[D-G] Jeepers, more Violence

.+oot7AM martini dr.crawboney at gmail.com
Mon Sep 18 21:36:51 PDT 2006

> With his development fo Newtonian Mechniics he opened the door for the
> scientfic revolution, [...]
> this was so perplexing and fruitful that it swept away in the long run
> not only the old feudal structures, but also devolped so much wealth [...]
> progress was induced by western world in brute form of colonialism.
> The good consience was brought about by superior technolgy and the
> liberating forces of it.[...]
> "We subjectiate with very ancient morals compared to technological
> development" in my eyes
> root the real problem, indicated already by Whitehead.

"folding" or "hiding" or whatever.. but what has me intertested here is
the concealed agenda-narrative of the master's dominance of the slave
and all the various forms which it must take... as we go through
history.... as newton's science paves the way for 18th
cent.capitalism, so if locke lets us have "checks & and balances" it
is only because we necessarily accept property laws from the
mega-machine, and thus controllers of territory maintain control of
that balance by broadcasting control nomologically through american
revolutionary BwO ....  if we have Rousseau's "social contract" it is
only because we have the leviathan of the state which would violently
destroy us otherwise and such a concept is born from the need for
compromise with that machine, not a need to create a more complex
machine, a need to communicate and open up to it, to save ourselves
from its stupidity. I am glad you bring up whitehead and popper
because it is easy to forget how closely they circle that rock. I can
see why one might be drawn to their debates on science or empiricism,
but don't forget about the actual the subject here. for whitehead it
is "commerce" and for popper it is "capitalism", big dif. the
open-society of anti-leninism is just a paradox, so why validate it
and enter? The point should be perfectly clear, I know who I would
like to be ruled by, it is not confusing, nobody in the world is
asking to be ruled by the artificial intelligence of the mega-machine.

Foucault is more along the direction I was hoping to go. He takes
spinoza to task and drags neitcheeze along with him. In his essay
"Nietzsche, Genealogy, History," Foucault claims that "all knowledge
rests upon injustice. ... [The] instinct for knowledge is malicious
(something murderous, opposed to the happiness of mankind)."

you can read more of it here:
(I hate passwords!!)

> And as the essay shows, the outer world wanderes into the inner world by
> foldings and stratifications, the folds giving the subjects.
> And the more cruel and raw the outer world comes in, the more cruel and hard
> the subjects are.
> And for the rule of the slaves over the salves superstition
> and very crude interpretations of the bible played a great role.
> I think what you mean is that Spinoza was against independt priests
> and favoured some kind of state religion he himself would not believe in,
> bit in oreder to unite the state mentally.

and the rest of the story... " after spinoza was dead his ideas were
territorialized by the mega-machine. the end" They are both/all forms
of a "superstition" or metaphysics, one oedipalized may lead to more
advantageous formations then another. Obviously "closeness of
territory" is important, and so territory remains the number one topic
again. but there is more to that "closeness", like you were saying a
folding is also possible, but there's no need to make it complex, even
w/o measured folding there is closeness, just proximity. the machine
finds language is forced into a position of connecting that gap of
closeness and so identity is forced to be a part of language for thhe
machine. for the person, the machine tends to become a part of
language, but the smart person is aware of more then just that limited
closeness (re: locke'd +freud) so we remember that the machine is
outside of language, was outside of language, now inside our cell.
Deleuze would remind us that it has always been mixed, like
prometheus. has the spirit's relationship with the megalithic-mach
always been so stressful? but here, you link the BwO to divine
reason... surely this can be straightened out!

> The idea "As lead by one spirit" and uniting the weak powers of reason
> in times where people died very often very fast and a lot
> catastrophes were usual, leadinfg to superstion and a hardening in direction
> cruelty of the souls.
> You have the daming of the riot of peasants even by Luther.
> So a little bit anxity of the beast which habits in the common peopl taking
> as masses
> was very deep rooted among intellectuals.[...]
> Youz have to have people who thimk somethin that works for liberation.
> And here it is like a wonder that science and technology found practial way
> outs and help.
> This, to take th great line of "universal history", has lead to a more
> wider and generous thinking, folds and strata,  allowing science and
> education to grow, involving
> development of the personality for a lot of people.
> Very formal rationlity is something like selffirmation of thinking,
> selfreflected and tested
> by success or explanation of failure against outer world.
I am understanding correctly that it should be acted out politically
on the governmental stage? it does fine in science and science can
inform. but Doesn't the mega-machine fail even more miserably then the
oedipal king, and I'm not saying that it shouldn't? But why should I
believe in my own degenerat-ness more then the degenerateness of the
world around me?  It's not a choice I'd force anyone to make.

