International Institute o f Social Research: A Report on
Its History, Aims, an d Activities, 1 9 3 3 -1 9 3 8 , 4 , 6 .
118 Herbert Marcuse's Utopia
29. Introduction to Critical Theory, 1 4 -1 5 .
D a v id H e ld ,
110. |a v , The Dialectical Imagination, 3 9 .
111. K arl M a r x . "L e P ro jet d e m ig r a t i o n d u c ito y e n ( l a b e l ,” La Revue
coninmniste, n o . 1 ( 1 9 5 8 ) , c ite d b y L o u is M a r in , Utopit/ues: Jeux d ’espaces,
(P aris: L es E d itio n s d e M iiu iil, 1 9 7 3 ), 3 4 3 * 3 5 1 .
3 2 . " P r e fa c e lo t h e O r ig in a l E d itio n ,'' R ll (p o c k e t e d it io n ) , xv.
3 3 . “T h e o r y a n d P o litics," 129.
3 4 . M ax H o r k h e im e r , T r a d itio n a l a n d C ritic a l T h e o r y ," ( 1 9 3 7 ) ,
Critical Theory, tr a n s la te d b y J .O . M a tth e w , C o n n e ll, et a l., ( 1 9 3 7 ; N e w
Y ork : T h e S e a b u r y P r e ss. 1 9 7 2 ), 1 8 8 -2 5 2 .
3 5 . Ib id ., 2 4 4 .
3 6 . I b id ., 2 4 4 - 2 5 2 .
3 7 . XL, 1 3 4 -1 5 8 .
38 . M artin J a y a ttr ib u te s th e first u s e o f th e e x p r e s s io n “critical th eo ry "
to M ax H o r k h e im e r . " T h e F r a n k fu r t S c h o o l in E x ile ,” in Perspectives
in American History, 0 : 3 4 0 . T h e r e f o r e te x ts w r itte n b e f o r e th e y e a r 1 9 3 7
m e r e ly c o n ta in e x p r e s s io n s th at p r e f ig u r e w h a t s u b s e q u e n t ly b e c a m e
th e " critical th e o r y " o f t h e F r a n k fu r t S c h o o l. T h u s , in M a r c u s e ’s first
p u b lis h e d a rticle in 1 9 2 8 , w e fin d h im u s in g e x p r e s s io n s s u c h as “th e o r y
o f so c ia l a c tiv ity ,” o r " th e o r y o f h is to r ic a l a c tio n " to d e s c r ib e w h a t h e
u n d e r s t o o d by M a r x ism at th a t tim e . (C L , " C o n tr ib u tio n s to a P h e ­
n o m e n o lo g y o f H isto r ic a l M a te r ia lism ." ) W h a t d is t in g u is h e s th e s e
e x p r e s s io n s fr o m “c r itic a l t h e o r y ” is th e d e s ir e to m a k e a c o n t r ib u t io n
to M a rx ist t h o u g h t .
3 9 . W illia m L eiss, " T h e C ritic a l T h e o r y o f S o c ie ty : P r e se n t S itu a tio n
a n d F u tu r e T ask s," in Critical Interruptions: Xeu< l.ejl Perspectives on Herbert
Marcuse, eel. P au l B r e in e s , ( N e w Y o rk : H e r d e r a n d H e r d e r , 1 9 7 0 ), 7 5 .
4 0 . I b id ., 7 6 , 8 8 - 8 9 .
4 1 . " T h e o r y a n d P olitics," 1 3 6 . S e e a ls o X L , 15, 13 5 .
4 2 . ODM, x -x i.
4 3 . C L , H o r k h e im e r , " T r a d itio n a l a n d C r itic a l T h e o r y ," 2 4 4 n . l .
4 4 . I b id ., 2 4 2 .
4 5 . K e lln e r , “ In R e m e m b r a n c e o f H e r b e r t M a r c u se ," 1 32.
4 6 . Jay, The Dialectical Imagination, 8 0 .
4 7 . " O n th e Q u e s t io n o f R e fo r m o r R e v o lu t io n ,” 8 9 .
4 8 . C h a r le s M o r itz , e d .. Current Biography Yearbook, 1969, 2 8 3 . S e e
a ls o J a y , The Dialectical Imagination, 1 6 9 .
4 9 . S id n e y L ip s h ir e s , Herbert Marcuse: Prom Marx to Trend and Beyond,
27.
50. EC, x x v iii.
5 1 . J o h n W a k e m a n , e d ., World Authors, 1950-1970, 9 4 5 .
5 2 . “A c k n o w le d g m e n t s ," SM, xvii.
5 3 . J o h a n n Pall A r n a s o n , “ M a r c u s e c r itiq u e d u s t a lin is m c /’ / ’ar/JMUi.t,
n o . 6 8 ( N o v .- D e e . 1 9 7 2 ): 1 0 3 .
5 4 . “O n th e Q u e s t io n o f R e fo r m o r R e v o lu t io n ,” 9 0 .
 Notes 119
5 5 . A n d r e w H a c k e r , “P h ilo s o p h e r o f th e N e w L eft," The Neu< York
Times Book Review, 7 3 , n o . 1 0 ( 1 0 M ar. 1 9 6 8 ): 1.
5 6 . H a b e r m a s , “ P sy c h ic T h e r m i d o r a n d th e R e b ir th o f R e b e llio u s
S u b je c tiv ity ," 9 .
57. Who's Who in America with World Notables, 3 5 ( 1 9 6 8 - 6 9 ) .
5 8 . H a b e r m a s , “ P sy c h ic T h e r m i d o r ,” 2.
5 9 . ODM, x v i.
6 0 . R o b e r t P a u l W o lf f , “ H e r b e r t M a r c u se : 1 8 9 8 - 1 9 7 9 , A P e r so n a l
R e m in is c e n c e ,” Political Theoty, 8 , n o . 1 (F e b . 1 9 8 0 ): 7.
6 1 . “ I n d u s tr ia liz a tio n a n d C a p ita lis m in th e W o rk o f M ax W e b e r ,”
NE, 2 0 1 - 2 2 6 .
6 2 . B e n ja m in N e ls o n , “S to r m o v e r W e b e r ," The New York Times Book
Review, 3 J a n . 1 9 6 5 , se c . 7 , p . 2 4 .
63. R aym ond A ron, Les Etapes de la pensee sociologique (P aris: G alli-
m a r d ), 5 6 6 .
6 4 . “C o m m e n t ,” The New York Times Book Review, 2 8 F eb . 1 9 6 5 .
6 5 . “ I n d u s tr ia lis a tio n et c a p ita lis m e c h e z M ax W e b e r ,” CS, 2 7 3 . N o t e
th e d if f e r e n c e b e t w e e n th is a n d th e last p a r a g r a p h in th e E n g lish
p u b lis h e d v e r s io n .
66. NE, 2 0 3 .
6 7 . M ic h a e l H o r o w itz , “ P o rtr a it o f th e M a rx ist as an O ld T r o u p e r ,”
Playboy, 17, n o . 9 (1 9 7 0 ): 1 7 5 - 1 7 6 , 2 2 8 , 2 3 1 - 2 3 2 .
6 8 . I b id ., 1 7 6 , c itin g M a r c u se .
69. NE, x x .
7 0 . ODM, 4 .
7 1 . M e lv in J . L a sk y , “ L e ttr e d e B e r lin -O u e s t, a v e c le s e tu d ia n ts d u
S .D .S .,” Preuves, n o s . 2 1 5 - 2 1 6 (F e b .-M a r . 1 9 6 9 ), 6 8 . S e e a ls o c o m m e n ­
ta ry b y J a c q u e s E llu l, De la revolution aux revoltes (P aris: C a lm a n n -L e v y ,
1 9 7 2 ), 3 0 0 n . 2 .
7 2 . The Times, L o n d o n , 17 A p r . 1 9 6 8 , p. 10.
7 3 . " I n te r v ie w w ith M a r c u s e ,” Australian Left Review (D e c . 19 6 9 ): 3 6 .
7 4 . I b id ., 3 8 - 3 9 .
7 5 . A n d r e F r a n q o is -P o n c e t, "La C r is e d e la j e u n e s s e a lle m a n d e ,” Le
Figaro, Selection hebdomadaire, 18 A p r . 1 9 6 8 .
7 6 . “ M e n a c e s d e m o r t ,” Le Figaro, 5 A u g . 1 9 6 8 .
7 7 . G la d w in H ill, “T h e M a r c u s e C ase: C o n s e r v a tis m A r o u s e d by a
L e g io n n a ir e in S a n D ie g o ,” The New York Times, 6 O c t. 1 9 6 8 , sec. 1,
86 .
78. The Times, L o n d o n , 19 F eb . 1 9 6 9 , 6 .
7 9 . I b id ., 12 J u ly 1 9 6 8 , 6.
8 0 . H e r b e r t G o ld , “C a lifo r n ia L e ft, M a o , M arx a n d M a r c u s e !” The
Saturday Evening Post, n o . 2 4 1 (2 7 O c t. 19 6 8 ): 5 7 .
8 1 . I b id ., 5 6 - 5 9 .
8 2 . E d m u n d S tillm a n , “H e r b e r t M a rc u se,” Horizon, 1 1, n o . 3 (S u m m e r
1969) 27.
120 Herbert Marcuse's Utopia
8 3 . A g u e s G u illo u , “ M a r c u s e p o u r q u o i Faire?” La AY/, n o . 3 6 (Jan.*
M ar. 1 0 6 9 ): 7.
8 4 . “AYw Left News, th e ir r e g u la r n e w s le tte r o l t h e C o lu m b ia U n iv e r ­
sity S I)S , o f f e r s an Adventures of One-Dimensional Man c o m ic s tr ip . ’ P au l
B r e in e s , “ M a r c u s e a n d t h e N e w L e ft in A m e r ic a ,” in Antworten auf
Herbert Marcuse, e d . J u r g e n H a b e r m a s (F r a n k fu r t a m M a in : S u h r -
k a m p , 1 9 6 8 ), 111.
La Theorie el la pratique. Dialogue imaginaire mais
8 5 . C h a r lo tte D e lb o ,
non tout a fait apocrypbe entre H. Marcuse et / / . Lefebvre (P a ris: E d itio n s
A n th r o p o s, I9 6 0 ).
8 6 . P ete r C leca k , Radical Paradoxes (N e w Y ork : H a r p e r & R ow , 1 9 7 3 ),
212.
8 7 . W o lf f , “ H e r b e r t M a r c u se : A P e r s o n a l R e m in is c e n c e ,” 7.
L ’Enseignement,
8 8 . G e r a r d B e r g e r o n , “Q u i e s t H e r b e r t M a r c u s e ? ”
n o . 8 , (1 5 D e c . 1 9 6 8 ): 2 2 : “ In Italy, tw o film s a r e b e in g s h o t. A Mother's
Heart by S a lv a to r S a m p ic r i te lls th e s to r y o f a m id d le cla ss w o m a n w h o ,
o n th e b a sis o f w h a t s h e th in k s s h e u n d e r s t a n d s o f M a r c u s e ’s b o o k s ,
d e c id e s to fo r m a g a n g o f y o u n g te r r o r is ts . T h e sa tir e is e v e n m o r e
e x a g g e r a t e d in B r u n o B a r r a ti’s Film. S o th a t n o o n e c a n m is ta k e h is
m e a n in g , h e is c a llin g it The Marcusienne, or the One-Dimensional Woman.
I n s te a d o f a m o d e s t m id d le -c la s s w o m a n , h e h a s a m illio n a ir e s s w h o
d e c id e s to a m u s e h e r s e lf by p la y in g at r e v o lu t io n ! ”
8 9 . J e a n -M ic h e l P a lm ie r , “ P o r tr a it d ’H e r b e r t M a r c u s e ,” in AC, 9 6 .
9 0 . M in e N . B ., “ M . F r a n c o is P e r r o u x in t r o d u it M a r c u s e a u C o lle g e
d c F r a n c e ,” Le Monde, 2 9 J a n u a r y 1 9 6 9 , p . 11.
9 1 . F r a n c o is P e r r o u x , Francois Perroux interroge Herbert Marcuse. . .
qui repond (P a ris: A u b ie r - M o n t a ig n e , 1 9 6 9 ), 1 00.
9 2 . L o u is W iz n itz e r , “ I n te r v ie w e x c lu s iv e d ’H e r b e r t M a r c u s e , th e o -
r ic ie n r e v o lu tio n n a ir e fo r t d o u x ,” La Presse, M o n tr e a l, 4 J a n . 1 9 6 9 , 7.
9 3 . “ U .S . S t u d e n t G a o le d f o r A r s o n A t t e m p t ,” The Times, L o n d o n ,
2 2 F eb . 1 9 6 9 , 5.
9 4 . J a y A c to n , “M u g S h o ts , W h o ’s W h o in th e N e w E arth ," World
1 972, 1 38.
9 5 . “ P o n t if f A ssa ils E r o tic is m A g a in , S c o r e s F r e u d a n d M a r c u s e in
H o m ily B a s ilic a ,” The New York Times, 2 O c t. 1 9 6 9 , 2 3 .
9 6 . H o r o w itz , “ P o r tr a it o f th e M a r x ist a s a n O ld T r o u p e r ,” 2 2 8 .
9 7 . I b id ., 2 3 1 .
9 8 . A lle n R. N e w m a n , “N o t e s o n M a r c u s e ’s C r itiq u e o f I n d u s tr ia l
S o c ie ty ,” Rei’iew of Social Economy, 3 4 , n o . 2 (O c t. 1 9 7 6 ): 1 7 3 .
9 9 . Britannica Book of the Year, 1 9 6 9 : 15 8 .
100. S o l S te r n , “T h e M e ta p h y s ic s o f R e b e llio n ,” Ramparts Magazine,
6 (2 9 J u n e 1 9 6 8 ): 5 6 .
1 01. P a lm ie r , “ P o r tr a it d ’H e r b e r t M a r c u s e ,” 1 0 3 .
1 02. M a r tin J a y , “ I h e F r a n k fu r t S c h o o l in E x ile ,” Perspectives in Amer­
ican History ( C a m b r id g e , M ass.: 1 9 7 2 ), 6 : 3 8 2 . O t h e r s in c lu d e d R on
 Notes 121
A r o n s o n , M ic h a e l H o r o w itz , D a v id K e ttle r , D o n a ld L e e , M y ria m
M ie d z ia n M a lin o v ic h , a n d J o h n O ’N e ill.
1 0 3 . W illia m L e is s , J o h n D a v id O b e r , a n d E rica S h e r o v e r , “ M a r c u se
as I e a c h e r , in 7 he Critical Spirit, Essays in Honor of Herbert Marcuse,
e d s . K u rt H . W o lf f a n d B a r r in g t o n M o o r e , J r ., (B o s to n : B e a c o n P ress,
1 9 6 7 ), 4 2 1 -4 2 5 .
104. Ibid., 425. Italics mine.
1 0 5 . I b id ., 4 2 4 . Ita lic s m in e .
1 0 6 . R a y m o n d A r o n , La Revolution introuvable: Reflexions sur les evene-
ments de mai (P a r is: F a y a r d , 1 9 6 8 ), 11 9 .
1 0 7 . “ P r o f e s s o r s , O n e - D im e n s io n a l P h ilo s o p h e r ," rime M a g a z i n e , 22
M ar. 1 9 6 9 , 6 7 .
1 0 8 . “D e m o c r a c y H a s , H a s n ’t a F u tu r e . . . a P r e s e n t ,” The New York
Times Magazine, 2 6 M ay 1 9 6 9 , 11 4 . T h is is a r e c o r d o f a p u b lic d e b a te
h e ld in N e w Y o r k at a m e e t in g o f T h e T h e a t e r fo r I d e a s . M a r c u se
s a id , “ I n o w fin a lly r e v e a l m y s e lf as a f in k .”
1 0 9 . S e e a ls o J e a n W e tz , “ U n D e s a v e u d e B o ll ct M a rc u se," Le Devoir,
M o n t r e a l, 2 0 S e p t . 1 9 7 7 , a n d G e o r g e E c k s te in , “C o p in g w ith T e r r o r ­
ism ," Dissent ( W in t e r 1 9 7 8 ): 8 2 - 8 4 .
110. Rudi Dutschke, article in D i e Z e i t , 39 (23 Sept. 1977), translated
as "Toward Clarifying Criticism of Terrorism,” N e w G e r m a n C r i t i q u e ,
4, no. 3: 9-10.
111. Herbert Marcuse, “Mord clarf keine Waffen tier Politik sein,”
Die Zeit, 39 (23 Sept. 1977), translated as "Murder is not a Political
Weapon,” New German Critique, 4, no. 3: 7-8.
112. Ibid., 8.
1 1 3 . C f ., J e f f r e y H e r f , “T h e C r itic a l S p ir it o f H e r b e r t M a rc u se," New
German Critique, 6 , n o . 3: 2 4 - 2 7 .
1 1 4 . O n F r e u d ia n M a r x is m , s e e “W h e n D o g m a B ite s D o g m a : O r th e
D iffic u lt M a r r ia g e o f M a r x a n d F r e u d ,” Times Literaiy Supplement, 8
J a n . 1 9 7 1 , 2 5 - 2 7 ; E r n e s t J o n e s , “S o c io lo g y ,” in Last Years (1 9 1 9 -1 9 3 9 ),
v o l. 3 o f The Life and Work of Sigmund Freud (N e w Y ork : B a sic B o o k s ,
In c ., 1 9 6 9 ); a n d Freudo-Marxisme et sociologiede Talienation (Paris: E d ition s
A n t h r o p o s a n d U n io n g e n e r a l e d ’e d it io n s , 1 9 7 4 ).
1 15. C f ., W ilh e lm R e ic h , La Crise sexuelle, fo llo w e d b y “ M a te r ia lism e
d ia le c t iq u e et p s y c h a n a ly s e ," a tr a n s la tio n e x p u r g a t e d by th e F r e n c h
C o m m u n is t P a r ty (P a r is: E d itio n s S o c ia le s I n te r n a t io n a le s , 1 9 3 4 ).
1 1 6 . C f ., f o r e x a m p le , J a c q u e s M o u s s e a u , “ W ilh e lm R eich p r e c u r s e u r
d e M a r c u s e ," in P s y c h o l o g i c , 9 (O c t. 1 9 7 0 ): 1 0 -1 2 , 1 4 -1 5 .
1 1 7 . C f ., A n d r e N ic o la s , Herbert Marcuse ou la quite d'un
univers transprometheen (P a r is: S e g h c r s , 1 9 7 0 ), a n d Wilhelm Reich ou la
revolution radicale (P a ris: S e g h e r s , 1 9 7 3 ).
1 1 8 . Jay, The Dialectical Imagination, 8 9 , 9 8 , 1 0 0 -1 0 1 , a n d 1 0 4 -1 0 5 .
119. Erich Fromm, The Revolution of Hope: Toward a Humanized Tech­
nology (New York, Evanston, and London: Harper and Row, 1968),
9.
122 Herbert Marcuse's Utopia
1 20. F r a n c o is C h a te le t a n d G ille s L a p o n g e , “A c tu a lite d e 1 u t o p ie , in
Quelle crise? Quelle societe? (G r e n o b le : P r e s s e s u n iv e r s ila ir e s d e G r e n ­
o b le . 1 9 7 4 ), 3 3 .
1 2 1 . A n d r e N ic o la s , Herbert Marcuse (P aris: S e g h e r s , 1 9 7 0 ), 7.
1 2 2 . I b id ., p . 13.
1 2 3 . G e r h a r d H o lm a n d G e r a r d R a u le t, “L 'K co le d e F r a n c fo r t e n
F r a n c e , B ib lio g r a p h ic c r itiq u e ," Esprit, n o . 17 (M a y 1 9 7 8 ): 1 3 5 -1 4 7 .
1 24. A n d r e C la ir , “ U n e P h ilo s o p h ic d e la n a tu r e ," Esprit, n o . 3 7 7 (Jan .
1 9 0 9 ): 0 8 - 7 3 .
1 2 5 . J e a n -M a r ie V in c e n t , La Theorie de I'ecole de Francfort (P aris: G a li­
le e . 1 9 7 0 ), 9 .
120. P a u l-L a u r e n t A ss o u ti a n d G e r a r d R a u let, Marxisme et theorie critique
(P aris: P a y o t, 1 9 7 8 ).
1 2 7 . A n d r e S t e p h a n e ( p s e u d o n u m o f tw o p s y c h o a n a ly s ts ), “ M a r c u s e ,
c o n t r ib u t io n a F reud ou c o n t r ib u t io n aux m y th e s ? ” f o llo w e d by
" M a r c u se , M a ssa c r e p o u r d e s b a g a t e lle s ,” in U'Univers contestalionnaire
ou les nouveaux chretiens, Etude psychanalytique (P a ris: P a y o t, 1 9 0 9 ), 10 9 -
192 a n d 1 9 3 -2 0 1 .
Sociologie de la revolution, Mythologies politiques du
1 2 8 . J u le s M o n n e r o t ,
XXe si'ecle, At a txis tes-lenin isles et fascistes, La Nouvelle Strategic revolution-
naire (P aris: F a y a r d , 1 9 0 9 ), 7 0 0 .
129. R a y m o n d R u y e r , Eloge de la societe de consummation (Paris: C a lm a n n -
L e v y , 1 9 6 9 ), 1 8 8 . ’
1 3 0 . J a c q u e s E llu l, De la revolution aux revoltes, 3 0 0 .
Res Publica, 14, n o .
1 3 1 . J u lie n F r e u n d , “ La D e tr e s s e d u p o litiq u e ,"
3 (1 9 7 2 ): 4 3 3 .
13 2 . P ie r r e M a sse t, La Pensee de Herbert Marcuse ( T o u lo u s e : P riv a t,
I 9 6 0 ) , 1 88.
13 3 . A n d r e V a c h e t, “ M a r c u s e vu p a r F. P e r r o u x ,” Dialogue, 9 , n o . 3
(1 9 7 0 ), 4 2 5 .
Francois Perroux interroge Herbert Marcuse, 1 0 3 .
13 4 . P e r r o u x ,
135. R e n e V ie n e t , Enrages et Situationnistes dans le mouvement des occu­
pations (P aris: G a llim a r d , 1 9 0 8 ), 1 5 3 .
1 36. V a d im D e la u n a y , " M a rcu se," Esprit, n o . 9 (S e p t. 1 9 7 7 ): 2 0 .
1 37. I. A . Z a m o s h k in a n d N . V . M o ir o s h ilo v a , “ Is M a r c u s e ’s ‘C r itic a l
T h e o r y o f S o c ie ty ’ C ritical?" The Soviet Review, 1, n o . 1 (S p r in g 1 9 7 0 ):
3 -2 4 .
1 38. Y u r y Z h u k o v , “T a k in g M a r c u s e fr o m th e W o o d s h e d ,” Atlas, 6 ,
n o . 3 (S e p t. 1 9 0 8 ): 3 3 - 3 5 .
139. A la s d a ir M a c I n ty r e , XIarcuse ( L o n d o n : F o n ta n a , 1 9 7 0 ), 17.
140. I b id ., 9 2 .
1 41. L ip s h ir e s , From Marx to Freud and Beyond, 10 4 .
1 42. G e r d -K la u s K a lt e n b r u n n e r , “M u tm a s s u n g e n lib e r M a r c u se ,"
Neues Forum: Oesterreichische monatblaetter fur KultureUe Freiheit, 15,
V ie n n a , n o s . 1 6 9 - 1 7 0 (J a n u a r y 1 9 6 8 ): 5 5 - 6 1 , a n d M aria S z e c s i, “Z u r
 Notes 123
P a t h o lo g ic t ie r U t o p i e ,” Neues Forum, 15, n o . 173 (M ay 1 9 6 8 ): 3 2 5 -
328.
1 4 3 . O lg a S e m y o n o v a , “T h e N ew D is s id e n ts , L e n in g r a d ’s Y o u n g
I n te lle c t u a ls M ay T u r n to T e r r o r is m ," Nrw Statesman, 14 S e p t. 1 9 7 9 ,
3 7 4 -3 2 8 .
1 4 4 . R u s s ia n p u b lic a t io n s o n M a r c u s e a r e g e n e r a lly r e v ie w e d by
1 h o m a s j . B la k e le y in Studies in Soviet Thought.

