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111 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 1977

This thesis implies that literature is not revolutionary because it is written for the working class or for ‘the revolution.’ Literature can be called revolutionary in a meaningful sense only with reference to itself, as content having become form. The political potential of art lies in its own aesthetic dimension. Its relation to praxis is inexorably indirect, mediated, and frustrating. The more immediately political the work of art, the more it reduces the power of estrangement and the radical, transcendent goals of change. (xii-xiii).Under this principle, there is more subversive potential in de Maistre devotee Baudelaire than in Brecht (xiii).
the radical qualities of art, that is to say [cf. Agamben on Plotinus on this phrase], its indictment of the established reality and its invocation of the beautiful image (schoner Schein) of liberation are grounded precisely in the dimensions where art transcends its social determination and emancipates itself from the given universe of discourse (6)This is its subversive function. Aesthetic sublimation has an affirmative character and desublimation, a negating character (7). The affirmative character arises out of an Aristotelian catharsis, apparently, insofar as the aesthetic form permits the work to “call fate by its name, to demystify its force, to give the word to the victims” (10). (Catharsis is “an ontological rather than a psychological event,” NB (59).)
Great literature knows a guiltless guilt which finds its first authentic expression in Oedipus Rex. Here is the domain of that which is changeable and that which is not. Obviously there are societies in which people no longer believe in oracles, and there may be societies in which there is no incest taboo, but it is difficult to imagine a society which has abolished what is called chance or fate, the encounter at the crossroads, the encounter of the lovers, but also the encounter with hell.
Tragedy is always and everywhere while the satyr play follows it always and everywhere; joy vanishes faster than sorrow. This insight, inexorably expressed in art, may well shatter faith in progress but it may also keep alive another image and another goal of praxis, namely the reconstruction of society and nature under the principle of increasing the human potential for happiness. The revolution is for the sake of life, not death.
Inasmuch as art preserves, with the promise of happiness, the memory of the goals that failed, it can enter, as a "regulative idea," the desperate struggle for changing the world. Against all fetishism of the productive forces, against the continued enslavement of individuals by the objective conditions (which remain those of domination), art represents the ultimate goal of all revolutions: the freedom and happiness of the individual.