Certainly "universal history" would exist even w/o those specific
folds and strata we have today, it would be different fold, perhaps
one without bertrand russell. The imaginary choice between the
mega-machine and the oedipal king prevents a 3rd meta-challenge that
must extend beyond the two types, a debate is pointless, there is no
crisis to resolve diplomatically. Israel exists to militarily oppose
communism in the region, its in their charter'46.) This is the
"thinking par excel-lance" that can recognize the shellgame and
realize a truth that rests on the finger tip.  it is initiated by the
loss of psychological territory, like third-class depression, the
resolution of the identity crisis amounts to the forfeit of tempo
during the dancing game.  But this game has Lamarkean consequences for
the loser's genealogy, who susceptible to negative variance during
critical metholation periods, ie women's eggs. One of the great things
about science is its ability to communicate truth to the mega-machine
who is blind to absolute truth and can only perceive nomological truth
like code.


here's the foucault article:


Foucault the Neohumanist?
The Chronicle of Higher Education, 6.9.1


In 1975 and 1976, Michel Foucault published two books that
single-handedly reoriented scholarship in the humanities:
Discipline and Punish and The History of Sexuality. Thereby,
Foucault fundamentally altered the way we think about power.

For centuries, power had been associated with the negative capacity
to deny or forbid. In spatial terms, it stood at the apex of a
vertical axis. This view suited our modern conception of political
sovereignty as a top-down phenomenon. Power reputedly consisted of
a relationship between sovereign and subjects. It bespoke the
capacity of rulers to censure or to control the behavior of those
they ruled. That was the traditional model of power that Foucault
vigorously challenged in these pathbreaking studies. As he remarked
laconically: "In political thought and analysis, we still have not
cut off the head of the king." By remaining beholden to an
anachronistic notion of power, the human sciences, Foucault
claimed, remained impervious to the distinctive modalities and
flows of power in modern society, tone-deaf to the diffuse and
insidious operations of "biopower": modern society's well-nigh
totalitarian capacity to institutionally regulate and subjugate
individual behavior -- via statistics, public-health guidelines,
and conformist sexual norms -- down to the most elementary,
"corpuscular" level.

What would happen if we reconceived power as operating on a
horizontal axis, wondered Foucault? What if the traditional
vertical focus on sovereignty, governance, and law were
diversionary, leading us to mistake power's genuine tenor and
scope? What if power's defining trait were its productive rather
than its negative or suppressive capacities? In that case, power's
uniqueness would lie in its ability to shape, fashion, and mold the
parameters of the self, potentially down to the infinitesimal or
corpuscular level. Following Descartes, we have typically been
taught to conceive of the self as a locus of autonomy or freedom.
But what if this autonomy were in fact illusory, concealing potent,
underlying, and sophisticated mechanisms of domination?

That is the hypothesis Foucault sets forth during his later,
"genealogical" phase. Just as Nietzsche, in Genealogy of Morals,
tried to show that the Western ideas of good and evil derive from
an ethos of weakness -- specifically, from the "slave revolt" in
morals against aristocratic society -- Foucault, in a similar vein,
seeks to demonstrate the compromised origins of the modern
"subject." In his view, the illusions of autonomy conceal a deeper
bondage. The so-called subject is merely the efflux of what
Foucault construes as a totalizing "carceral society." From early
childhood, the subject is exposed or "subjected" to what Foucault
labels the "means of correct training": an all-pervasive expanse of
finely honed behavioral-modification techniques that suffuse the
institutional structure of civil society -- schools, hospitals, the
military, prisons, and so forth.