C hapter II
1. J e a n - M ic h e l P a lm ie r , Herbert Marcuse et la Nouvelle Gauche (P aris:
B e l f o n d , 1 9 7 3 ), 3 7 8 .
2 . H e n r i D e s r o c h e , “ P e tite B ib lio t h e q u e d e I’U to p ie ," Esprit, n o . 4 3 4
(A p r . 1 9 7 4 ): 6 6 3 - 6 7 0 ) .
3 . C io r a n e s c u , “L ’A v e n ir d u p a s s e ,” 17.
4 . C f ., F r a n k E. M a n u e l a n d F r itz ie P. M a n u e l, Utopian Thought in
the Western World, 3 d e d . ( C a m b r id g e , M ass: T h e B e lk n a p P ress o f
H a r v a r d U n iv e r s it y P r e ss, 1 9 8 2 ). P a u l R ic o e u r , “ I d e o lo g y a n d U to p ia
as C u ltu r a l I m a g in a t io n ,” Philosophic Exchange, n o . 2 ( S u m m e r 197G):
1 7 -2 8 , c f ., 2 4 - 2 8 . T h is a r tic le w a s c o m p le t e d in th e F r e n c h e d itio n :
“ L ’H e r m e n e u t iq u e d e la s e c u la r is a tio n , fo i, id e o lo g ic et u t o p ie ,” in
Hermeneutique de la secularisation, E n r ic o C a ste lli et al. (P aris: A u b ie r -
M o n ta ig n e , 197G ), 49-G 8. L y m a n T o w e r S a r g e n t, “A N o te o n th e O th e r
S id e o f H u m a n N a t u r e in t h e U t o p ia n N o v e l," Political Theory, 3 , n o .
1 (F e b . 1 9 7 5 ): 8 8 * 9 7 , a n d “ U t o p ia — T h e P r o b le m o f D e fin itio n ,"
Extrapolation, 16 (May 1975): 137-1 IS. Paul A. Su ada, “Toward the Defi­
nition of Utopia,” in Moreana, n o s . 3 1 - 3 2 (1 9 7 1 ): 1 3 5 -1 4 6 .
5 . SCP, 2 0 3 .
G. " C an C o m m u n is m B e L ib e r a l? ” 8G 1.
7. EL, 3 -4 .
8. FL, 6 2 .
9 . C . M o s s e , “ L c s U t o p i e s e g a l i t a i r e s a l ’e p o q u e h e lle n i s t i q u e ,” Revue
historique, 2 4 1 ( 1 9 6 9 ) : 2 9 7 - 3 0 8 .
10. C io r a n e s c u , "L’A v e n ir d u p a s s e ,” 7 1 .
11. P la to , Republic, 4 7 2 d , 4 7 3 a , in The Dialogues of Plato, tr a n s la te d
b y B . J o w e t t , 4 t h e d . ( O x f o r d : C la r e n d o n P r e ss, 1 9 5 3 ), 2 : 1 6 3 - 4 9 9 .
Republic a n d Laws a r e to th is e d it io n .
R e f e r e n c e s to
12. E rn st B lo c h , Le Principe Esperance, tr a n s la te d by F ra n q o ise W u il-
m a r i (P a ris: G a llim a r d , 1 9 7 6 ) 1 :1 2 4 . O r ig in a lly p u b lis h e d as DasPrin-
zip Hoffnung ( F r a n k fu r t a m M a in : S u h r k a m p V e r la g , 1 9 5 9 ).
13. O n th e u s e o f t h e n o t io n o f t h e “d a y - d r e a m ” by P la to a n d A r is ­
to tle , c f ., H e n r i D e s r o c h e , Sociologie de iesperance (Paris: C a lm a n n -L e v y ,
1 9 7 3 ), 2 3 n . 8.
14. H e n r i-1 r e n e e M a r r o u , H i s t o i r e d e I 'e d u c a tio n d a n s I ’a n l i q u i t e (P aris:
S e u il, 1 9 6 5 ) , c f ., 1 5 4 .
124 Herbert Marcuse's Utopia
15. H e n r i D e s r o c h e , “L ’O r ig in e u t o p iq u e ,” Esprit (O ct. 1 9 7 4 ): 3 3 7 -
366.
16. P a u l R ic o e u r . E. R. D o d d s , a n d J e a n R o y h a v e a ls o fo r m u la te d
th e p r o b le m in t h e s e te r m s . P au l R ic o e u r , “ L ’H e r m e n e u t iq u e d e la
Les Grecs et Virrationnel (A u b ie r , 1 9 6 5 );
s e c u la r is a tio n ,” 5 8 ; E. R. D o d d s ,
a n d Jean R o y , " M o d e r n ity e t u t o p ie ,” Phitosophiques, 6 , n o . I (A p r .
197 9 ): 2 2 . R o y c ite s D o d d s ’ a r tic le .
17. R a y m o n d T r o u s s o n , Voyages aux pays de unite part, Histoire litteraire
de la pernee utopique (B r u s se ls : E d itio n s d e I’U n iv e r s it e d e B r u x e lle s ,
1 9 7 5 ), 3 8 .
18. M a r io n , “ H is to ir e d e ('e d u c a tio n d a n s l’a n tiq u ite ," 1 1 6 -1 1 7 .
19. R a y m o n d R u y e r , L'Utopie et les atopies (P aris: P U F , 1 9 5 0 ), 3 8 .
2 0 . I b id ., «14.
2 1 . P la to ,Republic, 5 4 1 a .
2 2 . M o ln a r , Utopia, The Perennial Heresy, 14 9 .
2 3 . P la to , The Statesman, 2 9 3 d - e . I b is a n d s u b s e q u e n t c ita tio n s to The
Statesman a r e ta k e n fr o m Plato: T h e S o p h is t and T h e S ta te s m a n , tr a n s ­
la te d b y A . E. T a y lo r (L o n d o n : T h o m a s N e ls o n a n d S o n s L td ., 1 9 6 1 ),
2 5 3 -3 4 4 .
2 4 . M o ln a r , Utopia, The Perennial Heresy, 149.
2 5 . J u lie n F r e u n d , “A narchic* fu h r t zu D ik ta tu r — W a s v o n H e r b e r t
M a r c u se s P h ilo s o p h ic tib r ig g e b lie b c n i s i ?” Die Politische Meinung, n o .
148 (M a y -J u n e 1 9 7 3 ): 2 2 - 2 3 . In c o n f ir m a t io n o f F r e u n d ’s r e m a r k s ,
see RR, 3 9 4 ; EC, 2 2 5 ; ODM, 4 0 ; ER, 1 3 7 -1 3 8 ; RT, 1 0 6 , 1 2 0 -1 2 2 .
2 6 . RT, 106.
2 7 . RT, 12 0 .
2 8 . RT, 12 2 .
2 9 . " C an C o m m u n is m B e L ib eral?" 8 6 1 . S e e a ls o M . J . S o b r a n , “T h e
F u tu r e F u tu r e o f M a r c u s e ,” National Review, 8 D e c . 1 9 7 2 , 1 3 5 2 .
3 0 . Ib id .
3 1 . P la to , The Statesman, 2 9 3 d ; J e a n J a c q u e s R o u s s e a u , “D e r n ie r e
R e p o n s e d e J.*J. R o u s s e a u (a B o r d e s ) ,” inOeuvres completes, B ib lio -
t h e q u c d e la P le ia d c , 3 : 9 0 - 9 1 .
3 2 . L ju b o m ir T a d ic , “ R e v o lu tio n s o c ia lis te et p o u v o ir p o lit iq u e ,”
Praxis, n o s. 1-2 (1 9 6 9 ): 2 5 0 - 2 5 9 .
33. FU, 101.
RT, a n d “E th ics a n d R e v o lu t io n ,” in Ethics and Society: Orig­
3 4 . C f.,
inal Essays on Contemporary Moral Problems, e d . R ic h a r d T . D e G e o r g e
( N e w Y ork : D o u b le d a y , 1 9 6 6 ), 1 3 3 - 1 4 7 , p a r tic u la r ly 1 3 7 -1 3 8 .
35. EC, 2 2 5 .
3 6 . “T h e o r y a n d P o litic s ,” 1 36.
3 7 . J e a n R o y , “ L a T o l e r a n c e r e p r e s s iv e ,’ n o u v e lle r u s e d e la R a iso n
d 'E t a t f ” in Rationality Today, La Rationalite aujourd'hui, e d . T h e o d o r e
F. G e r a e ts (O tta w a : E d itio n s d e I’U n iv e r s it e d ’O tta w a , 1 9 7 9 ), 4 8 5 f f .
 Notes 125
3 8 . D a v id S p itz , " P u r e T o le r a n c e : A C r itiq u e o f C r itic is m s," Dissent,
13 , n o . 5 ( S e p t .- O c t . 1 9 6 6 ): 5 1 0 - 5 2 5 , r e p r in te d (S p r in g 1 9 7 4 ): 2 5 9 -
2G 9. T h e a r tic le w as a g a in r e p r in t e d , w ith a n in t r o d u c t io n , in Beyond
the New Left, e d . I r v in g H o w e ( N e w Y o rk : M cC a ll P u b . C o ., 1 9 7 0 ), 100-
119. T h e a r tic le w as t h e s u b je c t o f s e v e r a l c o m m e n t a r ie s , to w h ic h th e
a u t h o r r e p lie d : (1 ) M ic h a e l W a lz e r , “O n th e N a t u r e o f F r e e d o m ,” in
Dissent, 13 . n o . 6 ( N o v .- D e e . 1 9 6 6 ): 7 2 5 - 7 2 8 ; D a v id S p itz , “T h e P le a s­
u r e s o f M is u n d e r s t a n d in g F r e e d o m ,” ib id ., 7 2 9 - 7 3 9 ; (2 ) R o b ert P aul
W o lf f , “O n T o le r a n c e a n d F r e e d o m ,” in Dissent, 14, n o . 1 (J a n .-F e b .
19G 7): 9 5 - 9 7 ; D a v id S p itz , "A R e j o in d e r to R o b e rt P au l W o lf f ,” ib id .,
9 7 - 9 8 ; (3 ) P h ilip G r e e n , “ A g a in : T o le r a n c e , D e m o c r a c y , P lu r a lism , 1.
C o m m e n t P h ilip G r e e n ,” in Dissent, 14, n o . 3 (M a y -J u n e 19G7): 3 0 8 -
3 7 1 ; D a v id S p itz , "2. A R e j o in d e r to P h ilip G r e e n ,” ib id ., 3 7 1 - 3 7 2 ;
P h ilip G r e e n , "3. P h ilip G r e e n A n s w e r s D a v id S p itz," ib id , 3 7 2 - 3 7 3 .
39. T rou sson , Voyages mix pays de nolle part, 17 8 .
4 0 . R u y e r , L ’Utopie et les atopies, 9 . O n th e c o n tr a d ic tio n in R u y e r ’s
w o r k r e g a r d in g h is d is t in c t io n b e t w e e n th e “u to p ia n m o d e " a n d th e
“u t o p ia n g e n r e ,” c f ., C io r a n e s c u , L'Avenir da passe, 2 6 4 - 2 6 7 .
41. I b id ., 1 8 7 .
42. RR, 18G.
4 3 . C f ., RR, 3 2 , 3 9 4 ; EC, 2 2 5 ; ODM, 3 9 - 4 0 ; SCR, 9 8 , 1 1 2 , 1 22.
4 4 . F r e u n d , " A n a r c h ie fttr h t zu D ik ta tu r ,” 2 1 - 2 2 . C f., id ., "La P h ilo ­
Revue d'Allemagne, 1 (A p r il-
s o p h i c ‘p o lit ic is t c ’ tie H e r b e r t M a r c u se ," in
J u n e 1 9 6 9 ): 1 9 9 , 2 0 7 , a n d Utopie et violence (P aris: E d itio n s M arcel
R iv id te e t C ie ., 1 9 7 8 ), 1 1 6 .
4 5 . J .-M . B e n o is t , " M a r c u s e , u n A u fk liir e r c o n t r e le s lu m ie r e s ,” in
Marx est mart (P a ris: G a llim a r d , 1 9 7 0 ) 1 0 9 , 1 1 3 -1 2 7 .
4G. A . B ir o u , “S ig n if ic a t io n d u d e v e l o p p e m e n t d e s id e o lo g ie s ," Eco-
logie et humanisme, n o . 194 (J u ly -A u g . 1 9 7 0 ): 9 - 1 0 .
4 7 . J e a n J a c q u e s R o u sse a u ," L e ttr e s e c r ite s d e la m o n ta g n e ," in Oeuvres
completes, 3 : 8 1 0 ; c it e d b y B . lla c z k o , “ L u m ie r e s et U t o p i e ,” 3 5 8 - 3 5 9 ,
w ith r e f e r e n c e to J . F a b r e , “ R c a lite et U t o p i e d a n s la p e n s e e p o litiq u e
d e J . - J . R o u s s e a u ," Annates J.-J. Rousseau, 3 5 ( 1 9 5 9 - 1 9 6 2 ) : 1 8 1 -2 1 6 .
4 8 . H e r b e r t M a r c u s e , “S o m m e s - n o u s cleja d e s h o m in e s ? ” Partisans,
n o . 2 8 (A p r . 1 9 6 6 ): 2 6 .
49. J ea n J a cq u es R ou sseau , The Social Contract, b k. 1, c h a p . 6 . T h is
a n d s u b s e q u e n t r e f e r e n c e s a r e ta k e n fr o m J e a n J a c q u e s R o u s s e a u , The
Social Contract: An Eighteenth-Century Translation Completely Revised, Edited,
with an Introduction, e d . C h a r le s F r a n k e l ( N e w Y o rk : H a f n e r P u b lis h in g
C o ., 1 9 4 7 ).
5 0 . ODM, 2 5 0 - 2 5 1 .
5 1 . R o u s s e a u , 7'he Social Contract, b k . 2 , c h a p . 7.
5 2 . EL, 8 0 . S e e a ls o ODM, 2 2 3 .
5 3 . R R , 3 9 4 . R o u s s e a u e x p r e s s e d th is id e a in The Social Contract, bk.
1, c h a p . 7.
126 Herbert Marcuse's Utopia
5 4 . ODM, 2 23.
5 5 . R o u s s e a u , Discours
sur I'origine et les fondements de I’intgalile panni
les homines, in Oeuvres completes, 3 : 1 3 3 .
5 6 . I b id ., 132.
5 7 . “A N o t e o n D ia le c tic ," H R, x.
5 8 . R o u s s e a u , The Social Contract, b k. 1, in tr o .
5 9 . RR, x.
60. R o u ssea u , The Social Contract, b k. 2 , c h a p . 7. C f. M ic h e le A n s a r t-
D o u r le n , “ L ’U t o p i e p o lit iq u e d e R o u s s e a u e t le j a c o b in is m e ,” in Le
Discours utopique, p a p e r s d e liv e r e d at a c o llo q u iu m , C e r is y -la -S a lle , 2 3
J u ly -1 A u g . 1 9 7 5 (P a ris: U n io n g e n e r a le d ’e d ilio n s , 1 9 7 8 ), 2 7 1 - 2 7 9 .
6 1 . “C a n C o m m u n is m B e L ib e r a l? ” 8 6 1 .
6 2 . EC, 1 5 8 .
6 3 . W ilh e lm E. M u h lm a n n , Messianismes rh>olutionnaires du tiers monde,
tr a n s la te d b y J e a n B a u d r illa r d (P a ris: G a llim a r d , 1 9 6 8 ), 3 0 1 . O r ig i­
n a lly p u b lis h e d a s Cliiliasmus and Nativismus (B e r lin : D ie tr ic h R e im e r ,
1 9 6 1 ).
6 4 . J u lie n F r e u n d , “ B r e f E ssai s u r le s s c ie n c e s h u m a in e s ,” Revue de
Tenseignement pliilosopliique, n o . 6 (1 9 6 0 ) : 5 5 .
6 5 . M y r d a l, Das Politische Element in der nationalbkonomischen Dohtrin-
bildung, 1 9 3 2 , 1 77; c ite d in M a r c u s e , NE, 13, 2 7 1 n . 18.
6 6 . “T h e o r y a n d P o litic s ,” 1 40.
6 7 . “La S o c ie tc d e P o p u le n c e e n p r o c e s ,” Le Monde, 11 M ay 1 9 6 8 ,
111.
68. T rou sson , Voyages aux pays de nolle part, 1 80.
69. H e r b e r t M a rc u se, “T h o u g h ts o n th e D e fe n s e o f G r a cch u s
B a b e u f," in The Defense of Gracchus Ilabeuf, e d . a n d tr a n s. J o h n A n t h o n y
S c o tt (B o s to n : U n iv e r s it y o f M a s s a c h u s e t t s P re ss, 1 9 6 7 ), 1 0 3 .
7 0 . I b id ., 9 8 - 9 9 .
7 1 . I b id ., 9 6 , c itin g G r a c c h u s B a b e u f , "La D e f e n s e d e G r a c c h u s
B a b e u f d e v a n t la H a u te C o u r d u V e n d o m e ."
7 2 . I b id ., 9 8 .
7 3 . “D e m o c r a c y H a s , H a s n ’t a F u tu r e ," 3 1 .
7 4 . I b id ., 10 4 .
7 5 . I b id ., 1 0 4 , a n d M a u r ic e C r a n s to n , “ H e r b e r t M a r c u s e ,” in The
New Left, e d . M a u r ic e C r a n s to n ( L o n d o n : B o d le y H e a d , 1 9 7 0 ), 8 6 .
7 6 . M a r c u s e , “T h o u g h t s o n th e D e f e n s e o f G r a c c h u s B a b e u f ,” 9 8 .
7 7 . “D e m o c r a c y H a s , H a s n ’t a F u t u r e ,” 10 3 .
7 8 . F r e u n d , " A n a r c h ie f iir h t zu D ik la tu r ," 2 2 .
7 9 . “D e m o c r a c y H a s , H a s n ’t a F u t u r e ,” 10 1 .
8 0 . M a r c u s e , “T h o u g h t s o n th e D e f e n s e o f G r a c c h u s B a b e u f," 104.
8 1 . M a r c u s e , “ D is c u s s io n o n I n d u s tr ia liz a tio n a n d C a p ita lis m ,” in
Max Weber and the Sociology Today, e d . O t t o S ta m m e r ( O x f o r d , 1 9 7 1 ),
1 8 5 . First G e r m a n e d it io n 1 9 6 4 . S e e a ls o R a y m o n d A r o n , Les Rapes de
la pensee sociologique (P a ris: G a llim a r d , 1 9 6 7 ), 5661T.
 Notes 127
8 2 . " D ie G e s e lls c h a f t a ls K u n t s w e r k ,” Neues Forum, 14, n o s . 1 6 7 -1 6 8
( N o v .- D e c . 1 9 6 7 ): 8 6 6 .
Philosophische Schriften (B a s e l, 1 9 4 6 ), 7 9 , c ite d
8 3 . F r ie d r ic h S c h ille r ,
b y F r e d e r ic J a m e s o n , “ M a r c u s e a n d S c h ille r ," in Monism and Form,
Fwenlieth-Centuiy Dialectical Theories of Literature (P r in c e to n : P r in c e to n
U n iv e r s it y P r e ss , 1 9 7 1 ), 8 8 .
81. NE, 1 1 7 .
8 5 . EL, 2 6 .
8 6 . M o r to n S c h o o lm a n , " M a r c u se 's A e s th e tic s a n d th e D is p la c e m e n t
Telos, 3 , tio . 2: 7 9 . A s w e n o w k n o w , M a r c u se
o f C r itic a l T h e o r y , ” in
w e n t o n to p u b lis h The Aesthetic Dimension in 1 9 7 7 .
8 7 . J a m e s o n , " M a r c u s e a n d S c h ille r ,” 9 0 .
Fourier, aujourd'hui (P aris: D e n o e l, 1 9 6 6 ), 161.
8 8 . E m ile L e h o u c k ,
8 9 . R u y e r , L'Utopie et les utopics, 2 1 8 .
9 0 . I b id ., 2 2 2 .
91. L e h o u c k , Fourier, aujourd'hui, 164.
92. I b id ., 11.
93. C ite d b y T r o u s s o n , Voyages aux pays de nolle part, 190.
94. J e a n L a c r o ix , Le Desire! les desirs, (P a ris: P U F , 1 9 7 5 ), 6 6 . L a cro ix 's
w o r k in c lu d e s “ F o u r ie r e t le f lu x d u d e s ir ," 6 6 - 7 6 , a n d v a r io u s r e f e r ­
e n c e s to M a r c u s e , 9 5 - 1 0 1 . S e e a ls o a r e v ie w by U m b e r to C a m p a g n o lo ,
Comprendre, n o s . 4 1 - 4 2 ( 1 9 7 5 - 7 6 ) : 2 6 0 - 2 6 2 .
9 5 . J e a n - P a u l T h o m a s , Liberation instinctuelle liberation politique,
Contribution fourieriste a Marcuse (P a ris: L e S y c o m o r e , 1 9 8 0 ). S e e a lso
a r e v ie w b y J e a n -M ic h e l B e s n ie r , " D e M a r c u s e a F o u r ie r ," Esprit, n o .
5 2 ( A p r . 1 9 8 1 ): 1 3 9 - 1 4 1 .
9 6 . M a r c u s e , “S o m m e s - n o u s d e ja d e s h o m in e s ? ” 2 6 .
97. EC, 1 8 7 .
9 8 . EC, 2 1 7 .
9 9 . F r a n c is H e a r n , " T o w a r d a C r itic a l T h e o r y o f P la y ,” Telos, 9 , n o .
4 ( W in t e r 1 9 7 6 -7 7 ): 1 4 5 - 1 6 0 .
100. FL, 6 8 .
101. FL, 6 3 . S e e a ls o EL, 4 9 .
1 0 2 . EL, 2 2 .
1 0 3 . B e s n ie r , “ D e M a r c u s e ft F o u r ie r ," 141.
1 0 4 . H e r b e r t M a r c u s e , " L ib e r a tio n fr o m t h e A f f lu e n t S o c ie ty ,” in The
Dialectics of Liberation, e tl. D a v id C o o p e r ( H a r m o n d s w o r t h : P e n g u in
B o o k s, 1 9 6 8 ), 1 7 5 -1 9 2 .
1 0 5 . I b id ., 1 7 7 ; ita lic s m in e .
1 0 6 . I b id ., 1 8 4 .
1 0 7 . I b id ., 1 7 7 .
1 0 8 . I b id ., 1 8 5 .
109. H a rry B u rro w s A c to n , The Illusion of an Epoch (London, 1955),
2 3 3 -2 3 6 .
1 10. M a r x - E n g e ls , “T h e G e r m a n I d e o lo g y ,” in Collected Works, 5 : 4 7 .
128 Herbert Marcuse's Utopia
11 1 . “S o c ia list H u m a n is m ,” in Socialist Humanism, e d . E rich F r o m m
(N e w Y o r k : D o u b le d a y , 1 9 6 5 ), 11 2 .
1 12. M a r c u s e . “S o m m e s - n o u s d e ja d e s h o m m e s ? ” 2 5 - 2 6 .
I IS . “T h e R e a lm o f F r e e d o m a n d th e R e a lm o f N e c e s s it y , A R e c o n ­
Praxis, 5 , n o s . 1-2 (1 9 6 9 ): 2 2 .
s id e r a t io n ,”
114. S e e New Left Review, 5 6 (1 9 6 9 ): 2 7 - 3 4
115. M a r c u se , as c ite d by G e r a r d B e r g e r o n , “Q u i est H e r b e r t M a rc u se? ”
Action pcdagogiquc, n o s . 1 2 -1 3 (1 9 6 8 ): 9 1 - 9 2 ; ita lics m in e .
1 16. EL, 8 9 .
1 17. Ib id .
1 18. CRR, 4 7 .
1 19. E. M ., “C o p s C le a r K an t," San Francisco Good Times, 12 F eb . 1 9 7 1 ,
18.
1 2 0 . Ib id .
1 21. P e r r o u x , Francois Perroux interroge Herbert Marcuse, 1 0 0 .
122. M m e . N . B ., “ M . Francois P e r r o u x in tr o d u it M a r c u s e a u C o lle g e
d e F r a n c e ,” 11.
1 23. EL, 8 9 .
Encyclopaedia universalis ( 1 9 6 8 ) ,
1 2 4 . H e n r i A r v o n , “ B a k o u n in e ,"
2 : 1 0 3 2 . S e e a ls o id ., Michel Bakounine on la vie contre la science (P aris:
S e g h e r s , 1 9 6 6 ), 5 0 .
125. SM, 1 28.
126. SM, 1 2 5 .
127. RR, x .
1 2 8 . RR, x iv .
1 2 9 . A r t h u r M itc h e ll, The Major Works of Herbert Marcuse, A Critical
Commentary ( N e w Y o r k : S im o n &: S c h u s t e r , 1 9 7 5 ), 9 8 - 1 0 0 , a n d G il
G r e e n , The New Radicalism: Anarchist or Marxist? ( N e w Y o rk : I n t e r ­
n a tio n a l P u b lis h e r s , 1 9 7 1 ), 1 1 2 -1 1 4 .
130. ODM, 2 5 6 .
131. ODM, 5 3 .
1 3 2 . M ik h a il B a k u n in , “ E crit c o n t r e M arx," in Socialisme autoritaire ou
liberlaire, M ik h a il B a k u n in a n d K arl M a r x (P a ris: U n io n g e n e r a t e d ’e d i-
tio n s , 1 9 7 5 ), 2 : 1 9 .
1 3 3 . F r ie d r ic h E n g e ls , “ P r e fa c e a ‘L a G u e r r e d e s p a y s a n s e n A lle -
m a g n e ,' " in Oeuvres chords, F r ie d r ic h E n g e ls a n d K arl M a r x (M o sc o w :
E d itio n s d u p r o g r e s , 1 9 7 5 ), 2 4 8 .
1 3 4 . “ D e m o c r a c y H a s , H a s n ’t a F u t u r e ,” 104.
13 5 . A n d r e R e s z le r , L'Esthetique anarchiste (P a ris: P U F , 1 9 7 3 ), 2 9 , 2 9 -
40.
136. I b id ., 3 1 , c itin g M ik h a il B a k u n in , Confession.
13 7 . “ M o r a le e l p o litiq u e d a n s la s o c ie t e d ’a b o n d a n c e ,” FU, 8 6 .
138. O liv ie r R e b o u l, Langage et ideologic (P a ris: P U F , 1 9 8 0 ), 3 3 , c itin g
N . M a n d e ls ta m , Contre tout espoir.
 Notes 129
1 3 9 . J u le s M o n n e r o t , Sociologie de la revolution (P aris: F a y a r a d , 1 9 6 9 ),
9.
1 4 0 . J a c q u e s E llu l, De la Revolution aux revoltes, 3 2 3 ; s e e a ls o “ La R e v o ­
lu t io n q u i n e s ig n if ie l ie n ,” 3 2 3 - 3 2 8 .
141. R aym on d A ro n , La Revolution introuvable.
1 4 2 . F r a n c o is C h a t e le t , G ille s L a p o u g e , a n d O liv ie r R e v a u lt d ’A l-
lo n n e s , La Revolution sans mod'ele (P a r is-L a H a y e : N lo u to n , 1 9 7 4 ), 3 5 .
