Modernism's Innovative Self-Destruction
All That Is Solid Melts Into Air, Part Two
This post covers the next chapter of All That Is Solid Melts Into Air where Berman argues that we should read Karl Marx as an important modernist figure. Read part one here.
Berman begins this chapter with an epigraph of a Mobile Oil advertisement: “Innovative Self-Destruction!” It represents the core of modernism—not only its message but its challenge—and the core of Marx’s theory, Berman will argue. The new capitalist order, having thrown out all the steadfast social and cultural relations of the feudal era, thrives on a constant cycle of disintegration and reinvention.
This idea is more obvious when applied to the economy. To have an edge in the market, capitalists need to have the next best thing. Planned obsolescence is an obvious culprit. Even products that should be considered staples are phased out for new, better versions. Another culprit is fast fashion which produces nearly 100 million tons of waste every year. To constantly be creating the next best thing, all previous iterations need to be destroyed, if not physically then culturally and socially. Oh my god is that an iPhone 5!?1
Marx’s theory, however, is not purely about economics and the need for the next best thing, but how social and cultural life are constantly changing as well. While Marx is more famously known for predicting and advocating for a communist revolution, the foundation of this theory rests on the tumultuous nature of modern life. It’s out of the flux of modernism that Marx thinks a revolution will be born. When people realize that what they rely on for grounding—their relationships and cultural symbols—are constantly in flux, Marx argues that in time they will realize their class relations can change as well. The spirit of ambition, of bringing the world under the order of grand economies and nation states, of creating the powerful and wealthy bourgeoisie, will soon unleash a revolution that destroys that order.
The “inherent modernism,” as Berman calls it, in Marx’s theory is revealed in the achievements of the bourgeoisie. Not only did they activate in society the realization that people can change the world they live in, they liberated “the human capacity and drive for development: for permanent change, for perpetual upheaval and renewal in every mode of personal and social life” (p. 94). Marx doesn’t decry this development; he actually endorses it as a radical vision for a future in which that energy is used not to enrich a powerful upper class but to allow for “the free development of all.” Marx embraced the modern, bourgeois, economic forces but wanted to see the benefits enrich everyone.
But Marx’s free development rings a little anxious from my perspective. He endorses, in Berman’s words, “a process of continual, restless, open-ended, unbounded growth,” both in society and in individuals (p. 98). This feels almost oppressive or, at the very least, demanding: that everyone be “fit for a variety of labors, ready to face any change in production.” I can’t help but picture job descriptions that seriously ask you to be capable of filling multiple roles at once. Not only do you need to know how to code, you need to know statistics. And statistics isn’t enough either; you should know how to visually design websites. And not only that either; you should be proficient in writing copy and marketing a brand. The feeling of never being good enough seems especially relevant in the current job market, but it's also a likely consequence of the need for capitalists to squeeze as much value out of employees.
While Marx is somewhat entranced by the revolutionary potential in modern capitalism, he’s also disturbed by it:
Thus, in the first part of the Manifesto, Marx lays out the polarities that will shape and animate the culture of modernism in the century to come: the theme of insatiable desires and drives, permanent revolution, infinite development, perpetual creation and renewal in every sphere of life; and its radical antithesis, the theme of nihilism, insatiable destruction, the shattering and swallowing up of life, the heart of darkness, the horror (p. 102).
Out of this horror Marx attempts to pitch us a revolution we can believe in, one that he ultimately sees as inevitable. He hypothesizes that capitalism will face periodic crises that will threaten the existing order more and more each time. But Berman is skeptical for a few reasons. For one, if modern society is so volatile and ever-changing, how could we expect any solid class consciousness to form?
Marx hoped for the proletariat—anyone not in control of the means of production—to see themselves as equals, whether as wage laborers or salaried professionals. Instead of ridding ourselves of social hierarchy, however, it seems we find new ways to reinforce it, whether with commodity fetishism and moralistic careerism. While this is not true in every capitalist country, in the US one’s job is often seen as a core component of one’s identity. It has the power to bestow status and self image. Jobs that are low enough on the totem pole may even instill shame. There is a scene from the recent film, Perfect Days, that illustrates this well. When the main character Hirayama, a toilet janitor in Tokyo, reconnects with his estranged sister, she asks in disbelief if he is really cleaning toilets for a living.2 If you aren’t working a so-called respectable job, are you even trying?
In Marx’s theory, the bourgeois class must be supportive of a free market which by definition allows new products, processes, and ideas to be created, “not only economically but politically and culturally as well” (p. 112). But in practice capitalists want to secure their place in the market. I don’t think Marx foresaw politicians and capitalists using chaos to their advantage, finding ways to blame instability on anti-American, communist ideas. Instead of instability being a reason to unite against an unjust, unequal system, it becomes a twisted rationale for blaming any anti-capitalist movements.
The bourgeoisie, it turns out, is adept at harnessing revolutionary tendencies for their own means: “we can see how the business of promoting revolution is open to the same abuses and temptations, manipulative frauds and wishful self-deceptions, as any other promotional line” (p. 114). I can only think—excuse me—of Trump, inciting a faux rebellious spirit to do nothing but embrace the status quo. Under the guise of a political revolution, under Trumpism, lies an embrace of America’s long true tradition of pointing political rage at all the things that will certainly fail to alleviate it. Angry about wages? Blame the migrants. Mad about inflation? Tax the wealthy less. Working class rage is made inept by its embrace of trickle down economics that continues to widen the wealth divide. Trumpism, to give the man credit, is brilliantly based on antagonism—it is against immigration, against wokeism, against education, against gender identity, and against abortion. It is a movement against so many things it lets you forget it stands for nothing. Far from making its political energy a force for change, Trumpism as a movement uses it to keep things as they are.
Berman ends his critique with a solemn conclusion: capitalism’s “very capacity for development enables it to negate its own inner negations: to nourish itself and thrive on opposition, to become stronger amid pressure and crisis than it could ever be in peace, to transform enmity into intimacy and attackers into inadvertent allies” (p. 119).3
Nonetheless, Berman sees Marx as an important writer for understanding modernism. Both Marx and modernism “confront [modern life] with mixed emotions, awe and elation fused with a sense of horror. Both see modern life as shot through with contradictory impulsions and potentialities, and both embrace a vision of ultimate or ultramodernity…as the way through and beyond these contradictions” (p. 120). To Berman, Marx’s description of capitalism as alienating, tumultuous, and ever-changing—and his hopeful vision that a revolution will emerge to negate all that—is inherently modern (p. 121).
While Berman is skeptical of Marx’s vision for the future, he seems to admire not only his embrace of modernism’s energy but his hopefulness:
He knew we must start where we are: psychically naked, stripped of all religious, aesthetic, moral haloes and sentimental veils, thrown back on our individual will and energy, forced to exploit each other and ourselves in order to survive; and yet, in spite of all, thrown together by the same forces that pull us apart, dimly aware of all we might be together, ready to stretch ourselves to grasp new human possibilities, to develop identities and mutual bonds that can help us hold together as the fierce modern air blows hot and cold through us all (p. 129).
Next week I’ll cover Berman’s take on Charles Pierre Baudelaire, a French poet who popularized the term flâneur.
It’s a 12 Mini you moron (this doesn’t help my case).
There are probably some connections to be made to Naomi Klein’s The Shock Doctrine, but I haven’t read it.
Thumbnail art: “Destruction and Hope.” Paul Klee. 1916. Art Institute of Chicago: Buckingham Fund, Albert Kunstadter Family Foundation Fund, and Frances S. Schaffner Principal Fund.