In this way, Foucault boldly upends the modern narrative of
progress. What we have customarily interpreted as evidence of
expanding civic freedom -- that is, the triumph of rights-based
liberalism -- when viewed in a Foucauldian optic has in fact
produced more effective mechanisms of social control. Foucault
audaciously stands the standard, Enlightenment view of the
relationship between insight and emancipation on its head.
Knowledge, which we traditionally thought would set us free, merely
enmeshes us more efficiently in the omnivorous tentacles of
"biopower." The popular Foucauldian coinage "power/knowledge"
suggests that the modern ideal of value-free knowing is illusory.
Instead, knowledge is perennially implicated in the maintenance and
reproduction of power relations. The reign of biopower is
buttressed and facilitated by the scientific disciplines of
criminology, medicine, public administration, and so forth. In
Foucault's view, moreover, the Enlightenment-inspired discourse of
the human sciences is a prime offender. The so-called sciences of
man function as the handmaidens of a nefarious "disciplinary
society," furnishing it with data that serve the administrative
needs of "governmentality": the Orwellian technique of turning
citizens into pliable and cooperative "docile bodies." Little
wonder that in The Order of Things -- a manifesto of French
antihumanism -- Foucault unabashedly celebrates the "death of man"
and implies that, in the aftermath of his disappearance, the world
will be much better off.

Contra Hegel, truth does not yield "absolute knowledge." Instead,
as Foucault maintains in a 1977 interview, truth must be
reconceptualized "as a system of ordered procedures for the
production, regulation, distribution, circulation, and operation of
statements." As such, truth is "linked in a circular relation with
systems of power, which produce and sustain it, and to effects of
power, which it induces and which extends it." In his celebrated
essay "Nietzsche, Genealogy, History," Foucault carries this
analysis a step further, claiming provocatively that "all knowledge
rests upon injustice. ... [The] instinct for knowledge is malicious
(something murderous, opposed to the happiness of mankind)."

In The History of Sexuality, Foucault raised the alarm concerning
the perils of "normalization." The notion that one should possess a
normal sexual identity, he suggested, testifies to the workings of
biopower. It is a mechanism of social control that reinforces
conformist sexual practices and criminalizes "deviancy." In
Foucault's view, the 1960's ethos of sexual liberation, as
prophesied by Wilhelm Reich and Norman O. Brown, was merely another
manifestation of normalization: Under the guise of sexual
emancipation, we were instructed by "experts" to define ourselves
in terms of having a positive and determinate sexual identity. Yet,
as normative, all such conceptions are by definition limiting,
exclusionary, and fundamentally repressive. The only way to
counteract the pitfalls of "normalization," Foucault suggests
(following the lead of Georges Bataille), is through an ethos of
radical "transgression."

Yet, at times, the maw of biopower as described by Foucault seems
so inescapable and totalizing that one is at a loss as to how one
might combat it. After all, how can we ensure that a given instance
of transgression is not merely a ruse on the part of biopower to
further ensnare us? At The History of Sexuality's conclusion, all
we are left with is a tantalizing yet frustratingly nebulous appeal
to a "different economy of bodies and pleasures."

In North America, Foucault's innovative conception of biopower
inspired new research models, above all in the areas of feminism,
gender studies, and "queer theory." Auspiciously, The History of
Sexuality appeared in English in 1978, just as the feminist and
gay-rights movements had attained a measure of respectability and
political prominence. That was also the moment when first-wave or
rights-oriented feminism seemed to have run out of steam.
Second-wave feminism, which embraced and affirmed women's
"difference," emerged to fill the void. Although liberal political
thought excelled at theorizing basic rights -- and thus well suited
the needs of first-wave, egalitarian feminism -- it had little to
say about trickier questions of female "self-realization": how
women might fulfill themselves as women. Here, conversely,
Foucault's bio-power paradigm, with its endemic suspicions of
"norms" and "normalization," not to mention its manifest sympathy
for "marginal sexualities," excelled, especially where
considerations of "difference" were at stake.

In American academe, that's the gist of the Foucault story. He has
been venerated and canonized as the messiah of French antihumanism:
a harsh critic of the Enlightenment, a dedicated foe of
liberalism's covert normalizing tendencies, an intrepid prophet of
the "death of man."

But increasingly that perception seems wrong, or, at best, only
partially true. Considerable evidence suggests that, later in life,
Foucault himself became frustrated with the antihumanist credo. He
underwent what one might describe as a learning process. He came to
realize that much of what French structuralism had during the 1960s
rejected as humanist pap retained considerable ethical and
political value.