1 4 3 . I b id ., 1 3 1 .
1 4 4 . " T h e o r y a n d P o litics," 1 5 0 - 1 5 2 .
1 4 5 . M a r c u s e , " P r o to s o c ia lis m a n d L a te C a p ita lis m ,” 3 6 - 3 7 .
1 4 6 . I b id ., 2 5 - 2 6 ; ita lic s m in e .
1 4 7 . D o n a ld C . L e e , " T h e C o n c e p t o f ‘N e c e s s it y ’: M a rx a n d M a r c u s e ,”
Southwestern Journal of Philosophy, 6 (W in te r 1 9 7 5 ): 4 7 - 5 3 .
1 4 8 . M a x im ile n R u b e l, " U t o p ie et r e v o lu t io n ,” in Marx critique du
marxistne (P a ris: P a y o t, 1 9 7 4 ), 2 9 8 . C f., " U to p ia a n d R e v o lu t io n ,” in
Socialist Humanism, An International Symposium, 2 d e d ., e d . E rich F r o m m
( N e w Y o r k : D o u b le d a y , 1 9 6 6 ), 2 1 1 - 2 1 9 . T h e s e n t e n c e q u o te d d o e s
n o t a p p e a r in t h e E n g lis h v e r s io n .
1 4 9 . " E th ic s a n d R e v o lu tio n ," in Ethics and Society: Original Essays on
Contemporary Moral Problems, e d . R ic h a r d T . D e G e o r g e ( N e w Y ork :
D o u b le d a y , 1 9 6 6 ), 1 3 3 - 1 4 7 .
1 5 0 . " T h e o r y a n d P o litic s ,” 1 26.
SCP, 2 9 .
1 5 1 . “T h e F o u n d a t io n o f H is to r ic a l M a te r ia lism ,"
1 5 2 . J . P. G u in le , r e v ie w o f RR in Archives de philosophic du droit, 15
(1 9 7 0 ): 4 4 6 .
1 5 3 . “T h e O b s o le s c e n c e o f M a r x is m ,” in Marx and the Western World,
e d . N ic h o la s L o b k o w ic z ( N o t r e D a m e , In d .: U n iv e r s ity o f N o tr e D a m e
P r e ss, 1 9 6 7 ), 4 1 3 . M a r c u s e c o m p la in e d a b o u t th e o m is s io n o f th e q u e s ­
tio n m a r k in th is title .
1 5 4 . “ L ib e r a tio n f r o m t h e A f f lu e n t S o c ie t y ,” I 7 7 f f .
1 5 5 . " E th ic s a n d R e v o lu t io n ,” 1 3 4 - 1 3 5 .
1 5 6 . " R e e x a m e n d u c o n c e p t d e r e v o lu tio n ," Diogene, n o . 6 4 (O c t.-D e c .
1 9 6 8 ): 2 3 . C f ., “ R e e x a m in a t io n o f t h e C o n c e p t o f R e v o lu tio n ," in Marx
and Contemporary Scientific Tbought!Marx et la pensee scientifique content-
poraine, p a p e r s p r e s e n t e d at a UNESCO s y m p o s iu m o n “T h e R o le o f
K arl M a r x in t h e D e v e lo p m e n t o f C o n t e m p o r a r y S c ie n tific T h e o r y ,"
8 - 1 0 M a y 1 9 6 8 (P a r is-L a H a y e : N lo u to n , 1 9 6 8 ), 4 7 6 - 4 8 2 .
1 5 7 . A n t o n y M a r k R u p r e c h t , “M a r x a n d M a r c u se : a C o m p a r a tiv e
A n a ly sis o f th e ir R e v o lu tio n a r y T h e o r ie s ," Dialogue, Journal of Phi Sigma
Tau, 17, n o s . 2 - 3 ( A p r il 1 9 7 5 ): 5 1 - 5 6 .
1 5 8 . M a r x - E n g e ls , " T h e G e r m a n I d e o lo g y ," 5 : 5 2 - 5 3 .
1 5 9 . K arl M a r x , 1 8 5 9 p r e f a c e to “A C o n t r ib u tio n to th e C r itiq u e o f
P o litic a l E c o n o m y ," in The Marx-Engels Reader," R o b e r t C . I u c k e r , e d .
(N e w Y ork: W . W . N o r to n Sc C o . I n c ., 1 9 7 2 ), 5 .
130 Herbert Marcuse's iftopia
1 60. R R , 3 1 8 , a n d H e r b e r t M a r c u s e , " S o c ia lism in t h e D e v e lo p e d
C o u n t r ie s ,” International Socialist Journal, 2 , n o . 8 (1 9 6 5 ): 1 3 9 -1 5 2 ; c f ..
139.
1 61. M a r x , 1 8 5 9 p r e f a c e , 5 ; M a r x -E n g e ls , “T h e G e r m a n I d e o lo g y ,”
5 :5 4 .
1 62. M a r x -E n g e ls , “T h e H o ly F a m ily ,” in Collected Works, 4 : 3 6 - 3 7 .
163. EL, 16, 5 3 ; FL, 9 8 .
1 6 4 . " T h e o r ie et p r a t iq u e ,” in AC, 8 8 . T h is e s s a y o r ig in a lly a p p e a r e d
as “T h e o r i e u n d P r a x is ,” in Zeit-Messungen (F r a n k fu r t a m M ain :
S u h r k a m p V e r la g , 1 9 7 5 ), 2 1 - 3 6 .
165. M a r x -E n g e ls , “T h e H o ly F a m ily ,” 4 : 3 6 - 3 7 .
166. J u lie n F r e u n d , L'Essence du politique (P a ris; S ir e y s, 1 9 6 5 ), 5 7 6 -
577.
1 6 7 . O D M , 189.
1 6 8 . “T h e R e ific a tio n o f th e P r o le ta r ia t,” Canadian Journal of Political
and Social Theory, 3 , n o . I (W in te r 1 9 7 9 ): 2 0 - 2 3 .
E m p ir ic a l s t u d ie s h e a r o u t th e M a r c u sia n th e o r y o f t h e r e ific a tio n
o f t h e p r o le ta r ia t, f o r e x a m p le : B e n n e tt B e r g e r , The Working-Class
Suburb (B e r k e le y : U n iv e r s ity o f C a lifo r n ia P re ss, 1 9 6 0 ); W illia m
G o m b e r g a n d A r th u r S h o sia k , e d s ., lllue-Collar World (E n g le w o o d C liffs:
P r e n tic e -H a ll I n c ., 1 9 6 4 ); F r e d e r ic k C . K le in , " R isin g P ay L ifts M o r e
B lu e -C o lla r M e n in t o a N e w A f f lu e n t C la s s,” W all Street Journal, 5 A p r .
1 9 6 5 , 1 a n d 12; D a n ie l S e lig m a n , " T h e N e w M a sse s,” in America as a
Mass Society, e d . P h ilip O ls e n ( N e w Y o rk : F r e e P re ss, 1 9 6 3 ), 2 4 4 - 2 5 6 .
T h e r e is at le a st o n e e x c e p t i o n , h o w e v e r . J o h n C . L e g g e tt, fo r
e x a m p le , d is a g r e e s w ith th e th e o r y th a t t h e w o r k e r s lack r e v o lu tio n a r y
p o te n tia l; s e e L e g g e t t , Class, Race and Labor: Working Class Consciousness
in Detroit (F a ir la w n : O x f o r d U n iv e r s ity P r e ss, 1 9 6 8 ).
1 6 9 . C f., R R , 2 7 9 .
1 7 0 . R ic h a r d K in g , " H e r b e r t M a r c u se ," in The Party of Eros, Radical
Social Thought and the Realm of Freedom (C h a p e l H ill: U n iv e r sity o f N o r th
C a r o lin a P r e ss , 1 9 7 2 ), 1 2 6 .
1 7 1 . M a r c u s e , “P r o to s o c ia lis m a n d L a te C a p ita lis m ," 3 8 . O n c u ltu r a l
r e v o lu tio n , s e e 3 3 - 3 4 .
1 7 2 . J e a n - P a u l S a r tr e , " L es B a s tille s d e R a y m o n d A r o n ," d is c u s s io n
r e p o r t e d b y S e r g e L a fa u r ie , Le N ouvel Obsen-atrur, n o . 1 8 8 ( 1 9 - 2 5 J u n e
1 9 6 8 ); 2 7 .
1 7 3 . EL, 7 9 ; ita lics m in e .
1 7 4 . H e r b e r t M a r c u s e , “V a r ie tie s o f H u m a n is m ,” Center M agazine, 1
(J u ly 1 9 6 8 ): 14.
17 5 . I d ., “ R e v o lu tio n a r y S u b je c t a n d S e lf - G o v e r n m e n t ," Praxis 5 , n o s .
1-2 (1 9 6 9 ): 3 2 6 .
17 6 . I b id ., 3 2 6 .
1 7 7 . I b id ., 3 2 7 .
1 7 8 . “T h e O b s o le s c e n c e o f M a r x ism ," 4 0 9 - 4 17.
 Notes 131
1 7 9 . I b id ., 4 1 0 .
1 8 0 . I b id ., 4 1 7 .
1 8 1 . “S o c ia lis m in th e D e v e lo p e d C o u n tr ie s ," 151.
1 8 2 . M a r x - E n g e ls , “G e r m a n I d e o lo g y ," 5 : 5 8 .
1 8 8 . RR, 8 1 9 .
1 8 4 . O n t h e id e a o f r e v o lu t io n a n d j u s t if ic a t io n , s e e K e ith C a m p b e ll,
" M a r c u s e o n t h e J u s t if ic a t io n o f R e v o lu tio n ," Politics (A u s tr a la sia ), 4 ,
n o . 2 ( N o v . 1 9 6 9 ): 1 6 1 - 1 6 7 ; K ai N ie ls e n , “O n th e C h o ic e B e tw e e n
R e f o r m a n d R e v o lu t io n ,” Inquiry, 14. n o . 3 ( A u t u m n 1 9 7 1 ), 2 7 1 - 2 9 5 ,
r e p r in t e d in V ir g in ia M e ld , K ai N ie ls e n a n d C h a r le s P a r s o n s , Philos­
ophy and Political Action ( N e w Y o r k : O x f o r d U n iv e r s ity P re ss, 1 9 7 2 ),
1 7 -5 1 . J u lie n F r e u n d , “A s p e c ts p o le m o lo g iq u e s d e la v io le n c e ,” Actions
et recherches sociales, 2 - 3 ( S e p t . 1 9 8 1 ): 3 6 - 5 1 , a n d “L 'E x e m p le d e
M a r c u s e ," 4 0 - 4 2 ,
1 8 5 . “ R e e x a m e n d u c o n c e p t d e r e v o lu tio n ," 3 1 .
1 8 6 . FL, 9 0 .
1 8 7 . L o u is W iz n itz e r " I n te r v ie w e x c lu s iv e d ’U e r b e r t M a r c u se , tluH>*
r ic ie n r e v o lu t io n n a ir e fo r t d o u x , ” La Presse, 4 J a n . 1 9 6 9 , 7 . T h is a rtic le
a p p e a r e d u n d e r t h e title " M a r c u s e , le L e n in e d e la N o u v e lle G a u c h e ,”
in L ’Amerique en crise (M o n tr e a l: L es E d itio n s La P r e ss e , 1 9 7 2 ), 3 5 7 -
3 6 6 ; c f ., 3 6 2 .
1 8 8 . “ E th ic s a n d R e v o lu tio n ," 1 4 6 - 1 4 7 .
1 8 9 . " D e m o c r a c y H a s , H a sn 't a F u tu r e ," 1 04.
1 9 0 . “C o p s C le a r K an t," 18.
191. FL, 8 1 , a n d HU, 10 ( p r e f a c e to th e F r e n c h e d it io n o f ODM).
1 9 2 . FU, 1 0 1 .
1 9 3 . EC, 1 5 9 , c ite d b y J a m e s o n , Marxism and Form, 111.
1 9 4 . " T h e o r ie et p r a t iq u e ,” A C , 7 5 - 7 6 .
1 9 5 . H o l m a n d R a u le t, “ L ’E c o le d e F r a n c fo r t e n F r a n ce ," Esprit, 141.
1 9 6 . I b id ., 1 4 2 .
1 9 7 . J a y , " T h e D ia le c tic a l I m a g in a tio n ," 4 2 - 4 3 .
1 9 8 . W a lte r L a q u e u r , Weimar, Une Histoire cullurelle de I'Allemagne des
annees 20 (P a ris: L a f f o n t , ( 1 9 7 4 ) 1 9 7 8 ).
1 9 9 . A lf r e d K a n to r o w ic z , "L a F in d e I’U t o p i e ,” Etudes (B r u s s e ls ), n o .
4 (1 9 6 3 ): 2.
Sozialreform oder Revolution (L e ip z ig , 1 8 9 9 ), c f.,
2 0 0 . R o sa L u x e m b u r g ,
Social Reform or Revolution ( N e w Y o r k , 1 9 3 7 ).
201. I b id ., p r e f a c e .
2 0 2 . FL, 1 0 2 .
2 0 3 . L u x e m b u r g , Sozialreform, p r e f a c e .
2 0 4 . T h e d e b a t e o n " so c ia lism o r b a r b a r ism ," th e o r ig in o f w h ic h 1
h a v e a t t e m p t e d to tr a c e , s h o u ld n o t b e c o n f u s e d w ith th e n a m e o f th e
jo u r n a l f o u n d e d in 1 9 4 9 by a g r o u p o f f o r m e r T r o tsk y ists le d by C la u d e
L e fo r t a n d P au l C a r d a n , w h ic h c e a s e d p u b lic a tio n in 1 9 6 5 , as d e sc r ib e d
in The Unknown Dimension, European Marxism Since Lenin, e d s . D ick
132 Herbert Marcuse’s Utopia
H o w a r d a n d Karl F.. K lare ( N e w Y o rk a n d L o n d o n : B asic B o o k s, 19 7 2 ),
6 6 , 7 1 . N e it h e r s h o u ld it b e c o n f u s e d w ith th e title g iv e n b y C o r n e liu s
C a sto r ia d is , a m e m b e r o f th is g r o u p , to h is s ix - v o lu m e w o r k w h ic h
a p p e a r e d in t h e 1 0 /1 8 s e r ie s in F r a n c e (n o s . 7 5 1 , 8 0 6 , 8 2 5 , 8 5 7 , 1 3 0 3 ,
a n d 1 3 0 4 ).
2 0 5 . “ F ile F a ilu r e o f th e N e w L e f t ,” N ew German Critique, 6 , n o . 3 ( f a l l
1 9 7 9 ): 11.
2 0 6 . “ R e e x a m e n d u c o n c e p t d e r e v o lu t io n ,” 3 1 .
2 0 7 . “ La L ib e r te e t le s im p e r a tifs d e I’H is t o ir e ,” in K. M ’B a y e e t a l.,
La Liberte et I'ordre social (N e u c h a t e l: E d itio n s d e la B a c o n n ie r e , 1 9 6 9 ),
135. T h is p a p e r a n d th e s u b s e q u e n t d is c u s s io n w e r e fir st p u b lis h e d
in F r e n c h , a lt h o u g h th e p a p e r w a s o r ig in a lly g iv e n in E n g lis h . T h e
d is c u s s io n w a s n o t in c lu d e d in th e E n g lish v e r s io n s u b s e q u e n tly
p u b lis h e d as “F r e e d o m a n d t h e H isto r ic a l I m p e r a t iv e ,” in Studies in
Critical Philosophy (B o s to n : B e a c o n , 1 9 7 3 ), 2 1 1 - 2 2 3 , c f., 2 1 6 .
2 0 8 . M ich a el L o e w y , “L a S ig n ific a tio n m e t h o d o lo g iq u e d u m o t d ’o r d r e
‘s o c ia lis m e o u b a r b a r ie ,’ " in Dialectique et revolution, Essais de sociologie
et d'histoire du marxisme (P aris: A n t h r o p o s , 1 9 7 3 ), 1 1 3 -1 2 9 .
2 0 9 . I b id ., 1 1 3 , c itin g G . L u k a c s, Histoire el conscience de classe (P aris:
E d itio n s d e m in u it), 6 1 .
2 1 0 . R osa L u x e m b u r g , “T h e C r isis in G e r m a n S o c ia l D e m o c r a c y ( T h e
J u n iu s P a m p h le t: Part O n e ) ,” in Selected Political Writings o f Rosa Luxem­
burg , e d . D ick H o w a r d ( N e w Y o r k a n d L o n d o n : M o n th ly R e v ie w P r e ss,
1 9 7 1 ), 3 3 4 .
2 1 1 . “4 'h e p r o d u c t iv e fo r c e s c r e a t e d b y th e m o d e r n c a p ita lis t m o d e
o f p r o d u c t io n a n d a ls o th e s y s te m o f d is tr ib u tio n o f g o o d s e s ta b lis h e d
by it h a v e c o m e in to b u r n in g c o n t r a d ic t io n w ith th a t m o d e o f p r o d u c ­
tio n its e lf, a n d in fa ct to s u c h a d e g r e e th a t, i f th e w h o le o f m o d e r n
s o c ie ty is n o t to p e r is h , a r e v o lu tio n o f th e m o d e o f p r o d u c t io n a n d
d is tr ib u tio n m u st ta k e p la c e .” F r ie d r ic h E n g e ls , H err Eugen D uhring’s
Revolution in Science (Anti-Duhring) ( N e w Y o rk : I n te r n a tio n a l P u b lis h ­
e r s , ( 1 9 3 9 ] 1 9 6 6 ), 1 7 4 . It is in th is p a s s a g e th a t th e id e a o f so c ia lis m
as an a lte r n a tiv e c h o ic e in a m a jo r h is to r ic a l d ile m m a fir st a p p e a r e d .
2 1 2 . L o e w y , Dialectique et revolution" 1 20.
2 1 3 . “T h e F a ilu r e o f th e N e w L e f t ,” 1 1.
2 1 4 . “T h e o r y e t p r a t iq u e ,” A C , 8 8 - 8 9 .
2 1 5 . E d w a r d S h ils , “Ideology and Utopia by K arl M a n n h e im ,” Daedalus,
1 0 3 , n o . 1 (W in te r 1 9 7 3 ): 8 3 - 8 9 .
2 1 6 . P a lm ie r , Herbert Marcuse et la Nouvelle Gauche, 3 9 7 .
2 17 . R a y m o n d R u y e r , Les Nuisances ideologiques (P a ris: C a lm a n n -L e v v ,
1 9 7 2 ), 2 9 8 .
2 1 8 . I d ., L ’Utopie el les utopies, 5 4 .
2 1 9 . J o s e p h G a b e l, “M a n n h e im e t le m a r x is m e h o n g r o is ,” in Ideologies
(P aris: A n t h r o p o s , 1 9 7 4 ), 2 7 8 . T h is e s s a y a ls o a p p e a r e d in L ’Homme
et la sociele, n o . 1 1 (J a n .-F e b .-M a r . 1 9 6 9 ): 1 2 7 - 1 4 5 . O n M a n n h e im a n d
 Notes 133
M a r x is m , s e e a ls o id ., "La O i s e d u m a r x is m e et la p s y c h o lo g ic ,” Argu­
ments, 4 , n o . 18 ( I 9 6 0 ) .
2 2 0 . " D eb a ts G o ld m a n n -M a r c u s e (19G 2)," in Coldmann, S am i N’air a n d
M ic h a e l L o c w y (P a ris: S e g h e r s , 1 9 7 3 ), 15 4 . O n G o ld m a n n -M a r c u s e ,
s e e L u c ie n G o ld m a n n , “ L a P e n s e e d e H e r b e r t M a r c u se ," La Nef, n o .
3 6 ( 1 9 6 9 ) : 3 5 - 5 7 ; “ A R e p ly to L u c ie n G o ld m a n n ," Partisan Review, 3 8 ,
n o . 4 ( 1 9 7 1 - 1 9 7 2 ) : 3 9 7 - 4 0 0 ; “S o m e G e n e r a l R e m a r k s o n L u c ie n G o ld ­
m a n n ,” Revue de Vhistitut de sociologie de VUniversite tibre de Bruxelles, 3-
4 (1 9 7 3 ): 5 4 3 -5 4 4 .
221. J o s e p h G a b e l, “ L 'ln t e llig e n t s ia s a n s a tta c h e s ( 1 9 6 5 ) ,” in Ideologies,
294.
222. I b id ., 3 0 0 .
2 2 3 . “ D e b a ts G o ld m a n n - M a r c u s e ," 15 4 .
224. ODM, 1 8 9 .
2 2 5 . K arl M a n n h e im , Ideology and Utopia, An Introduction to the Sociology
of Knowledge, tr a n s la te d b y L o u is W ir th a n d E d w a r d S h ils ( N e w Y ork:
H a r c o u r t , B r a c e a n d W o r ld , I n c ., 1 9 3 6 ), 2 5 0 .
2 2 6 . G e r a r d R a u lc t, " E n c e r d e m e n t t e c lm o c r a iiq u e e t d £ p a s s e m e n t
Utopie-Marx-
p r a t iq u e , L ’U t o p i e c o n c r e t e c o n ii n e t h e o r ie c r it iq u e ,” in
isme selon Ernst Bloch, Un systeme de I'inconstructible, Hommages a Ernst
Bloch pour son 9 (f anniversaire publics sous la direction de Gerard Runlet
(P a ris: P a y o t, 1 9 7 6 ), 2 9 1 - 3 0 8 , c f ., 3 0 7 n . 4 9 .
2 2 7 . A r m a n d C u v illie r , “A v a n t-p r o p o s ," in K arl M a n n h e im , Ideologic
et utopie (P a ris: M a r c e l R iv ie r e , 1 9 5 6 ), 7.
2 2 8 . J a y , The Dialectical Imagination, 6 3 .
2 2 9 . P a u l B r e in e s , “ P r a x is a n d its T h e o r is t s : T h e Im p a c t o f L u k d cs
a n d K o r s c h in t h e 1 9 2 0 ’s," Telus, n o . 11 (S p r in g 1 9 7 2 ): 6 7 - 1 0 3 , c f., 9 5 .
2 3 0 . “Z u r W a h r h e ils p r o b le m a t ik d e r s o z io lo g is c h e n M e th o d e ," in Die
Gesellschaft, Internationale Reimefur Soiialismus undPoliiik, 6 , part 2 (1 9 2 9 ):
3 5 6 -3 6 9 .
2 3 1 . M a r tin J a y , " T h e F r a n k fu r t S c h o o l's C r itiq u e o f K arl M a n n h e im
a n d t h e S o c io lo g y o f K n o w le d g e , Telos, 7 , n o . 2 ( S u m m e r 1 9 7 4 ): 7 9 .
J a y e x p la i n e d th a t t h e o t h e r m e m b e r s o f th e s c h o o l m o v e d a w a y fr o m
M a n n h e im a s tim e w e n t o n .
232. Jay, The Dialectical Imagination, 6 3 .
2 3 3 . K arl M a n n h e im , Ideologic und Utopie, 3 d e d . (F r a n k fu r t, 1 9 6 5 ),
5 3 . " T h is c r u c ia l s e n t e n c e is m is s in g in all tr a n s la tio n s ," a c c o r d in g to
J o se p h G a b e l, “C o n s c ie n c e u to p iq u e et fa u ss e c o n s c ie n c e ,” in Le Discours
ulopique, p a p e r s d e li v e r e d at a c o llo q u iu m , C e r is y -la -S a lle , 2 3 J u l y - 1
A u g . 1 9 7 5 (P a ris: U n io n g e n e r a l c d e d it io n s , 1 9 7 8 ), 3 7 , 4 6 n . 6 .
234. NE, 1 4 7 - 1 4 8 .
2 3 5 . C f ., G a b e l, “C o n s c ie n c e u t o p iq u e et fa u s s e c o n s c ie n c e ,” 4 4 .
2 3 6 . J a m e s S c h m id t , “C r itic a l T h e o r y a n d t h e S o c io lo g y o f K n o w l­
e d g e , A R e s p o n s e to M a r tin J a y ,” Telos, 7 . n o . 3 (F all 1 9 7 4 ): 171.
134 Herbert Marcuse's Utopia
2 3 7 . R o g e r B a s tid e , “ M y th e s e t u t o p ie s ,” Colliers international^ de
sociologic, 2 8 (J a n .-J u n e 1 9 0 0 ): 4 . B a s tid e a ls o q u o t e s A u g u s t e C o m te
in a s im ila r v e in : “ U to p ia s a r e to th e so c ia l art w h a t g e o m e t r ic o r
m e c h a n ic a l m o d e ls a r e to th e ir c o r r e s p o n d in g a rts. S u c h m o d e ls a r e
a c c e p te d as a n in d is p e n s a b le s t e p in th e m o st m o d e s t c o n s t r u c t io n s ,
and m u st t h e r e f o r e b e e q u a lly n e c e s s a r y in t h e m o s t e la b o r a te .
F u r th e r m o r e , d e s p it e th e e m p ir ic a l n a tu r e o f th e p o litic a l a r t, all m a jo r
c h a n g e in th is H eld h a s b e e n p r e c e d e d , o n e o r tw o c e n t u r ie s e a r lie r ,
by a n a n a la g o u s u to p ia th a t h a s in s p ir e d H u m a n it y ’s a e s th e tic sp irit
w ith a s ix th s e n s e r e g a r d in g its s itu a tio n a n d its n e e d s .” Discours sur
I'ensemble do positivisme, (E d itio n s d u C in q u a n te n a ir e ), 3 0 2 .
2 3 8 . M a n n h e im , Ideology and Utopia, 2 5 3 .
2 3 9 . F o r a m o r e d e ta ile d c o m p a r is o n b e tw e e n M a n n h e im a n d M a rc u se,
s e e J o s e p h L. D e v itis , “ M a n n h e im a n d M a r c u se : S o c ia l C o n tr o l in
R e c o n s tr u c tio n a n d R e v o lu t io n ,” Southwestern Journal of Philosophy, 6
(S u m m e r 1 9 7 5 ): 1 2 9 -1 4 1 . A f u r t h e r c o m p a r is o n b e tw e e n id e o lo g y a n d
u to p ia by P a r e to c a n b e f o u n d in J u lie n F r e u n d , Pareto (P a ris: S e g h e i s),
17 3 .
2 4 0 . D a v id K e ttle r , “T h e V o c a tio n o f R a d ica l I n te lle c t u a ls ,” Politics
and Society, 1, n o . 1 ( N o v . 1 9 7 0 ): 3 4 .

C hapter III
1. J e a n M a r a b in i, “ La R e v o lu tio n d u X X I e s ie c le s e r a p o e t iq u e ,”
M a r c u s e ’s last in te r v ie w , Les Nouvelles litteraires, 2 - 9 A u g . 1 9 7 9 , 3 , c o l.
4 -5 .
2 . I b id ., c o ls . I a n d 5.
3. Schriften l: Der deutsche Kiimtlerroman, Friihe Aufscitze (F r a n k fu r t:
S u h r k a m p V e r la g , 1 9 7 8 ). S e c c o m m e n t a r y b y B a r r y M . K atz, “N e w
S o u r c e s o f M a r c u s e ’s A e s th e tic s ," New German Critique, 6 , n o . 2 ( S p r in g
1 9 7 9 ), 1 7 6 -1 8 8 .
4 . B e n A g g e r , “T h e A e s t h e tic P o litic s o f H e r b e r t M a r c u s e ,” The
Canadian Forum, 5 3 (O c t. 1 9 7 3 ): 2 4 .
5. ODM, 6 3 .
6 . A g g e r , “T h e A e s t h e tic P o litic s o f H e r b e r t M a r c u se ," 2 6 , 3 0 .
7. B e n A g g e r , “T h e G r o w in g R e le v a n c e o f M a r c u s e ’s D ia le c tic o f
I n d iv id u a l a n d C lass," Dialectical Anthropology, 4 , n o . 2 (J u ly 1 9 7 9 ): 1 35.
8 . I b id ., 1 4 4 , 145 n . 14, c itin g P au l P ic c o n e , “A r tific ia l N e g a t iv it y ,”
Telos, 11, n o . 1 ( S p r in g 1 9 7 8 ): 4 3 - 5 4 .
9 . F r e d C . A lf o r d , r e v ie w o f AD, Telos, 14, n o . 2 (S u m m e r 1 9 8 1 ):
1 7 9 -1 8 8 .
10. M a r c u s e , “ P r o to s o c ia lis m a n d L a te C a p ita lis m .”
11. A lf o r d , r e v ie w o f A D , 1 8 8 .
12. I b id ., 1 7 9 , 185.
13. I b id ., 1 8 2 , c itin g AD, 6 9 .
 Notes 135
14. M a r c u s e , “ P r o to s o c ia lis m a n d L a te C a p ita lism ," 2 8 .
15. A lf o r d , r e v ie w o f A D , 1 8 5 . S e c a ls o p . 1 8 1 , w h e r e h e s ta te s th at
M a r c u s e “c a n a p p r o p r ia t e a s p e c t s o f B a h r o ’s w o r k to b r e a k o u t o f th e
v ic io u s c ir c le b e c a u s e in The Aesthetic Dimension h e r e c o n c ile s h im s e lf
to t h e fa ct th a t a b s o lu t e f r e e d o m w ill n o t b e r e a liz e d in th is w o rld ."
16. M a r c u s e , “P r o to so c ia lism a n d L it e C a p ita lism ,” 3 2 . O n th e vicio u s
c ir c le , s e e a ls o ib id ., 2811; O D M ( 1 9 6 4 ) 2 2 3 , 2 5 1 ; “ L ib e r a tio n fr o m th e
A f f lu e n t S o c ie t y ” ( 1 9 6 7 ) , 1 7 8 ; FL ( 1 9 7 0 ) , 3 6 , 8 0 (th is last r e f e r e n c e is
th e o n ly o n e m e n t io n e d b y A lf o r d ) . R o u s s e a u ’s w e ll-k n o w n s ta te m e n t
o f t h e p r o b le m is g iv e n in c h a p . 2 , n . 4 9 ) .
17. A D , 6 .
18. L ’E x p r e s s va plus loin avec ces theoriciens (P aris: L a ffo n t, 1 9 7 3 ),
93.
19. G e o r g e s G u s d o r f , Naissance <le la conscience romantique au siecle des
lumieres, v o l. 7 o f Les Sciences humaines et la pensee occidentale (P aris:
P a y o t, 1 9 7 6 ), 4 4 3 .
2 0 . EC, 1 8 Iff.
2 1 . M ic h a e l L o e w y , Four une sociologie des intellectuels revolutionnaires;
L ’Evolution politique de Lukdcs, 1 9 0 9 -1 9 2 9 (P aris: P r e sse s u n iv e r s ita ir e s
d e F r a n c e , 1 9 7 6 ), 2 8 .
2 2 . P a u l B r e in e s , “ M a r x is m , R o m a n tic is m , a n d th e C a se o f G e o r g
L u k a cs: N o t e s o n S o m e R e c e n t S o u r c e s a n d S itu a tio n s ,” Studies in
Romanticism, n o . 16 (F a ll 1 9 7 7 ): 4 7 5 - 4 7 6 .
2 3 . J e f f r e y H e r f , r e v ie w o f L o e w y , Four une sociologie des intellectuels
revolutionnaires, Telos, 1 1, n o . 3 (F a ll 1 9 7 8 ): 2 2 8 .
2 4 . M ic h a e l L o e w y , Marxisme et romantisme revolutionnaire, Essais sur
Lukdcs et Rosa Luxemburg (P a ris: L e S y c o m o r e , 1979).
25. I b id ., 1 8 -1 9 .
2 6 . I b id ., 2 0 .
2 7 . I d ., “ M a r c u s e a n d B e n ja m in : T h e R o m a n tic D im e n s io n ," Telos,
13, n o . 2 ( S u m m e r 1 9 8 0 ): 2 5 - 3 3 .
2 8 . I b id ., 2 6 , c itin g M a r c u s e , Der deulsche Kunstlerroman, 4 3 - 4 9 , 8 6 ,
1 1 7 - 1 1 9 ,1 3 3 - 1 4 3 .
2 9 . K atz, “N e w S o u r c e s o f M a r c u se ’s A esth e tics," 182, c itin g M a rcu se,
NE, 229.
3 0 . J a y , " A e s t h e t ic T h e o r y a n d th e C r itiq u e o f M ass C u lt u r e ,” in The
Dialectical Imagination, 1 7 3 - 2 1 8 , s e e 175.
3 1. P e te r C le c a k , " H e r b e r t M a r c u s e : F r o m H is to r y to M y th ,” in R adi­
cal Faradoxes, Dilemmas o f the American Left: 1 9 4 5 -1 9 7 0 ( N e w Y ork :
H a r p e r a n d R o w , 1 9 7 3 ), 1 7 5 - 2 2 9 , s e e 2 1 3 .
3 2 . R ic h a r d F la c k s, “T h e I m p o r t a n c e o f th e R o m a n tic M y th fo r th e
L eft," a d is c u s s io n o f C le c a k , " H e r b e r t M a rcu se: F ro m H isto r y to M yth,"
Theory and Society, 2 , n o . 3 , (F all 1 9 7 5 ): 4 0 1 - 4 1 4 ; s e e 4 1 4 .
3 3 . L o e w y , M arxisme et romantisme revolutionnaire, 15, c itin g M artin
Bul>er, Utopie et socialisme (Ffade in Utopia) (H e id e lb e r g : V e r la g L u n b e r t
136 Herbert Marcuse's Utopia
S c h n e id e r , 1 9 5 0 ), tr a n s la te d b y P a u l C o r s e t a n d F r a n c o is G ir a r d (P aris:
A u b ie r - M o n t a ig n e , 1 9 7 7 ), 8 9 .
3 4 . E ric V o la n t, LeJen des affranchis. Confrontation Marcuse-Mollmanti
(M o n tr e a l: F id e s, c l 9 7 6 ) .
3 5 . I b id ., 1 9 2 .
3 6 . S a in K e e n a n d J o h n R a se r , “A C o n v e r s a t io n w ith H erbert
M a r c u se ," Psychology Today, 4 , n o . 9 (1 9 7 1 ): 3 3 - 3 6 .
3 7 . B r ig itte C r o is ie r , “ U n e C o n s c ie n c e t o u t e n e u v e ," La Nef, n o . 3 6
(J a n .-M a r . 1 9 6 9 ): 1 8 8 -1 8 9 .
3 8 . M ic h e ld e C e r t e a u , “ H e r b e r t M a r c u s e , 1 8 9 8 -1 9 7 9 ," in Universalia
1980, 5 7 2 - 5 7 3 .
3 9 . I d ., “ L ’E n d u r a n c e d e I’e s p o ir ,” Les Nouvelles litteraires, A u g . 2 -9 ,
1979, 4.
4 0 . R ic h a r d K e a r n e y , “ I n te r v ie w w ith H e r b e r t M a r c u s e ,” The Crane
Hag, 1, n o . 1 (S p r in g 1 9 7 7 ): 8 3 - 8 4 .
4 1 . H . P e y r e , “ R o m a n tis m e ," in Encyclopaedia Universalis, 1 4 :3 6 7 c .
4 2 . G e o r g W ilh e lm F r ie d r ic h H e g e l, “L ’A r t r o m a n t iq u e ,” Esthetique
(P aris: A u b ie r - M o n t a ig n e , 1 9 6 4 ), 5 : 1 2 6 .
4 3 . J e a n - M ic h e l P a lm ie r , " S ig n if ic a t io n c r it iq u e d u r o m a n t is m e
r e v o lu lio n n a ir e ,” in Herbert Marcuse et la nouvelle gauche, 5 6 6 - 5 7 1 ,5 8 2 .
44. ODM, 6 0 .
4 5 . M ic h e l H a a r , L’Homme unidimensionnel, Marcuse (P a ris: H a lie r ,
1 9 7 5 ), 6 0 - 6 1 .
46. CRR, 8 9 .
47. CRR, 12 2 .
4 8 . K e a r n e y , “ I n te r v ie w w ith H e r b e r t M a r c u se ," 8 1 - 8 2 .
4 9 . I b id ., 8 0 - 8 1 .
5 0 . H e r b e r t R e a d , “S u r r e a lis m a n d th e R o m a n tic P r in c ip le ," in Crit­
icism: The Foundations of Modern Literary Judgment, 9 6 , c ite d by G e r a ld
G r a lf, “A e s th e tic is m a n d C u ltu r a l P o litics," Social Research, 4 0 , n o . 2
( S u m m e r 1 9 7 3 ), 3 2 2 .
51. CRR, 9 2 .
52. ODM, 5 9 .
5 3 . ODM, 5 9 .
5 4 . CRR, 5 .
5 5 . K e a r n e y , “ I n te r v ie w w ith H e r b e r t M a r c u s e ,” 7 7 .
5 6 . I b id ., 8 0 .
57. CRR, 8 6 .
58. AD, 6 .
59. CRR, 89.
60. CRR, 12 2 .
61. CRR, 12 5 .
6 2 . G r a ff, “A e s t h e tic is m a n d C u ltu r a l P o litic s ,” 3 3 9 .
6 3 . A n n e tte T. R u b in s te in , r e v ie w o f AD, Science and Society, 4 2 , n o .
4 (1 9 7 9 ): 5 0 3 . T h e r e v ie w n o te s th e w e a k n e s s o f M a r c u s e ’s a r g u m e n t
 Notes 137
a g a in s t t h e t y p e o l t h e o r y p u t lo r w a r d b y L u k a c s, s in c e M a r c u se m a k e s
u se o f th e sa m e c o n c e p t. M a r c u s e w r o te : “T h e p a r tic u la r so cia l
c o n f r o n t a t io n s a r e b u ilt in t o t h e p la y o l m e ta s o c ia l fo r c e s b e tw e e n
in d iv id u a l a m i in d iv id u a l, m a le a n d fe m a le , h u m a n ity a n d n a tu r e .”
AD, 2 7 . L u k a c s , a s q u o t e d in t h e r e v ie w (p . 5 0 1 ) , sta te d : “T h e c e n tr a l
c a t e g o r y a n d c r it e r io n o f r e a lis tic lite r a tu r e is th e ty p e , a p a r tic u la r
s y n th e s is w h ic h o r g a n ic a lly b in d s t o g e t h e r t h e g e n e r a l a n d th e p a r tic ­
u la r in b o th c h a r a c te r s a n d s it u a t io n s .”
0 4 . K e a r n e y , “ I n te r v ie w w ith H e r b e r t M a rc u se," 8 2 . S e e a ls o CRR,
90.
0 5 . “ T h e R e le v a n c e o f R e a lity ," Proceedings and Addresses of the Amer­
ican Philosophical Association, 4 2 (O c t. 1 9 0 9 ): 3 9 - 5 0 .
00. I b id ., 5 0 .
07. Le Monde, I I M ay 1 9 0 8 , 3 .
0 8 . “T h e R e le v a n c e o f R e a lity ," 5 0 . M a r c u s e ’s c o m m e n t s a r e r e m i­
n is c e n t o f t h e o p e n i n g w o r d s o f A d o r n o ’s Negative Dialectics, tr a n sla te d
by E. B . A s h t o n ( N e w Y o r k : S c a b u r y P r e ss , 1 9 7 3 ), to th e e f f e c t th at
p h ilo s o p h y w h ic h a p p e a r s o b s o le t e k e e p s a liv e b e c a u s e its m o m e n t o f
r e a liz a tio n w a s m is s e d .
0 9 . I b id ., 4 7 .
7 0 . K arl M a r x , “C r itiq u e o f H e g e l ’s P h ilo s o p h y o f L aw , I n tr o d u c ­
tio n ,"Collected Works, 3: 1 87.
7 1 . P r e fa c e t o A Contribution to the Critique of Political Economy, in The
Marx-Engels Reader, e d . R o b e r t C . T u c k e r ( N e w Y o rk : W . YV. N o r to n
& C o ., I n c ., 1 9 7 2 ), 4 .
Collected Works, 5 :3 7 .
7 2 . M a r x - E n g e ls , " T h e G e r m a n I d e o lo g y ,”
7 3 . “T h e o r i e e t p r a tiq u e ," AC, 7 5 ; ita lics m in e . S e e a ls o RR, 3 1 9 .
7 4 . “T h e R e le v a n c e o f R e a lity ,” 4 8 ; ita lics m in e .
7 5 . RR, 3 2 2 .
7 0 . J a y , The Dialectical Imagination, 7 9 .
7 7 . M a r x - E n g e ls , “T h e G e r m a n I d e o lo g y ," Collected Works, 5 :5 4 .
78. AC, 7 5 .
7 9 . AD, 7 3 .
8 0 . NE, 1 4 0 .
8 1 . NE, 1 5 4 .
8 2 . “T h e R e le v a n c e o f R ea lity ," 4 8 - 4 9 .
8 3 . NE, 1 1 9 .
8 4 . “ A R e v o lu t io n in V a lu e s ,” in Political Ideologies, e d s . J a m e s A .
G o u ld a n d W illis H . T r u it t ( N e w Y o rk : T h e M a c m illa n C o ., 1 9 7 3 ),
331.
8 5 . " T h e C o n c e p t o f N e g a t io n in th e D ia le c tic ," Telos, n o . 8 (1 9 7 1 ):
1 3 0 -1 3 2 .
8 0 . SM, 1 11. S e c a ls o RR, 3 2 1 , a n d CRR, 7 3 - 7 4 .
87. Collected
M a r x , " E c o n o m ic a n d P h ilo s o p h ic M a n u sc r ip ts o f 1 8 4 4 ,”
Works, 3 : 2 7 7 . S e e a ls o “ M a r x is m a n d t h e N e w H u m a n it y ,” in Marxism
138 Herbert Marcuse's Utopia
and Radical Religion, Essays toward a Revolutionary Humanism, e d s . J o h n
C. R a in e s a n d T h o m a s D e a n (P h ila d e lp h ia : T e m p l e U n iv e r s ity P re ss,
1 9 7 0 ), 8; A r n o ld T o y n b e e , “ A rt as a F o r m o f R e a lity , in On the Future
of Art ( N e w Y o rk : V ik in g P r e ss, 1 9 7 0 ), 1 33; CRR, 7 3 - 7 4 .
8 8 . C f. G e o r g e F r ie d m a n , “ P o s in g th e P r o b le m o f M o d e r n ity ,” in
The Political Philosophy of the Frankfurt School, p a r t II, se c t. 10, “ I h e
C risis o f th e E n lig h t e n m e n t ,” 11, “T h e C r isis o f A rt a n d C u lt u r e ,” 12,
“T h e C risis o f th e H u m a n P sy c h e ," a n d 13, “T h e C risis o f H isto r y ,"
109-203.
8 9 . “T h e R e le v a n c e o f R e a lity ,” 4 8 .
9 0 . “T h e o r y a n d P o litic s ,” 141.
91. NE, 131.
9 2 . CRR, 1 21.
93. T h eo d o r A dorno, Theorie esthetique (P a ris: K lin c k sie c k , 1 9 7 4 ). I d .,
Aesthetische Theorie, Paralipomena, Friihe Einleitung, e d s . G r e te l A d o r n o
a n d R o lf T ie d e m a n n , v o l. 7 o f Complete Works ( 1 9 7 0 ) , 3 7 4 , as c ite d by
A r a to e t a l., The Essential Frankfurt School Reader, 2 0 7 , 3 5 1 n . 7 7 .
9 4 . EL, 3 0 f f .
9 5 . CRR, 1 07.
9 6 . B r y a n M a g e e , “ M a r c u s e a n d th e F r a n k fu r t S c h o o l, D ia lo g u e w ith
H e r b e r t M a r c u se ," in Man of Ideas: Some Creators of Contemporary Philos­
ophy, e d . B r y a n M a g e e ( L o n d o n : B r itish B r o a d c a s tin g C o r p o r a t io n ,
1 9 7 8 ), 6 9 - 7 0 . S e e a ls o H a b e r m a s ’s c o m p a r is o n b e tw e e n M a r c u s e a n d
B e n j a m in , “ C o n s c i o u s n e s s - r a is in g o r R e d e m p t iv e C r it ic is m — T h e
C o n t e m p o r a n e it y o f W a lte r B e n j a m in ,” in New German Critique, 6 ,
n o . 2 (S p r in g 1 9 7 9 ), p a r t I: 3 2 - 3 7 .
9 7 . “A r t in t h e O n e - D im e n s io n a l S o c ie ty ,” A rts Magazine, M ay 1 9 6 7 ,
2 6 -3 1 .
9 8 . I b id ., 2 6 .
9 9 . J a y , “A e s th e tic T h e o r y a n d t h e C r itiq u e o f M ass C u lt u r e ,” The
Dialectical Imagination, 1 7 3 -2 1 8 .
1 0 0 . “T h e A f f ir m a t iv e C h a r a c te r o f C u ltu r e ," in NE, 8 8 - 1 3 3 .
1 0 1 . “T h e S t r u g g le A g a in s t L ib e r a lis m in t h e T o ta lita r ia n V ie w o f th e
S ta te ,” in NE, 3 -4 2 .
1 0 2 . “B a s e a n d S u p e r s tr u c t u r e — R e a lity a n d I d e o lo g y ,” in SM, 1 0 5 -
120.
103. One-Dimensional Man.
104. EL, a n d in p a r tic u la r a little -k n o w n in te r v ie w r e p o r t e d in Les
Jeunes et la contestation, (P aris: L a f f o n t , B ib lio t h e q u e L a ffo n t d e s g r a n d s
t h e m e s , n o . 9 3 .)
105. CRR, p a s s im , a n d in p a r tic u la r 8 3 - 8 4 .
1 0 6 . M a r c u se 's id e a s o n " c u ltu r e in d u str y " w e r e s im ila r to t h o s e o f
H o r k h e im e r a n d A d o r n o in 1 9 4 4 , g iv e n a w id e r a u d ie n c e b y A d o r n o
in 1 9 6 3 a n d 1 9 6 7 ; c f ., D a v id H e ld , Introduction toCritical Theory ( B e r k e ­
ley: U n iv e r s ity o f C a lifo r n ia P r e ss, 1 9 8 0 ), p p . 9 0 f f . T h e n o t io n o f
 Notes 139
p o p u la r c u lt u r e a llo w s lo r t h e id e a th at a c e r ta in e le m e n t o f c u ltu r e
o r ig in a t e s s p o n t a n e o u s ly w ith th e m a s s e s , w h e r e a s to d a y , a c c o r d in g
to t h e m e m b e r s o ( t h e F r a n k fu r t S c h o o l, c u lt u r e is c o n t r o lle d a n d
m a n ip u la t e d , a n d its a u t o n o m y is t h r e a t e n e d by in d u str ia l c iv iliz a tio n .
1 h is is w h y t h e y fin a lly p r e f e r r e d th e e x p r e s s io n “c u lt u r e in d u str y "
to “ m a s s c u ltu r e ."
1 0 7 . " T h e S t r u g g le A g a in s t L ib e r a lis m in th e T o ta lita r ia n V ie w o f th e
S t a t e ,” ME, 3 - 4 2 .
1 0 8 . I b id ., 4 2 .
1 0 9 . S M , 10 7 .
1 1 0 . SM , 1 1 0 .
111. SM , 115.
1 1 2 . SM , 11 7 ; ita lics m in e .
1 1 3 . SM , 1 1 6 .
114. SM , 116.
115. SM , 120.
1 16. S M , 11 8 .
1 1 7 . “ P r e f a c e ft f e d it io n fr a n y a ise ," H U , 7; c f ., O D M , xvi.
1 1 8 . " T h e C o n c e p t o f E s s e n c e ,” in ME, 6 5 .
1 1 9 . “ D e I 'o n t o lo g ie ft la tech n o lo g ic* ; L es T e n d a n c e s d e la s o c ie te
in d u s t r ie ll e ,” Arguments, 4 , n o . 18 (1 9 6 0 ): 5 4 - 5 9 .
1 2 0 . “T h e L a n g u a g e o f T o t a l A d m in is tr a tio n ," a n d “T h e N e w F o rm s
o f C o n t r o l” in O D M .
1 2 1 . SM , 1 1 7 .
122. ODM , 6 3 .
1 2 3 . " P r e fa c e ft I 'e d itio n fr a n y a ise ," H U , 10.
124. ODM , 2 4 8 .
1 2 5 . C L , G e r a r d K a u le t, "La R e v o lu tio n im p o s s ib le ? E n h o m m a g e ft
H e r b e r t M a r c u s e ," Allemagnes d'aujourd'hui, (S e p t. 1 9 7 9 ):2 5 .
1 2 6 . ME, 1 1 9 .
1 2 7 . A D , 13.
1 2 8 . V in c e n t C e o g h e g a n , Henson o w l Eros, The Social Theory of Herbert
M arcuse ( L o n d o n : P lu to P re ss, 1 9 8 1 ), 2 8 .
1 2 9 . E r n st B lo c h , “ l .e C o n c e p t d e f u n c tio n u t o p iq u e ,” in Le Principe
Esperance ( 1 9 5 9 ; P aris: G a llim a r d , 1 9 7 6 ), 1 7 4 -2 1 6 . P ie r r e F u lle r ,
" U t o p ie et m a r x is m e s c io n E r n st B lo c h ," Archives de sociologies des reli­
gions, n o . 21 (J a n .- J u n e 1 9 6 6 ): 3 - 2 1 , s e e 9 - 1 3 . L a e n n e c H u r b o n , “T r o is
f u n c t io n s d e I’u to p ie ," in Ernst Bloch, utopie et esperance (P aris: C e r f,
1 9 7 4 ), 7 3 - 7 5 .
1 3 0 . P a u l R ic o e u r , “T h e T a s k o f th e P o litic a l E d u c a to r ," tr a n s la te d
b y D a v id S te w a r t, Philosophy Today 17, n o .2 /4 (S u m m e r 1 9 7 3 ): 140-
1 52, s e e 1 5 0 -1 5 1 ; “ P r e v isio n e c o n o m iq u c et c h o ix e th iq u e ," Esprit, (F eb .
1 9 6 6 ), r e p r in t e d in Histoire et verite, 3 d e d . (P a ris: S e u il, n .d .) 3 0 1 - 3 1 6 ,
s e e 3 1 2 - 3 1 5 ; ‘Lit F u n c tio n c o n s lil u a n t e d e E u to p ic ,' in "L’l l e r m e n e u -
140 Herbert Marcuse's Utopia
tiq u e d e la s e c u la r is a tio n , F o i, Id eologic*, U t o p i e ,” in Hermhieutique de
la secularisation, 4 9 - 6 9 , s e e 5 9 .
1 3 1 . P avel K o v a ly , “C o n t e m p o r a r y F u n c tio n s o f th e M a rx ist U t o p ia ,”
in U topic)Dystopia?, e d . P e y to n E. R ic h te r (C a m b r id g e , M a ss.: S c h e n k *
m a n . 1 9 7 5 ). 8 9 - 9 2 .
1 3 2 . G e o r g e F r ie d m a n , The Political Philosophy of the Frankfurt School,
1 4 0 -1 4 1 , 1 58.
1 3 3 . F r a n c o is C h ir p a z , “ A lie n a tio n e t u to p ie ," Esprit, n o . 3 7 7 (J a n .
1 9 6 9 ): 8 8 ; ita lic s m in e .
1 3 4 . P arvis Pit a n , 'M a r c u s e ’s A e s t h e tic P e r p e c t iv e ,’ in “ M a r c u s e a n d
th e P r o b le m o f I n s t r u m e n t a l R a tio n a lity ,” Mid-American Review of Soci­
ology, 2 , n o . 2 (W in te r 1 9 7 7 ): 1 9 -2 8 , s e e 2 4 - 2 8 .
1 3 5 . M ic h e l H a a r , L’Homme unidimensionnel, Marcuse, 7 6 .
1 3 6 . R o g e r G a r a u d y , Perspective de I'homme (P aris: P r e s s e s u n iv e r s i-
ta ir e s d e F r a n c e , 1 9 6 9 ), 3 7 3 - 3 7 4 .
1 37. “ R e m a r k s o n a R e d e f in it io n o f C u lt u r e ,” Daedalus, 9 4 , n o . 1
(W in te r 1 9 6 5 ): 2 0 7 ; ita lics m in e .
1 38. G e o g h e g a n , Reason and Eros, The Social Theory of Herbert Marcuse,
28.
139. F u i te r , “ U t o p ie e t m a r x is m e s e lo n E rn st B lo c h ,” 9 - 1 3 . H u r b o n ,
" T r o is F o n c tio n s d e I’u t o p ie ,” 7 3 - 7 5 .
140. R ic o e u r , “ P r e v is io n e c o n o n iiq u e et c h o ix e t h iq u e ,” 3 1 4 .
14 1 . I b id ., 3 1 2 ; ita lics m in e .
142. 111., “T h e T a s k o f th e P o litic a l E d u c a to r ,” 15 0 ; ita lic s m in e .
14 3 . I d ., “ P r e v is io n e c o n o m iq u e e t c h o ix e t h iq u e ,” 3 1 3 .
14 4 . I d ., “T h e T a s k o f th e P o litic a l E d u c a t o r ,” 1 4 7 .
145. K o v a ly , “C o n t e m p o r a r y F u n c tio n s o f th e M a r x ist U to p ia ," 8 9 -
92.
1 46. A d a m S c h a f f , Marxism and the Human Individual ( N e w Y ork :
M c G r a w -H ill, 1 9 7 1 ), 1 3 5 , c ite d b y K o v a ly , 8 9 .
147. R ic o e u r , “T h e T a s k o f th e P o litic a l E d u c a to r ,” 145.
1 4 8 . I d ., “ L ’H e r m c n e u t i q u c d e la s e c u la r is a t io n , F o i, I d e o l o g i c ,
U t o p ie ,” 5 9 .
1 49. ODM, 2 3 8 - 2 3 9 ; s e e a ls o AD, 6 .
150. G e o r g W ilh e lm F r ie d r ic h H e g e l, Philosophy of Fine Art, tr a n s la te d
by F. P. B . O s m a s t o n ( N e w Y o r k , 1 9 7 5 ), 1 : 4 2 -4 3 , 2 6 3 - 2 6 4 , c ite d by
F r ie d m a n , The Political Philosophy of the Frankfurt School, 1 41.
1 5 1 . C f., M a r c u s e , in c h a p . 2 o f EL\ M a x H o r k h e im e r , “A u th o r ity in
th e F a m ily ,” in Critical Theory, Selected Essays ( N e w Y ork : S e a b u r y P re ss,
1 9 7 2 ), 4 7 - 1 2 8 ; B e n ja m in a n d A d o r n o , as c ite d by F r ie d m a n , The Polit­
ical Philosophy of the Frankfurt School, 1 3 8 n. 6 .
1 5 2 . W a lte r B e n ja m in , “T h e W o r k o f A rt in a n A g e o f M e c h a n ic a l
Illuminations: Essays and Reflections e d . H a n n a h A r e n d t
R e p r o d u c tio n ,” in
(N e w Y o r k [ 1 9 5 3 ] 1 9 6 8 ), 2 4 1 - 2 4 2 , as c ite d b y F r ie d m a n , The Political
Philosophy of the Frankfurt School, 1 4 8 n . 3 0 .
 Notes 141
1 5 3 . F r ie d m a n , 1 5 8 - 1 5 9 .
1 5 4 . I b id ,, 1 5 9 .
155. EC, 144.
1 5 6 . F r ie d m a n , 1 5 9 .
157. ODM, 2 4 9 ; s e e a ls o 2 2 8 - 2 2 9 .
1 5 8 . " D £ b a ts G o ld m a n n - M a r c u s e ," 1 54.
1 5 9 . AD, 3 2 .
1G0.EL, 2 4 , 1 9 -2 0 .
1G1. P la to , The Statesman, 2 9 3 b ; K arl P o p p e r , The Open Society and Its
Enemies: The Spell of Plato (P r in c e to n : P r in c e to n U n iv e r sity P ress, [I9G 2]
1 9 6 6 ) , 16 5 .
1 6 2 . P la to , Reptihlic, 5 0 0 e - 5 0 1 a .
1 6 3 . I b id ., 5 4 1 a .
1 6 4 . I d ., The Statesman, 2 9 3 d - e .
1 6 5 . EU, 8 6 .
166. P o p p e r , The Open Society, 1 6 6 -1 6 8 .
1 6 7 . S o u r c e s o n P o p p e r - M a r c u s e r e la tio n s w ith in th e c o n t e x t o f th e s e
w e ll-k n o w n c o n t r o v e r s ie s a r e , in c h r o n o lo g ic a l o r d e r , as fo llo w s: Karl
The Positivist
P o p p e r , " R e a s o n o r R e v o lu tio n ? " in T . W . A d o r n o e t a l.,
Dispute in German Sociology ( N e w Y o rk : H a r p e r a n d R o w , 1 9 7 6 ); Times
Literary Supplement, “ D ia le c tic a l M e t h o d o lo g y ,” 12 M ar. 1 9 7 0 ; W o lf
L e p e n ie s , " A n t h r o p o lo g y a n d S o c ia l C r itic ism : A V ie w o n th e C o n t r o ­
v e r s y b e t w e e n A r n o ld G e lile n a n d J u r g e n H a b e r m a s ,” The Human
Context, 3 , n o . 2 (J u ly 1 9 7 1 ): 2 0 5 - 2 4 8 ; I I. T . W ils o n , “S c ie n c e , C r itiq u e ,
a n d C r itic is m : T h e O p e n S o c ie ty ‘R e v is ite d ,’ ” in On Critical Theoty, e d .
J o h n O 'N e ill ( N e w Y o r k : T h e S e a b u r y P re ss, 1 9 7 6 ), 2 0 5 - 2 3 0 ; J e a n -
F r a n g o is M a lh e r b e , “ La ‘T h e o r i e c r it iq u e ’ e t les lim ite s d u r a tio n a lis m e
d e P o p p e r ," in La Philosophic tie Karl Popper et lepositivisme logitjue (P aris:
P r e s s e s u n iv e r s it a ir e s d e F r a n c e , 1 9 7 6 ), 2 2 9 - 2 5 4 ; L. J . R ay, “C ritical
T h e o r y a n d P o s itiv is m : P o p p e r a n d th e F r a n k fu r t S c h o o l,” Philosophy
of Social Sciences, 9 , n o . 2 , ( 1 9 7 9 ) : 1 4 9 -1 7 3 .
1 6 8 . P o p p e r , " R e a s o n o r R e v o lu tio n ? " 2 4 4 .
1 6 9 . Theodor W. Adorno zum Gedachtnis (F r a n k u r t a m M a in : S u h r k a m p
V e r la g , 1 9 7 1 ), 5 0 - 5 1 .
1 7 0 . M a g e e , “ M a r c u s e a n d th e F r a n k fu r t S c h o o l," 7 3 .
1 7 1 . P o p p e r , " R e a s o n o r R e v o lu t io n ? ” 2 4 5 .