That re-evaluation of humanism redounds to his credit as a thinker.
It stems from a profound and undeniable moral insight: If one
wishes to become an effective critic of totalitarianism, as
Foucault certainly did, the paradigm of "man" remains an
indispensable ally. After all, it is the totalitarians themselves
who seek to quash or eliminate man. As antitotalitarian political
analysts and actors, our responsibility is to spare him that fate.

It would not be a misnomer to suggest that in fact the later
Foucault became a human-rights activist, a political posture that
stands in stark contrast with his North American canonization as
the progenitor of "identity politics."

The major difference between the two standpoints may be explained
as follows: Whereas human rights stress our formal and inviolable
prerogatives as people (equality before the law, freedom of speech,
habeas corpus, and so forth), identity politics emphasize the
particularity of group belonging. The problem is that the two
positions often conflict: Assertions of cultural particularism
often view an orientation toward rights as an abstract, formalistic
hindrance. Thus identity politics risks regressing to an ideology
of "groupthink." Or, as a percipient German friend once observed
with reference to the American culture wars, "Identity politics:
That's what we had in Germany between 1933 and 1945." He correctly
insinuated that unless multiculturalist allegiances are mediated by
a fundamental respect for the rule of law and basic constitutional
freedoms, the door will have been opened to fratricidal conflict.

In Discipline and Punish, Foucault embraced the thesis of "soft
totalitarianism" to describe the carceral system of the modern
West. To his credit, he would eventually criticize with equal vigor
the post-Stalinist variant of totalitarianism predominant in
Eastern Europe. (Among left-leaning French intellectuals, a
veritable turning point and awakening came with the publication of
Solzhenitsyn's magisterial Gulag Archipelago in 1974.) If, during
the 1960s, the heroes of the French left had been developing-world
revolutionaries such as Che, Fidel, Ho Chi Minh, and Mao, during
the late 1970s dissidence was in vogue. Vclav Havel, Andrei
Sakharov, Lech Walesa, and a cast of less-heralded oppositionists
became the new standard-bearers for the figure of the engaged

With acumen and enthusiasm, Foucault boarded the antitotalitarian
bandwagon. Since his election to the prestigious Collge de France
in 1970, he increasingly cultivated the persona of an intellectual
activist. During the 1970s, Foucault justly inherited Sartre's
mantle as the prototype of the intellectuel engag. One of his
first forays in this regard consisted of a vigorous defense of the
so-called New Philosophers -- ex-Maoists, such as Andr Glucksmann,
Bernard-Henri Lvy, and Guy Lardreau, who had finally seen the
light and reinvented themselves as un-relenting critics of
left-wing political despotism. In many respects, the New
Philosophers were Foucault's intellectual progeny. Using conceptual
tools he had developed such as "power/knowledge" and disciplinary
surveillance, they merely extended his critical position to
encompass the Soviet-dominated lands of, in Rudolf Bahro's words,
"really existing socialism."

In 1977 Foucault took to the pages of the French weekly Le Nouvel
Observateur to publish a ringing justification of Glucksmann's
antitotalitarian screed, The Master Thinkers, for daring to speak
truth to power. Undoubtedly, Foucault saw through much of New
Philosophy's rhetorical histrionics and shallow posturing. In his
view, what was primarily at stake was a larger political point:
delivering a coup de grce to the French left's nave infatuation
with Marxism. Previously, French intellectuals had developed a
network of sophisticated rationalizations to justify left-wing
dictatorships. However, in view of the 1968 Soviet invasion of
Prague, the unspeakable depredations of Mao's Great Proletarian
Cultural Revolution, and Pol Pot's gruesome reign of terror in
Cambodia, such justifications were wearing increasingly thin.
Wasn't a distinctly grisly and horrific political pattern beginning
to emerge? In this way, Foucault sought to call the bluff of his
fellow leftists. In his review-essay "The Great Rage of Facts," he
pointedly mocked the idea, once popular among the left, that the
historical necessity of socialism could ever trump basic human or
moral concerns.

Far from being a one-time gambit, Foucault's spirited endorsement
of the antitotalitarian ethos set the tone for many of his later
intellectual and political involvements. In 1978, Bernard Kouchner,
the human-rights activist and Doctors Without Borders founder,
contacted Foucault to support the plight of the Vietnamese "boat
people," who were fleeing persecution by the recently installed
Communist government. As a result, the group "A Boat for Vietnam"
was founded, with Foucault as one of its leading activists. Along
with Glucksmann, Kouchner, Sartre, and Raymond Aron, the
organization successfully lobbied President Valry Giscard
d'Estaing to increase France's quota for Vietnamese refugees.