C hapter IV
1. Martin Jay, "Metapolitics of Utopianism," D i s s e n t , 17, no. 4 (Jnly-
Aug. 1970): 350. In Marcuse’s article on “Art and Revolution” published
in 1972, he himself spoke of “metapolitics" (cf., C R R , 104).
2. O D M , 4.
3. Raymond Aron, E s s a i s u r le s lib e r ie s (Paris: Calmann-Levy [ 1965)
1976), 27, citing Alexis de Tocqueville, "Preface,” L ' A n c ie n R e g i m e e t
la r e v o lu tio n .
142 Herbert Marcuse's Utopia
4 . C r a w fo r d B r o u g h M a c p h e r s o n , The Political Theory o] Possessive
Individualism—Hobbes to Locke ( O x f o r d : O x f o r d U n iv e r s ity P r e ss [1 9 0 2 ]
1 9 8 3 ). I d ., The Life and Times of Liberal Democracy ( O x f o r d : O x f o r d
U n iv e r s ity P r e ss, [ 1 9 7 7 ] 1 9 8 0 ).
5. RT, 8 7 .
6 . ME, x ix .
7. F reu n d , L'Essence du politique, 0 5 0 * 6 5 1 .
8. RR, “S u p p le m e n t a r y E p ilo g u e W r itte n in 1 9 5 4 ,” 4 3 9 .
9 . RT, 8 8 .
10. R o g e r G a r a u d y , Perspectives de I'homme: Existentialisme, pensee cath-
olique, structuralisme, marxisme (P aris: P r e ss e s u n iv e r s ita ir e s d e F r a n c e ,
1 9 0 9 ), 3 7 3 - 3 7 4 .
11. I b id ., 3 7 5 .
12. Ib id .
13. ODM, 18.
14. A n d r e G o r z , " T e c h n iq u e s , te c h n ic ie n s e t lu tte d e s cla sse s," Temps
modernes, n o . 3 0 1 (1 9 7 1 ): 1 44.
15. FL, 0 2 .
10. FL, 6 4 .
17. ODM, 4 .
18. G e o r g e K a teb , “ T h e P o litic a l T h o u g h t o f H e r b e r t M a r c u se ," -
Commentary, 4 9 , n o . 1 (J a n . 1 9 7 0 ): 4 8 - 4 9 .
19. RR, 2 8 8 .
20. CRR, 134.
21. AC, 7 5 .
2 2 . FL, 6 4 , a n d ODM, 4 .
2 3 . “M a r c u s e D e f in e s H is N e w L eft L in e ,” tr a n s la te d b y H e le n
W e a v e r , in The American Experience, e d s . H a r o ld J a f f e a n d J o h n T y te ll
( N e w Y o r k : H a r p e r a n d R o w , 1 9 7 0 ), 120.
2 4 . J o h n F ry, Marcuse—Dilemma and Liberation. A Critical Analysis
(S to c k h o lm : A lm q v is t a n d W ik s e ll, 1 9 7 4 ), 1 9 -2 0 .
25. ODM, 3 4 ; ME, x iv -x v ; EL, 8 0 .
26. ODM, 3 4 . S e e a ls o EL, 8 4 - 8 5 .
27. SM, 6 0 .
28. SM, 8 3 .
29. ME, 2 4 8 ; SM, 1 9 -2 0 .
30. EL, 1 3 -1 4 .
31. ODM, x iii, 18; SM, 0 0 ; ME, x v .
32. ME, 2 4 8 ; ODM, 3 4 , 2 4 2 .
33. EL, v iiff.
34. FL, 9 3 .
35. EL, 8 0 , 8 2 .
30. FL, 9 5 .
37. ODM, 2 3 .
 Mutes 143
38. EL, 8 2 . It is p e r h a p s w o r th n o t in g h e r e th a t, w h e n a s k e d by
M a r c e l R io u x a b o u t t h e r o le o f s m a ll n a tio n a l e n t it ie s s u c h as Q u e b e c ,
M a r c u s e c o n s id e r e d th a t t h e y w e r e t o o sm a ll a u n it to h e s ig n ific a n t,
a n d th a t t h e in d e p e n d e n c e o f Q u e b e c w o u ld h e a s u p e r fic ia l a n d
Forces, n o . 2 2 (1 9 7 3 ): 6 0 .
p e r ip h e r a l c h a n g e .
39. ODM, 4 9 .
4 0 . ODM, 1 8 9 .
4 1 . ODM, x v i, 2 2 0 - 2 2 1 .
4 2 . J u lie n F r e u n d , “A p r o p o s tin b e s o in e l d e la v io le n c e : I-es R a p p o rts
e n t r e I’e c o n o m iq u e , le p o lit iq u e et la n a tu r e h u m a in e ,'' Paysans, 19.
n o . 1 1 0 (F e b .-M a r . 1 9 7 5 ): 10, c itin g : F r e d e r ic B a stia t, Harmonies econ-
omiques, v o l. 6 Oeuvres completes (P a ris: G u illa u m in , 1 8 9 3 ), 5 8 9 . C la u d e
H e n r i d e R o u v r o y , C o m t e S a in t - S im o n , De la reorganisation de la sociele
europeenne, v o l. 15 o f Oeuvres de Saint-Simon et Enfantin, 2 4 8 . A u g u s te
C o m t e , Cours de pliilosophie positive, v o l. 6 , 5 7 th le s s o n .
4 3 . ODM, 1 1 9 - 1 2 0 , c it in g T h e o d o r W . A d o r n o , “ I d e o lo g ic ,” in Ideo-
logie ( L u c h t e r h a n d : N e u w ie d , 1 9 6 1 ), 2 6 2 ff.
4 4 . R e b o u l, Langage et ideologic, 13.
4 5 . I b id ., 2 1 .
4 6 . I b id ., 2 1 - 2 5 . J u lie n F r e u n d , L'Essence du politique, 4 1 2 - 4 4 1 , a n d
" Q u ’e s t - c e q u e la p o lit iq u e id e o lo g iq u e ? " Revue europeenne des sciences
sociales, 17, n o . 4 6 ( 1 9 7 9 ) : 1 3 9 - 1 4 6 . J e a n B a e c h le r , Qu’est-ce que I'idto-
logic? (P a ris: G a llim a r d , 1 9 7 6 ), p a r tic u la r ly th e c h a p t e r o n “ L es F u n c ­
tio n s d e r id d o lo g ic ," 6 3 - 1 0 5 .
4 7 . O liv ie r R e b o u l, “L a V io le n c e et I’id e o lo g ie ," Dialogue, 17, n o . 3
(S e p t. 1 9 7 8 ) , 4 3 1 - 4 4 1 .
4 8 . W illia m L e iss , e t a l., “ M a r c u s e a s T e a c h e r ,” 4 2 5 .
4 9 . C f ., R a y m o n d A r o n , Plaidoyer pour une Europe decadente (P aris:
L a f f o n t , 1 9 7 7 ), a n d J u lie n F r e u n d , La Fin de la Renaissance (P aris:
P r e s s e s u n iv e r s it a ir e s d e F r a n c e ).
50. FU, 8 6 .
5 1 . L u d w ig F e u e r b a c h , Cours sur I’histoire de la pliilosophie modetne
( 1 9 3 5 ) , c it e d b y M a r c u s e in t h e e p ig r a p h to Pliilosophie el revolution
(P a ris: D e n o e l- G o n t h ie r , 1969).
52. I d .,Principes de pliilosophie ( 1 8 4 3 - 1 8 4 4 ) , c ite d by M a r c u se in th e
e p ig r a p h t o Pliilosophie et revolution.
5 3 L o e w y , Marxisme et romanlisme revolutionnaire, 1 4 -1 5 .
5 4 . " T h e R e a lm o f F r e e d o m a n d t h e R e a lm o f N e c e s s ity , A R e c o n ­
s id e r a tio n ," 2 0 .
5 5 . “ A rt in t h e O n e - D im e n s io n a l S o c ie ty ," 2 6 .
5 6 . " T h e M o v e m e n t in a N e w E ra o f R e p r e s s io n ," Berkeley Journal
of Sociology, 16 (1 9 7 1 -7 2 ): 9 .
5 7 . " T h e F a ilu r e o f t h e N e w L e ft," 11.
5 8 . B a e c h le r , Qu’est-ce que l’ideologic?, 6 9 .
144 Herbert Marcuse's Utopia
59. “T h e R e a lm o f F r e e d o m a n d th e R e a lm o f N e c e s s ity , A R e c o n ­
sid e r a tio n ," 2 0 .
f>0. “T h e o r y a n d P o litic s ,” 1 3 6 .
6 1 . ODM, 2 3 4 .
6 2 . K arl R. P o p p e r , “ U to p ia a n d V io le n c e ,” in Conjectures and Refu­
tations: The Growth o f Scientific Knowledge ( N e w Y ork : H a r p e r , 1 9 6 8 ),
3 5 8 . T h is a r tic le first a p p e a r e d in The Hibbert Journal, 4 6 (1 9 4 8 ).
6 3 . X E 143. O n th e w o r d “E ig e n s in n ,” s e e c o m m e n ta r y b y P ie r r e V .
Z in ia , L ’Ecole dr Franc fort (P aris: E d itio n s u n iv e r s ita ir e s ), 2 4 .
6 4 . FU, 8 6 - 8 7 .
6 5 . “D e m o c r a c y H a s , H a s n ’t a F u tu r e ," 104.
6 6 . R e b o u l, Langage et ideologic, 2 3 .
6 7 . T h is c o n n e c t io n b e tw e e n to ta l id e o lo g y a n d u to p ia is a n a ly z e d
by B a e c h le r , QiTest-ce (/ur Videologicf, 9 5 , 101, 120, 315.
6 8 . G io v a n n i B u s in o , c itin g B a e c h le r in a r e v ie w o f Q u’cst-ceque I’ideo-
logir? in Revue europeenne des sciences societies, 17, n o . 4 8 (1 9 7 9 ): 5 1 - 5 2 .
6 9 . Jean M a r a b in i, “ L es D e r n ie r s D e s ir s d e M a r c u s e ,” Le Deimir, 7
A ug. 1979, 4.
70. FL, 1 0 2 .
71. K e a r n e y , “I n te r v ie w w ith H e r b e r t M a rc u se," 8 4 .
72. “T h e o r y a n d P olitics," 136.
7 3 . R R , x.
7 4 . O D M , 18 9 .
7 5 . “L e D ia lo g u e d e d e u x p e n s e u r s ‘c o n t e s t a t a ir e s ,1 ” Paris-M atch, 2 3
M ar. 1 9 7 9 , 9 . E ls e w h e r e M a r c u s e s ta te d . “ I h a v e tr ie d to b a s e m y
a n a ly sis o n th e fa c ts ,” in “ R e p r e s s io n et lib e r te ,” in La Liberie et I'ordre
social, p r o c e e d in g s o f th e 2 2 d R e n c o n tr e s in te r n a tio n a le s d e G e n e v e
( N e u c h a te l: E d itio n s d e la B a c o n n ie r e , 1 9 6 9 ), 2 7 3 . f l i c la tte r a p p e a r e d
in E n g lish a s “F r e e d o m a n d th e H isto r ic a l I m p e r a t iv e ,” in Studies in
Critical Philosophy (B o s to n : B e a c o n , 1 9 7 3 ).
7 6 . W o lff, “ H e r b e r t M a r c u se : A P e r so n a l R e m in is c e n c e ,” 6 .
7 7 . T h e id e a s e x p r e s s e d in th is p a r a g r a p h a r c b a se d o n a c o n s id ­
e r a tio n o f th e d is tin c tio n b e t w e e n g e n u s a n d s p e c ie s in A r is to tle , w ith
r e f e r e n c e to: J u lie n F r e u n d , “S e n s et r e s p o n s a b ilite d e la r e f le x io n
p h ilo s o p h ic jn e a I’h e u r e a c t u e lle ,” Revue de I'rnsrignemrnt philnsophique,
n o . 2 (1 9 6 2 ): 1 -1 6 , c f., 2 , 9 , 10; P au l R ic o e u r , Le Volontaire et I'invo-
lontaire (P aris: A u b ie r - M o n t a ig n e , 1 9 6 7 ), 18.
7 8 . J e a n R oy, “M ille n a r is m e et s ilu a t io n n is m e ,” Pliilosopliiques, 8 , n o .
1 (A p r . 1 9 8 1 ): 2 7 . S e e a ls o , id ., "La ‘T o le r a n c e r e p r e s s iv e ,1 n o u v e lle
r u s e d e la R a iso n d 'E tat?" 4 8 8 .
7 9 . R u s s e ll J a c o b y , “ H e r b e r t M a r c u se : T h e P h ilo s o p h e r as P e r p e tu a l
S c a n d a l," Los Angeles Times, 5 A u g . 1 9 7 9 , se c . 5 , p. 2 , c o l. 1.
8 0 . “M a r c u s e D e f in e s H is N e w L eft L in e ,” 11 7 .
8 1 . Time, The Weekly M agazine, “ P r o fe s s o r s , O n e - D im e n s io n a l P h ilo s ­
o p h e r ," C a n a d ia n e d ., 2 2 M ar. 1 9 6 8 , 6 7 .
 Notes 145
82. R a y m o n d A r o n , Im Revolution introuvable, 119.
83. D o n a ld R o b in so n , The 100 Most Important People in the World Today
(N e w Y ork: P u tn a m , 1 9 7 0 ), 2 7 5 .
84. AC, 8 8 .
85. AC, 7 5 .
8 6 . N likel D u f r e n n e , Subversion-perversion (Paris: P resses u n iv ersi-
ta ires d e F r a n ce, 1 9 7 7 ).
8 7 . I b id ., 147.
8 8 . I b id ., 153.
8 9 . I b id ., 1 4 6 , 1 5 1 * 1 5 2 , 171. O n “u to p ia n a c tio n ,” see a lso id ., Art et
politique (P aris: U n io n g e n e r a te d 'ld itio n s . 1 9 74), 2 7 5 * 3 1 5 .
9 0 . FL, 6 8 .
9 1 . FL, 9 2 .
9 2 . “M a rcu se D e fin e s H is N e w L eft L in e ,” 135.
9 3 . " T h e o r y a n d P o litic s,” 136. O n th e p o litics o f p ro v o c a tio n , see
EL, 6 4 .

C hapter V
1. J e a n J a c q u e s R o u s s e a u , E m i l e , c ite d b y G e r a r d R a u le t, " E scha-
t o lo g ie e t u t o p ie o n la d e c o u v e r t e d e I’h is to ir e ," in S t r a t e g i e s d e I 'u to p ie ,
P ie r r e F u r te r , G e r a r d Raulet, et al. (P aris: G a lile e , 1 9 7 9 ), 1 7 9 n . 2 .
2 . R R ( 1 9 5 4 e d .) , x .
3. NE, 182.
4. F L , 101.
5. F L , 96.
6. SM , 180.
7. S M , 1 8 3 -1 8 5 .
8. “Sommcs-nous deja des homines?” 21-27.
9 . M a x W e b e r , " L e M e tie r e t la v o c a tio n d ’h o m m e p o litiq u e ," in L e
S a v a n t e t l e p o l i t i q u e (P a ris: P lo n , 1 9 5 9 ), 9 9 - 1 8 5 . S e e a ls o “ P o litics as a
V o c a t io n ,” in F r o m M a x W e b e r , e d s . H . H . G e r tb a n d C . W r ig h t M ills
( N e w Y o r k : 1 9 4 6 ).
10. R ic o e u r , “T h e T a s k s o f th e P o litic a l E d u c a to r ,” 1 4 2 -1 5 2 .
11. F L , 4 3 .
12. Ib id .
13. R ic o e u r , “T h e T a s k s o f t h e P o litic a l E d u c a to r ," 150.
14. I b id ., 1 4 9 -5 0 .
15. I b id ., 1 5 1 .
16. “C o n c lu s io n ,” in M a x W e b e r a n d th e S o c i o l o g y T o d a y , e d . " O tto
S t a m m e r ( O x f o r d , 1 9 7 1 ) , 18 5 .
17. W e b e r , “ L e M e tie r e t la v o c a tio n d ’h o m m e p o lit iq u e ,” 174.
18. “ F r e e d o m a n d t h e H is to r ic a l I m p e r a tiv e ," 2 1 6 .
19. “ W h e n L a w a n d M o r a lity S ta n d in t h e W ay," S o c ie ty , 10, n o . 6
( S e p t .- O c t . 1 9 7 3 ), 2 3 .
146 Herbert Mare use's Utopia
2 0 . “M arcu se D e fin e s H is N e w L eft Line" 127.
2 1 . FL, 9 0 .
2 2 . RT, 103. S e e a lso P ierre M erten s, “V io le n c e ‘in s titu tio n n e lle ,’ v io ­
le n ce ‘d e m o c r a iiq u e ’ et r e g r e s s io n ,” La Violence et .srs causes, ( unksco,
1980). 2 2 7 -2 4 8 .
23. RT, 99.
2 4 . R T , 1 22.
2 5 . R T , 106.
2 6 . “T h e o r y a n d P o litics," 136.
27. RT, 109.
28. RT, 81.
29. F L , 64.
3 0 . O D M , 4.
31. F L , 62.
3 2 . O D M , x iii.
3 3 . “ E th ic s a n d R e v o lu t io n ,” 1 33.
3 4 . I b id .. 1 3 5 .
3 5 . I b id ., 13 3 .
3 6 . O n th e o r ig in o f th e m o d e r n c o n c e p t o f th e u n ju s t e n e m y in
K a n t’s p h ilo s o p h y , s e e C . S c h m itt, D e r N o m a s d e r E r d e ( C o lo g n e , 1 9 5 0 ),
c h a p . 3 , p a r a . 2 , 14 I f f ., as c ite d b y F r e u n d , L 'E s s e n c e d u p o l i t i q u e , 6 14-
t il 5 . R e g a r d in g w a r, K ant w r o te th at n e it h e r o f th e tw o p a r tie s c a n
t h e r e f o r e h e d e s c r ib e d as a n u n ju s t e n e m y (w h ic h a lr e a d y p r e s u m e s
a j u d g m e n t ) , hut th a t it is th e is s u e w h ic h d e c id e s w h ic h s id e is r ig h t
( P r o j e t d e P a i x p e r p e t u e l l e , se c t. 1, p a r a . 2 ). H e a ls o d e f in e d th e u n ju st
e n e m y as h e w h o s e p u b lic ly e x p r e s s e d w ish (e it h e r in w o r d o r d e e d )
r e v e a ls a m a x im w h ic h , i f set fo r th as a g e n e r a l r u le , w o u ld m a k e p e a c e
b e tw e e n p e o p le s im p o s s ib le , w h e r e a s th e s ta te o f n a tu r e o u g h t , o n th e
c o n tr a r y , to b e c o n s id e r e d e t e r n a l. K ant d e f in e d th e just e n e m y as o n e
w h o m it w o u ld b e u n ju st o n h is p art to r e sist, a lt h o u g h in th a t c a s e it
w o u ld n o lo n g e r b e a n e n e m y . M e t a p h y s i q u e tie s m o e u r s , D o c t r i n e d u d r o i t ,
p a rt 2 , "L e D r o it p u b lic ," p a r . 6 0 . S e e a l s o j u l i e n F r e u n d , 'M o r a le et
v io le n c e , L 'F .x etu p le d e M a r c u s e ,’ in “A s p e c ts p o le m o lo g iq u e s d e la
v io le n c e ,” A c t i o n s e t r e e h e r c h e s s o r i a l e s , n o s . 1-2 (S e p t. 1 9 8 1 ): 4 0 - 4 2 .
3 7 . W e b e r , L e S a v a n t e t l e p o l i t i q u e , 1 8 0 -1 8 1 .
3 8 . N F ., 1 19.
3 9 . CRR, 13 0 .
40. E L . 28.
41. I m m a n u e l K an t, " O f b e a u ty as th e S y m lx il o f M o ra lity ,” in C r itiq u e
o f J u d g m e n t , tr a n s . ). H . B e r n a r d ( L o n d o n : M a c m illa n , 1 8 9 2 ). p a r a .
59.
4 2 . EC, 174; CRR, 7 3 -7 4 ; s e e a lso CRR, 6 6 -6 7 , a n d EL, 2 8 , 3 2 .
4 3 . M ax W eb er, “Essai stir le sen s d e la ‘n eu tra lite a x io lo g iq u e ’ d a n s
les scie n c e s s o c io lo g iq u e s et e r o n o m iq u e s ,” in Essais stir la throne de la
science, tran s. Julien F r e u n d ( 1 9 1 7 ; Paris: P lo n , 1 9 6 5 ), 4 2 5 , 4 2 8 .
 Notes 147
44. EL, 2 6 .
45. EL, 2 8 .
46. EL, 6 5 .
47. EL, 2 4 ; FL, 6 8 .
48. EC, 2 2 8 .
49. CRR, 7 4 .
50. EL, 2 4 .
51. EL, 4 8 .
52. EL, 4 9 , 2 1 ; FL, 6 3 .
5 3 . “T h e o r y a n d P o litic s ,” 1 47.
5 4 . " P o litic a l P r e f a c e , 1 9 6 6 ,” EC, x x v ii.
5 5 . " L ib e r a tio n f r o m t h e A f f lu e n t S o c ie ty ," 1 9 0 -1 9 1 . O n th e id e a o f
p o litic a l p h ilo s o p h y a s th e r a p y , s e e G e r t r u d e A . S t e u e r n a g e l, Political
Philosophy as Therapy: Marcuse Reconsidered (W e s tp o r t, C o n n .: G r e e n ­
w o o d P r e ss , 1 9 7 9 ).
56. FL, 8 6 ; RT, 1 1 2 .
57. ODM, 1 5 8 .
58. ODM, 2 3 5 .
59. ODM, 2 2 7 .
60. ODM, 1 5 4 , 2 3 5 .
61. ODM, 1 5 6 - 1 5 8 , 166.
62. FL, 9 6 .
63. AD, 3 6 .
6 4 . M a r a b in i, “ L a R e v o lu t io n d u X X I e sid c le sera p o l t i q u e ,” 3.