The alliance with Kouchner and Glucksmann transformed Foucault into
a passionate advocate of humanitarian intervention, or le droit
d'ingrance: the moral imperative to intervene in the domestic
affairs of a nation where human rights are being systematically
violated. In 1981, Foucault addressed a major conference held at
U.N. headquarters in Geneva where these themes were debated and
discussed. In his speech, Foucault eloquently praised the
responsibilities of"international citizenship," which, he claimed,
"implies a commitment to rise up against any abuse of power,
whoever its author, whoever its victims." "Amnesty International,
Terre des Hommes, and Mdecins du Monde," he continued, "are the
initiatives which have created this new right; the right of private
individuals to intervene effectively in the order of international
policies and strategies." If Foucault retained aspects of his
earlier, antihumanist worldview, they were certainly undetectable
in his moving Geneva speech.

Later that year, Gen. Wojciech Jaruzelski declared martial law in
Poland, brutally suppressing Solidarity, Eastern Europe's first
independent trade union. The response by most Western European
statesmen was a deafening silence. They judged the matter to be a
purely "internal" Polish affair. They feared fanning the flames of
the cold war. (Ronald Reagan's presidency had begun earlier that
year.) So much for international solidarity. Better that the
civilian populations of Eastern Europe passively endure the yoke of
authoritarian rule. The recently elected French Socialist
government had an additional, domestic political motivation to look
the other way. It had come to power in an alliance with the French
Communists. A rift over the "Polish question" risked fracturing the

At the behest of Pierre Bourdieu, Foucault once again sprang into
action. The two intellectual luminaries jointly drafted an
impassioned statement urging the Socialists not to repeat the
ignominious blunders of 1936 -- refusing to come to the aid of the
embattled Spanish Republic -- and 1956 -- countenancing the Warsaw
Pact's brutal invasion of Budapest. The statement was broadcast on
French radio. Among its signatories were Glucksmann, Kouchner, Yves
Montand, and Simone Signoret. Thereafter, the French government
enacted a sudden volte-face, vigorously protesting the declaration
of martial law. President Franois Mitterrand released a statement
in support of the oppressed Poles. Prime Minister Pierre Mauroy
abruptly canceled a forthcoming diplomatic visit to Warsaw. Led by
Foucault, French intellectuals had risen to the occasion. It was
not quite the Dreyfus affair. But it was a worthy performance

During the late 1970s, Foucault became acquainted with Robert
Badinter, an influential jurist who was an avowed admirer of the
philosopher's work on prisons and punishment. In 1981, Badinter
became Mitterrand's minister of justice. One of his first official
acts was to abolish the death penalty. Other progressive
legislative measures followed: A draconian 1970 anti-riot act was
invalidated, police surveillance of homosexuals was forbidden, and
the dreaded maximum-security wings of French prisons were shut
down. Badinter and Foucault developed a deep friendship.
Undoubtedly, many of the minister's ideas on progressive penal
reform had been inspired by Foucault's teachings and doctrines.

But did Foucault's new political self-understanding as a
human-rights activist have any repercussions on his philosophical
views? Emphatically so. This theme is the centerpiece of Eric
Paras's provocative new book, Foucault 2.0: Beyond Power and
Knowledge (Other Press). Paras deftly and painstakingly culls his
evidence from Foucault's later Collge de France lectures, most of
which remain unpublished. If his insights are correct, his study
portends a veritable sea change in Foucault scholarship.

As Paras shows, in his later years Foucault had clearly become
disenchanted with the research program he had honed during the
mid-1970s in Discipline and Punish and The History of Sexuality.
The treatment of "power" in these works proved too suffocating and
monolithic. The idea of resistance to power seemed all but ruled

Two developments lend crucial support for Paras's hypothesis
concerning Foucault's momentous paradigm shift, which,
significantly, foreshadowed a rehabilitation of "man" and
"subjectivity." First, Foucault abandoned the methodological tack
he had outlined in The History of Sexuality, which focused on
sexuality as a means for "power/knowledge" to extend its sinister
hegemony. Instead, during his later years, he turned to a more
positive concept of subjectivity, centered on the "art of living"
in ancient Greece and Rome. Foucault had come to believe that such
pre-Christian, pagan approaches to the idea of self-cultivation
represented a valuable heuristic -- a means to overcome the
deficiencies of modern conceptions of the self. Second, the term
"power/knowledge" itself is entirely absent from his later lectures
and texts -- a telling indication of how radically dissatisfied
Foucault had become with the limitations of his earlier approach.