Conclusion
1. R e in h a r t! L e tta u , " H e r b e r t M a r c u s e a n d t h e V u lg a r ity o f D e a th ,”
New German Critique, 6 , n o . 3 (F a ll 1 9 7 9 ): 2 0 .
2 . AD, 5 9 .
3 . AD, 6 0 .
 Index 149

Index
Aberic, Kathleen, 16 Aspiration, 4, 45, 51, 64, 73, 74
Acton, Jay, 120, 127 Assoun, Paul-Laurent, 115, 122
Acton, Harry Burrows, 127 Atlantis, 28
Adorno, Theodor Wiesengrund, 7, 12, Augustine, Saint, 46
13.75, 7 6 .8 3 -8 6 ,9 6 , 137, 138, 140, Authority, 19, 140
141, 143 Autonomy o f art, 76, 79
Aesthetics, 25, 38-40, 42, 61-67, 69- Axiological neutrality, 85
72, 74-80, 82-86, 88, 104, 109-111,
127, 134-136, 138, 140 Baader-Meinhof, 21
A esth etics D im e n sio n , 2 5 ,6 1-63,77, 111, Babeuf, Gracchus, 28, 34, 36-38, 126
127, 135 Baczko, Bronislaw, 125
Aesthetic form, 75, 76 Baechler, Jean, 96, 143, 144
Affirmative culture, 76 Bahro, Rudolf, 9, 46, 62, 63. 65, 115,
Affluent society, 41, 48, 73, 93, 95, 135
115, 127, 129, 135, 147 Bakunin, Mikhail, 28, 43-45, 58, 128
Agger, Ben, 5, 61, 62. 134 Balint, 15
Aggression, 50, 52 Balzac, Honors de, 40, 64
Albert, Hans, 85 Barbarism, 55, 56, 75, 99, 110, 131
Alexander, Edwin, 15 Barrati, Bruno, 120
Alford, Charles Frederick, 61-63, 65, Bastiat, Frddtfric, 95, 143
134, 135 Bastide, Roger, 59, 134
Alienation, 48, 67, 89, 94 Baudrillard, Jean, 126
Ambiguity, 21, 24, 34, 104 Baumgarten, Alexander Gottlieb, 64
Anarchism, 43, 44 Beauty, 39. 40, 74. 75, 79, 109, 110.
Ansart-Dourlcn, Michdlc, 126 146
Antagonism o f values, 110 Beckett, Samuel Barclay, 113
Anti-art, 69 Beethoven, 75
Antisthenes, 28 Bencton, Philippe, 117
Arato, Andrew, 4, 32, 75, 117, 138 Benjamin, Waller, 7, 16, 64, 71, 83,
Archimedes, 85 84, 116, 119, 135, 140
Arcndt, Hannah, 140 Benoist, Jean-Marie, 34, 125
Aristotle 123, 144 Berger, Bennett, 120, 128, 130
Arnason, J6hann P.111, 9, 15, 116, 118 Bergeron, Gdrard, 120, 128
Aron Raymond, 16, 2 1,2 7 ,3 1 ,4 6 , 89, Bergson, Henri, 54
116, 119, 121, 126, 129, 130, 141, Besnier, Jean-Michel, 41, 127
143, 145 Birou, A., 34, 125
Aronson, Ronald, 121 Blakeley, Thomas J., 123
Art, 1, 2, 4-14, 16-19, 21, 23-25, 27, Bloch, Ernst, 3, 4, 7, 22, 25, 29, 58,
28. 30, 33-35, 37-39. 41. 42, 44-46, 71, 79, 81, 123, 133, 139, 140
48-50, 52, 54-59, 61-81, 83-91, 93, Blueprint, 39, 45, 97
96-98, 100, 102-104, 106, 109-112, Boll, Heinrich, 21, 121
115-118, 120, 121, 123-128, 130- Bordes, Charles, 124
135, 137-141, 143-146 Bourgeois society, 2
Arvon, Henri, 44, 128 Brecht, Arnold, 69, 71
150 Herbert Marcuse's Utopia
Breines, Paul, 58, 118, 120, 133, 135 16, 77, 115
C u ltu r e et s o c itte ,
Buber, Martin, 66, 135 Cuvillier, Armand, 133
Burke, Kenneth, 71
Busino, Giovanni, 144 Davis, Angela, 9, 21, 116
Daydream, 23
Dean, Thomas, 138
Cabet, Etienne, 12, 118 Debray, R£gis, 103
Campagnolo, Umberto, 127 Definite negation, 41, 53, 67, 79
Campbell, Keith, 131 Delaunay, Vadim, 24, 122
Capitalism, 4, II, 16, 22, 41, 47, 48, Delbo, Charlotte, 120
5 1 ,5 9 ,6 3 ,6 7 ,6 8 , 7 1 ,7 6 .7 8 ,8 0 ,9 1 . Democracy, 8, 31, 33, 36-38, 55, 56,
92, 107,115,116, 119,126, 129,130, 89,108, 121,125,126,128,131,132,
134, 135 142, 144
Cardan, Paul, 131 D e r d eu tsch e K u m tle r r o m a n , 10,64, 134,
Carlyle, Thomas, 64 135
Castelli, Enrico, 123, 140 Desroche, Henri, 27, 29, 123, 124
Castoriadis, Cornelius, 132 Dessoir, Max, 65
Castro, Fidel, 7, 16 Desublimation, 81
Certeau, Michel de, 66, 136 Devitis, Joseph Libcralorc, 59, 134
Chase, Richard, 71 Dialectics, 2. 14.22, 4 4 ,4 8 ,5 1 , 54,56.
Chatelet, Francois, 23, 46 7 2 ,7 3 ,7 5 ,8 6 ,9 1 ,9 2 , 115, 117, 118,
Chirpaz, Francois, 80, 140 121, 126, 127, 131, 133-135, 137,
Cioranescu, Alexandre, 27, 28, 1 14, 138, 141
123, 125 D ia le c tic a l I m a g in a tio n , 86, 115, 117,
Clair, Andre, 23, 122 118, 121, 131, 133, 137, 138
Class, 3, 6, 11, 20, 26. 28. 34, 38, 46, Dialectical materialism, 2, 22, 48
48-52, 54, 56-58, 67-70, 82, 93-95, Dilthey, Wilhelm, 11, 54
9 7 ,99, 116, 120, 130, 132, 134, 142 Dion o f Syracuse, 29
Classicism, 68 Disenchntment, 3
Clecak, Peter, 65, 120, 135 Doods, E.R., 124
Cohn-Bendit, 49 Domenach, Jean-Marie, 6, 116
College de France, 44, 120, 128 Domination, 2, 42-44, 51, 56, 70, 91,
Columbia University, 12-14, 59, 120 109
Comic strip, 19, 120 Dufrennc, Michel, 104, 145
Communism, 12, 18, 31, 32, 42, 43, Duhring, Eugen, 56, 132
49, 68, 75, 82-84, 116, 118, 121, 123. Durkheim, Emile, 95
124, 126 Dutschke, Rudi, 18, 21, 22, 103, 121
Comte, Auguste, 95, 134, 143 Dylan, Bob, 76, 98
Confusion, 41, 88, 95, 100-103, 109
Conservatism, 66, 119 Eckstein, George, 121
Cooper, David, 115, 127 Economy, 5, 11-13, 15, 20, 3 1 ,4 4 , 46.
Counter-culture, 3 47, 54, 5 6 .6 9 , 70, 73, 77, 81,88-95,
C o u n te rre v o lu tio n a n d R e v o lt, 25, 61 106, 109, 112, 120, 137
Cranston, Maurice, 37, 126 Education, 29-33, 35. 39, 49. 63, 72.
Critias, 28, 29 80, 104, 111
Critical theory, 1,2,4-6, 13-15,23,40, Educational dictatorship, 31-33, 63
4 1 ,5 1 ,5 5 , 59. 6 1 ,73, 79-82, 91,94. Elleinstein, Jean, 102
100, 115-118, 122, 127, 133, 138, Ellul, Jacques, 2 4 ,4 6 , 119, 122, 129
140,141 Emancipation, 1, 72, 88, 90, 91, 99,
Croisier, Brigitte, 66, 136 108, 109
Culture, 3, 8, 9, 12, 15, 16, 30, 53, 55, End o f an . 75, 76, 79, 81, 83
63-65, 67, 68, 75-77, 80, 82, 104, E n d o f U to p ia , 3. 17, 25, 27, 52, 59. 92,
107, 111, 115, 117, 131, 135, 138- 108, 115
140 Enfantin, 143
 Index 151
Engels, Friedrich, 4 ,4 1 ,4 2 ,4 5 ,4 8 ,5 1 , Gerth, H.H., 145
56, 64. 82, 114, 115, 127-132, 137 Gold, Herbert, 119
Enlightenment, 36, 105 Golden age, 37
Environment, 4, 70 Goldmann, Lucien, 57, 133, 141
Erikson, 15 Gomberg, William, 130
Eros, 21, 33, 79, 110, 111, 115, 130, Gorz, Andr£, 92, 142
139, 140 Gould, James A., 137
E ro s a n d C iv iliz a tio n , 14, 1 5 ,2 7 ,3 9 ,4 0 , Graff, Gerald, 71, 136
53, 64, 65, 70, 77 Gramsci, Antonio, 117
Eschatology, 3, 7, 52, 145 Great refusal, 61, 79, 88
E ssa y on L ib e r a tio n , 19, 25, 27, 44, 45 Green, Philip, 44, 125, 128, 147
Essence, 5 6 ,7 1 ,9 8 , 130, 139, 142, 143, Grossman, Henryk, 12
146 Guevara de la Serna, Ernesto (Che),
Established order, 8, 55, 67 103
Ethics, 5. 19. 32. 47, 48, 52. 74. 81. Guillou, Agn£s, 120
9 0 ,9 1 , 105-109, 112, 124, 129, 131, Guinle, J.P., 48, 129
146 Guru, 3, 20, 103
Gusdorf, Georges, 63, 64, 135

Fabre, )., 125 Haar, Michel. 67. 80, 136, 140

Fascism, 10, 48, 56, 77, 83, 84, 122 Habermas, Jurgen, 12, 15, 25, 33,46,
Feuerbach, Ludwig, 2 ,7 2 ,9 7 , 115, 143 75, 79. 85. 101, 116, 117, 119, 120,
Fink, 2 1 ,4 5 , 52, 121. S e e a lso Traitor 141
F iv e L e c tu re s, 15, 17 Hacker, Andrew, 15, 119
Flacks, Richard, 65, 135 Happiness, 4, 37, 39, 40, 62, 76, 100,
Foster, Harry L., 18 105, 109, 110, 112
Fourier, Charles, 27, 28, 39-43, 64,65, Harmony, 37, 39, 40, 84
127 Hearn, Francis, 40, 41, 127
Franqois-Poncet, Andrd, 119 Hegel, G.W.F., I, 10-12, 20, 23, 44,
Frankel, Charles, 125 47, 51, 54. 55, 57, 65, 67, 79, 83,
Frankfurt Institute, 58 114, 136, 137, 140
Frankfurt School, 5, 8, 9, 11-14, 23, H eg el's O n to lo g y a n d the T h eory o f H is to r ­
26, 54, 65, 76, 79, 83, 86, 115-118. icity, 11
120, 133, 138-141 Heidegger, Martin, 10, 11
Franzel, Ivo, 117 Held, David, 4. 116-118, 138
Freud, Sigmund. 15, 20, 22. 23, 25. Held, Virginia, 131
5 4 ,6 2 , III. 115, 117, 118, 120-122 Herf, Jeffrey, 64, 121, 135
Freund, Julien, 24, 31, 34, 35, 37, 49, Hill, Gladwin, 119
9 0 ,9 6 , 107, 122, 124-126, 130, 131, Himmler, Heinrich, 22
134, 142-144, 146 History, 3-5, 8, 11. 16, 23. 24, 28. 36,
Freycrs, Hans, 11 4 6 ,4 7 . 50. 51, 53-59, 72-75, 77. 79,
Friedman, George, 5, 79, 83, 84, 116, 81-83, 89. 91, 92. 94. 95, 99, 105-
138, 140, 141 109, 112, 118, 123, 129, 132, 144,
Fromm, Erich, 12, 23, 121, 128, 129 145
Fry, John, 94, 142 l listorical materialism, 11,5 3 ,7 2 ,1 18,
Furter, Pierre, 81, 139, 140, 145 129
Historicity, II
Hiller, Adolf, 22
Gabel, Joseph, , 57, 132, 133 Hobbes, Thomas, 142
Garaudy, Roger, 80, 91, 92, 140, 142 Holm, Gerhard, 54, 122, 131
Gcbhardt, Eike, 117 Horkheimer, Max, 10,12,1 3 ,8 3 , 116-
Gehlen, Arnold, 85, 141 118, 138, 140
Geoghegan, Vincent, 5, 79, 81, 115, Horowitz, Michael, 20, 119-121
139,140 Howard. Dick, 132
Geraets, Theodore F„ 124 Howe. Irving, 71
152 Herbert M a rcu se’s Utopia

Hugo, Victor, 40 Kreslawsky, Gertrud, 7

Human nature, 35-37, 123 Kropotkin, Peter Alekseevich, 43
Humanism, 3, 7, 9, 13, 14, 33, 34, 37, Ku Klux Klan, 18, 107
39, 44, 52, 69, 81,86, 89, 92, 97,98.
105, 106, 108, 111, 113, 121, 125, Lacroix, Jean, 40, 127
128-130, 134, 137, 138 Lafaurie, Serge, 130
Hurbon, Laennec, 81, 139, 140 Landauer, Gustave, 66
Husserl, Edmund, 10, 55 Lapougc, Gillcs, 46, 122, 129
Laqueur, Waller. 55, 131
Idealism, 9, 53, 65, 73, 91, 105 Lasky, Melvin J., 17, 119
Ideology, 7, 24, 36, 42, 48, 57-60, 64, Lee, Donald C., 16, 47, 121, 129
7 0 ,7 5 ,7 7 , 88,89,96-101. 103, 105, Lefebvrc, Henri, 1, 115, 120
109, 123, 127, 129-134, 137, 138, Lefort, Claude, 131
143, 144 Leggett, John C., 130
Industrial society, 15, 34, 40, 42, 49, Lehouck, Emile, 40, 127
53, 58, 92-94, 106, 120 Leiss, William, 13, 21, 96, 118, 121,
Instinct, 1 5 ,2 0 ,3 9 ,4 0 ,4 5 ,6 7 ,9 1 , 111, 143
127 Lenin, 26. 31, 46, 49, 123, 131
Institute for Social Research, 10, II, Lepenies, Wolf, 141
23 Leitau, Reinhard, 113, 147
Intelligentsia, 25, 26, 51, 57. 75, 133 Liberation, 4, 5, 7, 17, 19, 20, 25, 27,
32. 4 1 ,4 2 ,4 4 ,4 5 , 48, 5 1 ,5 2 ,6 3 , 68-
Jacoby, Russel, 103, 144 7 1 ,7 3 ,7 8 , 88-93,99, 108, 115, 127,
Jaffe, Harold, 142 129, 135, 142, 147
Jameson, Frederic, 39, 53, 127, 131 Libertarian socialism, 3, 4, 105
Jay, Martin, 5, 11, 14, 23, 54, 58, 59, Liebknecht, Karl, 8, 17
65, 73, 76, 88, 1 ^5, 117, 118, 120, Lipshircs, Sidney, 5 ,2 4 , 115, 117, 118,
121, 131, 133, 135, 137, 138, 141 122
Judaism, 7, 66, 116 Lobkowicz, Nicholas, 129
Junius pamphlet, 56, 132 Locke, John, 28, 54, 59, 142
Locwy, Michael, 56, 64, 65, 132, 133,
Kaltcnbrunner, Gerd-Klauss, 25, 122 135, 143
Kant, Emmanuel, 7, 20,38, 54,55, 70, Lowenthal, Leo, 12, 13, 32
74, 85. 110, 128, 131, 146 Lowith, Karl, 14
Kantorowicz, Alfred, 55, 131 Lubasz, Heinz, 36. 116
Kateb, George, 93, 142 Lukacs, Gyorgy Szegedy von (Georg),
Katz, Barry M„ 5, 65, 134, 135 56, 58, 71, 135, 137
Kazin, Alfred, 71 Luxemburg, Rosa, 8 ,9 , 17, 28,49, 55,
Kearney, Richard, 66, 67, 101, 136, 56, 131, 132, 135
137, 144
Keen, Sam, 136 M’Baye, K„ 132
Kellner, Douglas, 9, 117, 118 MacIntyre, Alasdair Chalmers, 24, 122
Kennedy, John F., 16 Macphcrson, Crawford Brough, 89,
Kettle, Arnold, 71 142
Kettler, David, 59, 121, 134 Magee, Bryan, 76, 86, 138, 141
Kilminster, Richard, 117 Malherbe, Ernst Gideon, 141
King, Richard, 130 Malinovich, Myriam Micdzian, 121
Kirchheimer, Otto, 12 Mandelstam, N., 128
Klare, Karl E., 125, 132 Mannheim, Karl, II, 28, 55-60, 132-
Klein, Frederick C., 130 134
Kolakowski, Leszek, 4, 115, 117 Manuel, Frank E. and Fritzic P.. 27,
Korsch, Karl, 11, 58, 133 123, 146
Kosik, Karl, 11 Mao Tse-tung, 17, 46, 119
Kovaly, Pavel, 79, 82, 140 Marabini, Jean, 61, 101, 134, 144, 147
 Index 153
Marcuse, Herbert, passim Obcr, John David, 21, 96, 121
Marcuse. Carl, 7 Obstinacy, 100
Marcuse, Peter, 116 Olsen, Philip, 130
Marcuse, Sophie, 12 O u t-D im e n s io n a l M a n , 13, 15, 16, 44,
Marin, Louis, 118 49, 52, 65, 67, 77, 78, 80, 92, 108,
Marrou, Henri-Ir£n6c, 29, 123, 124 120,138
Marx, Karl, passim One-dimensionality, 62, 78, 81
Marxism, passim Orthodoxy, 65, 70, 92, 105, 107
Masset, Pierre, 24, 122
Materialism, 2, 7, 11, 22, 32, 38, 48, Paci, Enno, 11
53, 54. 65, 72, 73, 91, 92, 118, 129 Pacification o f existence, 42
May 1968, 17, 40, 43, 46, 48, 77, 123, Pacified society, 21
126, 129, 137 Palmier, Jean-Michel, 10, 21, 57, 67,
McCarthy, Eugene, 9 117, 120, 123, 132, 136
McGill, William, 18 Paradox o f consequences, 109
McGovern, George, 9 Pareto, Vilfredo, 95, 134
Means o f production, 4, 41, 47 Parsons, Charles, 131
Mcssianism, 7, 66, 126 Partisan, 21, 33. 58. 96-98, 115, 118,
Mills, C. Wright, 145 125, 133
Mitchell, Arthur, 44, 128 Paul VI, 19
Modernity, 2*5, 28, 75. 112, 138 Perfection, 29, 39, 107
Molnar, Thomas, 5 ,6 ,3 0 ,3 1 ,1 1 6 ,1 2 4 Perroux, Francois, 19,24,44, 120, 122,
Monnerot, Jules, 23, 45, 122, 129 128
Moore, Barrington Jr., 102, 121 Pessimism, 18, 23, 24, 51-53
Morality, 22. 70. 105-110, 145, 146 Peyre, H., 66, 136
More. Thomas, 1, 26, 33, 97 Phenomenology, II, 118
Morelly, 36 Philosophy, passim
Moritz, Charles, 118 Piccone, Paul, 21, 62, 134
Mossd, C„ 28, 123 Piran, Parviz, 80, 140
Motroshilova, N. V.. 24, 122 Plato. I. 27-34, 46. 63, 73. 83-85, 123,
Mousscau, Jacques, 121 124,141
Movement, 3, 8. 18. 19.21,22. 24.25. Play, 3 9 ,4 0 ,4 2 , 127, 137
43, 44, 47-51, 55, 63, 82, 98, 100, Polin, Raymond, 43
108, 109, 143 Politics, 5, 7-15, 17-21, 25, 27, 28, 30-
Mozart, 75 32, 36, 37, 39-41, 47-51, 57, 58, 61.
Miinzer, Thomas, 27, 36 67-71, 73, 74, 77-79, 81-85, 88-101,
Myrdal, 36, 126 103, 104, 106-112, 115-119, 121-147
Mysticism, 3
Pollock, Friedrich, 12
Nair, Sami, 133 Popper, Karl, 84-86, 99, 141, 144
Nazism, II, 14, 17, 48 Positivism, 52. 85. 100, 134, 141
Necessity, 30, 42, 47, 56, 74, 92, 111, P r a v d a , 24
128, 129, 143, 144 Praxis, 14, 54, 56, 75, 117, 124, 130,
Nelson, Benjamin, 16, 119, 124 133
Neumann, Franz, 12, 14, 15 Prehistory, 7, 15, 67
New Left, 3 .2 0 . 22. 2 5 ,4 3 .6 5 , 77.94. Prison, 9, 44, 45, 85, 97
103, 104, 115, 118-120, 125, 126, Progress, I, 2, 4, 15, 25, 46, 52, 76,
128, 132, 142-146 80, 90, 95. 98, 109
Newman, Allen R., 20, 120 Project, 1,4. 2 8 ,3 5 ,4 6 , 5 4 ,5 9 .6 2 .8 1 ,
Nicolas, Andrd, 23, 121, 122 89, 90, 95, 97, 99, 109, 112
Nietzsche, Friedrich, 54 Proletariat, 1 ,8 ,3 2 ,4 5 ,4 9 , 5 6 ,5 8 ,6 7 -
69, 71, 72, 93, 95, 102, 104, 130
O’Neill, John, 121, 141 Protest, 3 ,9 , 13, 1 8 ,2 0 ,4 0 ,4 3 ,4 6 ,/>9,
O.S.S. (Office o f Strategic Services), 60. 78, 81, 116
14
154 Herbert M arcuse's Utopia

Provocation, 33, 104, 145 Rockefeller Foundation, 14

Psychoanalysis, 12, 22, 40, 122 Romanticism, 61, 63-68, 85, 98, 103,
135, 136, 143
Qualitative change, 9, 42, 48, 60, 69, Rosenberg, Harold, 71
74, 95, 103, 109 Rosenfield, Isaac, 71
Qualitative difference, 4 1, 42 Rousseau, Jean-Jacqucs, 28, 31-36, 63,
Qualitative leap, 54, 72, 103 66, 85, 105, 124-126, 135, 145
Quebec, 143 Roy. Jean, 33, 103, 124, 144
Rubcl, Maximilien, 129
Radicalism, 23, 44, 55, 65, 128 Rubinstein, Annette T ., 71, 136
Rahv, Philip, 71 Ruprecht, Anthony Mark, 48, 129
Raines, John C., 138 Ruyer, Raymond, 23, 30, 33, 34, 40,
Raser, John, 136 57, 122, 124, 125, 127, 132
Rationality. 14. 78, 83, 124, 140
Raulet, Gerard, I, 5, 23, 25, 54, 115,
116, 122, 131, 133, 139, 145 S.D.S. (Students for a Democratic
Ray, Lawrence J., 141 Society), 119
Read, Herbert, 68, 136 S.P.D. (Sozialdem okratische Partei
Reagan, Ronald, 18, 19 Deutschlands), 8
Realm of freedom, 42, 128, 130, 143, Sachar, Abram L., 16, 17
144 Saint-Simon, Comte Henri de, 95, 143
Realm of necessity, 42, 128, 143, 144 Sampieri, Salvator, 120
Reason and Revolution, 12, 14, 49, 51, Samuel, Claude, 116
73 Sargent, Lyman Tower, 27, 123
Reboul, Olivier, 96. 100, 128, 143, 144 Sartre, Jean-Paul, 11, 1 4,49, 130
Red Army, 21 Schaff, Adam, 82, 140
Redemption, 7, 84 Schiller, Friedrich von, 28, 34, 38-40,
Reich. Wilhelm, 22, 23, 121, 122 70. 127
Reification, 49, 86, 130 Schlesinger, Arthur M., 37
Religion, 7 ,4 1 ,7 3 , 74, 79. 83, 89, 109, Schleyer, Hans Martin, 21
110, 112, 138, 139 Schmidt, James, 59, 133
Repression, 1, 4, 8, 15-17, 19, 21, 23, Schmitt, Carl, 146
32. 33.42, 47, 48, 59. 68. 77, 80, 81, Scholem, Gershom, 7, 116
92. 94, 95, 98, 99, 106, 108, 111, Schoolman, Morton, 5, 39, 115, 127
143 Schopenhauer, Arthur, 54
Responsibility, 81, 105-107 Science. 3, 4, 15, 24, 25, 30, 38, 40,
Reszler, Andr£, 45, 128 4 1 ,5 1 ,5 4 .5 8 .6 4 , 76, 8 1 ,8 4 ,8 5 , 90,
Revault, d’AlIonnes, Olivier, 129 96,9 9 , 100, 105-107, 110, 111. 117,
Revolt, 8. 11, 19, 25, 43, 52, 61, 66, 126, 128, 132, 133, 135, 136, 141,
67, 77 143, 144, 146
Revolution, 3, 4, 7-10, 12-14, 17-19, Scientific, 12. 15, 41, 47, 48, 52, 59,
21,22, 24-26, 32, 33, 35, 37, 39, 41 - 71, 77. 92, 100, 129, 144
56, 59-73, 75, 76, 79, 80, 85-87, 92- Seligman, Daniel, 130
94, 97-99, 102-105, 107-112, 116- Semyonova, Olga, 123
118, 120, 121, 124, 129-132, 134, Sex, 68, 70, 91. 104, 121
137, 138, 141, 146 Shapiro, Jeremy J., 21
Revolutionary subject, 44, 50, 51, 130 Sherovcr, Erica, 7, 116
Richard King, 49, 130 Shils, Edward, 57, 132, 133
Richter, Peyton E., 140 Shostak, Arthur, 130
Ricoeur, Paul, 2 7 ,7 9 ,8 1 ,8 2 ,1 0 6 , 123, Shroyer, Trent, 21
124, 139, 140, 144, 145 Situationism, 24
Riezler, Andr£, 10 Slater, lan, 117
Robinson, Donald, 103, 145 Slogan, 19, 55, 56, 98
Robinson. Paul A., 117 Sobran, M.J., 124
 Index 155
Social democratic party, 8, 55. S ee a lso I raitor, 21, 45, 100. S ee a lso Fink
S.P.S. Trilling, Lionel, 71
Socialism, 3. 4, 19, 28. 41. 45-48, 51, Trotsky, Leon, 19, 131
55, 56, 6 3 .6 4 .6 7 , 75. 77, 9 2 .9 3 ,9 9 . Trousson, Raymond, 29, 33, 36, 40,
105, 110, 115, 116, 128-132, 134, 124-127
135 Truitt. Willis H., 137
Socialist realism, 84 Tucker, Robert C., 129, 137
Society as a work o f art, 42, 84 Tytell.John, 142
Sociology, 3, 11, 12, 14, 1 6 ,2 3 ,2 4 ,4 5 ,
58, 59, 64, 74. 82, 85, 87, 93. 95, Utopia, 1, 3-7, 10, 12, 17, 19, 23-25,
102, 117, 119, 121-123, 126, 129, 27-31, 33-36, 38-44, 46-48, 52-54,
132-135, 139-141, 143, 145, 146 56-61,65, 72, 73, 79-82, 85, 88. 91-
Sociology o f knowledge, 59, 133 94,97-101, 103-108, 110, 112, 113,
Solon, 28 115-117, 123-125, 129, 132-135,
Soviet Marxism, 14, 77, 105 140, 141, 144, 145
Spartakus, 8 Utopianism, 3-5, 24, 27, 53, 61, 65,
Spcngler, Telman, 116 8 8 ,9 9 , 100, 141
Spitz, David, 15. 33, 125
Spontaneity, 43, 62
Stalin, 9, 45
Stalinism, 15, 116, 118 Vachet, Andr£, 122
Stammer, Otto, 126, 145 Value judgment, 13, 101
St£phane, Andr£, 112 Viansson-Ponte, Pierre, 72
Stern, Sol, 120 Vicious circle, 35, 62, 63, 65, 113, 135
Stcuernagel, Gertrude Ann, 147 Vianet, Rcn£, 24
Stillman, Edmund, 19, 119 Vietnam, 13, 52, 76, 98
Strbrny, Zdank, 71 Vincent, Jean-Marie, 5,23, 79,81, 115,
Strindberg, Johan August, 113 122, 139
Struggle for existence, 42, 50 Violence. 7, 16-18, 21, 22. 28, 32. 36,
Stull, John, 19 37, 52, 55. 67, 80, 85, 95, 96, 99-
Sublimation, 81 101, 103, 107-109, 116, 125, 131,
143, 144, 146
Subversion, 5, 21, 33. 37, 72, 75, 76,
Volant, Eric, 66, 136
103, 104, 109, 145
V oltaire, Francois Marie Arouet
Swada, Paul, 27, 123
named, 101
System. 5, 16, 17, 25, 30, 31, 33, 34,
42, 48-53, 55, 76, 78, 8 2 ,85, 88, 91 -
95, 101. 104, 105, 108, 112, 132 Wakeman, John, 118
Szccsi, Maria, 25, 122 Walzer, Michael, 125
Watergate, 107
Tadic, Ljubomir, 32, 124 Weber, Max, 16, 55, 85, 95, 106, 107,
Technology, 3, 15, 25, 32, 42, 52, 59. 109, NO, 119, 126, 145, 146
80, 8 3 ,9 0 ,9 2 .9 4 .9 8 . 108, 109, 111, Weber, Shierry, 21
112, 121, 139, 142 Wedekind, Frank, 113
Teleology, 90 Weimann, Robert, 71
Teodori, Massimo, 115 Weimar, Republic of, 8 -1 1 ,5 5 ,5 7 ,6 4 ,
Terror, 17, 21, 22, 120, 121, 123 99. 116, 117, 131
Thanatos, 110 Werner, Inge S., 15
Therapy, 111, 147 Wetz, Jean, 121
Thomas, Jean-Paid, 40, 127 Wheeler, Harvey, 50
Tiedem ann, Rolf, 138 Wilson, Edmund, 71
Tissot, Henri, 117 Wilson, H.T., 141
Tocqueville, Alexis de, 141 Wirth, Louis, 133
Tourkov, 26 Wiznitzer, Louis, 19, 52, 120, 131
Toynbee, Arnold, 138 Wolff. Kurt H., 120
156 Herbert M arcuse’s Utopia

Wolff, Robert Paul, 102, 118, 120, 124,

144

Zamoshkin, lu. A., 24, 122

Zhukov, Yury, 24, 122
Zima, Pierre V,, 144
HERBERT MARCUSES UTOPIA
Alain Martineau

U to p ia is an in tro d u c tio n to th e life a n d w ork o f H e rb e rt

M arcuse, p h ilo so p h e r a n d g u r u o f th e 1960s, ra te d one
o f th e “ 100 m ost im p o rta n t p e o p le ” o f o u r era. B esides
an orig in al a n d rev ealin g b io g rap h y , th e book covers th e
prin cip al u to p ian p red ecesso rs o f M arcuse, his id eo lo g ­
ical politics a n d rev o lu tio n ary ethics. It also stresses th e
cen trality th ro u g h o u t his c a re e r o f aesthetics. F or those
w ho have tried a n d failed to u n d e rs ta n d M arcuse, this
w ork is clarifying a n d d em y stifying to th e n'h d e g re e .
T h e a u th o r traces th e p ath w hich M arcuse travelled
fro m W eim ar G erm an y o f th e 1920s a n d 1930s to th e
U niversity o f C alifo rn ia in th e 1970s a n d 1980s. H e
reviews M arcuse’s in tellectual grow th a n d th e d e b t he
owes to those w ho w ent b e fo re — a m o n g o th e rs, Plato,
R ousseau, B ab eu f, Schiller, F o u rie r, B ak u n in , M arx,
Rosa L u x e m b u rg a n d K arl M an n h eim .
M artin eau is not c o n te n t to p lu m b th e basic texts
alone. H e q u o tes so urces fro m jo u rn a ls an d n ew sp ap ers
th a t a re n o t widely kno w n — m ak in g th e sch o larsh ip o rig ­
inal a n d exciting. R eferen ces such as those to M arcuse’s
w ork fo r th e U.S. S tate D e p a rtm e n t, to his stu d en ts, such
as A ngela Davis, an d to the events o f May 1968 in France,
give M arcuse’s w ork n o t only philosophical im p o rta n c e ,
b u t an historical a n d political o n e as well.
Alain M artineau was b o rn in the Province o f Q uebec
in 1940 a n d was e d u c a te d p rim arily at th e U niversity o f
M ontreal a n d th e S o rb o n n e. Since 1968, he has been
P ro fesso r o f P hilosophy at G ran b y C ollege a n d , m o re
recently, ex ten sio n le c tu re r in p h ilosophy fo r th e
U niversity o f M o n treal. H e has w ritten a n d p u b lish ed
n u m e ro u s articles a n d d eliv ered p a p e rs to scholarly
congresses on a variety o f them es.

ISBN 88772-027-7