Paras's most radical and potentially controversial claim concerns
Foucault's later re-evaluation of the idea of subjectivity. During
the 1960s, as a card-carrying structuralist, Foucault, along with
Roland Barthes, Jacques Lacan, and Louis Althusser, had celebrated
the "death of the author" as a pendant to the fashionable
postmodernist thesis concerning the "death of man." But as Paras
remarks, if we know a great deal about Foucault's challenge to "the
hegemony of 'man,' we are comparatively ignorant of the process by
which he abandoned his hard structuralist position and later
embraced the ideas that he had labored to undermine: liberty,
individualism, 'human rights,' and even the thinking subject."

The goal of Foucault 2.0, then, is to fill this void. In fact,
given Foucault's avowed fascination with Greco-Roman techniques of
self-formation in studies such as The Care of the Self and The Use
of Pleasure, it would be entirely reasonable to speak of a return
of the subject in his later work. As Foucault remarks in a late
interview, "I think it is characteristic of our society nowadays,
that subjectivity has the right to assert itself, and to say ...
'that I cannot accept,' 'that I don't want,' or 'that I desire.'"

The evidence for this return is copious. In several key later
texts, Foucault demonstrates an avowed fascination with what he
calls an "aesthetics of existence": an approach to the self-mastery
predicated on considerations of "style" or "aesthetics." According
to Foucault (here, closely following Nietzsche), the Christian idea
of self-mastery culminated in self-renunciation or self-abnegation.
Hence, it was disturbingly life-negating. Conversely, in the
ancient world, care of the self focused on "the choice of a
beautiful life." Here, the goal of self-rule or autonomy was
primarily aesthetic -- hence, it was profoundly life-affirming. As
Foucault enthusiastically remarks in a late interview, "The idea of
the bios [life] as material for an aesthetic piece of art is
something that fascinates me."

In Foucault's view, the Greco-Roman idea of aesthetic
self-cultivation meshes with the central ideas of two main
theorists of the modern self, Baudelaire and Nietzsche.
Baudelaire's "dandyism" -- his idea of turning one's own persona
into a veritable work of art -- became for the later Foucault a
positive model of individual self-realization, as did Nietzsche's
celebrated injunction in The Gay Science "to 'give style' to one's
character -- a great and rare art!" As Foucault explains: "What
strikes me is the fact that in our society art has become something
which is related to objects and not to individuals, or to life. ...
But couldn't everyone's life become a work of art? Why should the
lamp or the house be an art object, but not our life?"

Thereby, Foucault's work seems to have come full circle. Under the
sign of aesthetic self-realization, Foucault rehabilitates and
vindicates the rights of subjectivity. As Foucault avows, his new
normative ideal is "the formation and development of a practice of
Self, the objective of which is the constitution of oneself as the
laborer of the beauty of one's own life."

French critics have long pointed to the central paradox of the
North American Foucault reception: that a thinker who was so
fastidious about hazarding positive political prescriptions, and
who viewed affirmations of identity as a trap or as a form of
normalization, could be lionized as the progenitor of the "identity
politics" movement of the 1980s and 1990sa movement that, as
Christopher Lasch demonstrated, had abandoned the ends of public
commitment in favor of a "culture of narcissism." Paras's case for
the "neohumanist" Foucault is persuasive and well documented. One
wonders how long it will take Foucault's North American acolytes to
reorient themselves in light of Paras's impressive findings. That
would mean abandoning the fashionable preoccupation with "body
politics" -- the obsessive concern with a "different economy of
bodies and pleasures" as a mode of transgression -- and, following
the later Foucault, according the claims of humanism their due.

Richard Wolin is a professor of history, comparative literature,
and political science at the Graduate Center of the City University
of New York. His books include The Seduction of Unreason: The
Intellectual Romance With Fascism From Nietzsche to Postmodernism
(Princeton University Press, 2004) and The Frankfurt School
Revisited (Routledge, 2006).

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