Читать книгу The Summer of Theory - Philipp Felsch - Страница 15

After having been forgotten for an interim, Adorno was omnipresent in the 1960s.⁵³ He filled the lecture halls and appeared in the young mass media – most of all, radio, the German ‘counter-university’ of the post-war period.⁵⁴ The barely modulated voice, separating its words with tiny pauses, was unmistakable. It was a hit with the audiences of the cultural programmes and the night-time airwaves. Learning by radio how to read Hegel: such breathtakingly highbrow content sends today’s cultural editors into raptures of nostalgia. It is hardly imaginable any more, Joachim Kaiser wrote for Adorno’s hundredth birthday, what influence the philosopher had in those days.⁵⁵ At that time, when Kaiser himself fell under that influence, he described it in these terms: ‘Anyone writing, speculating, politicizing, aestheticizing today must engage with Adorno.’⁵⁶ No one has held a comparable monopoly since. In the seventies, as Marxism grew sclerotic, Critical Theory submerged in the think-tank on Lake Starnberg – the Max Planck Institute for the Study of the Scientific-Technical World, whose second director was Jürgen Habermas – and the French came to dominate the theoretical airspace, another German generation grew accustomed to living in the philosophical provinces, dependent on onerously decrypted imports from a Mecca of theory across the Rhine. The Weltgeist didn’t live here any more.

Before ’68, when German society had maintained an eloquent silence about its recent past, it had been otherwise – this was one of history’s ironies. Dangerous ideas hadn’t had to be smuggled across the border then; they were right there in Frankfurt. And if you weren’t one of the chosen few who personally inhabited Adorno’s orbit, as Joachim Kaiser did, you could pick up the Frankfurt phone book, look up his address and write to him.⁵⁷ Adorno’s philosophical presence seems in retrospect almost to have demanded direct communication. The Situationists in Munich apparently thought so too, although their missive also contains a first grain of resistance against Adorno. In 1964, five years after they had taken on Max Bense, they posted on German university buildings their famous ‘lonely hearts advert’, composed of excerpts from the as yet largely unknown Dialectic of Enlightenment, in block letters: ‘THE CULTURE INDUSTRY HAS SUCCEEDED SO UNIFORMLY IN TRANSFORMING SUBJECTS INTO SOCIAL FUNCTIONS THAT, TOTALLY AFFECTED, NO LONGER AWARE OF ANY CONFLICT, THEY ENJOY THEIR OWN DEHUMANIZATION AS HUMAN HAPPINESS, AS THE HAPPINESS OF WARMTH’, and more in that vein. Readers who felt the poster made them stop and think were invited to contact ‘Th. W. Adorno, Kettenhofweg 123, 6 Frankfurt/Main’. Among those who wrote to the address given was the University of Stuttgart, which sent an invoice for the cost of removing the posters, although Adorno, like Bense before him, had known nothing of the Situationists’ action.⁵⁸

The ‘nexus of deception’ that Adorno depicts in sombre colours penetrated to the capillaries of day-to-day life. In the absence of functional differentiation, which had no place in his theory, nothing was safe from the falseness of society as a whole – and from that fact Adorno derived an almost boundless authority. The numerous unsolicited letters among his archived papers show how willing his German readers and listeners were to appeal to his expertise. His remark in Minima Moralia that, in a society in which ‘every mouse-hole has been plugged, mere advice exactly equals condemnation’ did not stop them from asking the book’s author for advice in almost every imaginable circumstance.⁵⁹ He gave it, sometimes hesitantly, sometimes reluctantly, but he always made an honest effort to help. ‘Intellectual people’, Adorno wrote in one of his return letters, must have had a great need for spiritual guidance at that time.⁶⁰

The questions, arriving from every state of the Federal Republic and from all social classes, make up an intellectual portrait of post-war West Germany. Doctoral candidates in philosophy sent Adorno their dissertation projects; disillusioned students turned to him in search of meaning. The expectations people had in writing to Adorno are astounding. In those days, the figure of an intellectual was still filled with promise. A law student in Tübingen who had doubts about his career assured Adorno he was ‘the only man in Germany’ who could ‘help him to moral freedom’, and hoped he might maintain ‘relations of correspondence, however minimal’, with him.⁶¹ The Baroness von Gersdorff, who wrote to Adorno in 1956, made no bones about having finished her letter only after four false starts – and in the middle of the night: ‘The cause of this schoolgirl uncertainty can be found in the considerable respect your books instil in me.’⁶²

The letters on Minima Moralia alone could provide material for a brief reception history. ‘I am completely mesmerized by the Minima Moralia’, wrote a Swiss woman who had met Adorno in the high Alpine valley of Engadine. ‘I read, I read again, I say yes and of course – & I am frightened and then rescued when a clear truth is simply there and I recognize it.’⁶³ In the 1950s, some readers used the book as their gospel. ‘I have been wandering around for several months now in the glowing space of your ideas’, says a letter from Wiesbaden; ‘most recently I have drawn daily instruction and light from your sketched thoughts, as others read the watchwords of the Moravian Church every morning for the strength they inspire’.⁶⁴ Is it possible that Adorno’s most loyal followers were those in the provinces? ‘I am a teacher in a remote East Frisian village of 500 inhabitants, and I have few opportunities to receive stimulation of this kind’, wrote a solitary listener who had heard him on the radio. ‘Be assured that your words found attentive and eager ears even in the remotest corner!’⁶⁵

The group of senders was not limited to young intellectuals. There were also many older Germans among the music enthusiasts who asked Adorno for musical assistance. ‘I would like to know whether you consider Weber’s aria “Through the Forests, through the Meadows” to be light or serious music.’⁶⁶ That question came from a woman who had known Adorno’s aunt before the war. And what about the businessman from Wuppertal who assured Adorno that he was ‘also a nonconformist, which you may perhaps see by the fact that I have just returned from a rather unusual sojourn, called a monastic retreat, during which I joined the community of a Benedictine abbey for a fortnight’?⁶⁷ There is no answer to this letter in the archives. As his celebrity grew in the course of the sixties, Adorno found himself more and more often in the situation of having to ward off false friends. A former classmate who felt it incumbent upon himself to point out a gap in the author’s knowledge of physics was dismissed with the words:

You are not the only one of my childhood friends to seek contact with me again after a hiatus of decades, and to be so obviously plagued by resentment that that contact is disrupted in the very moment at which it is supposed to be renewed, and in view of the fact that my name has made the rounds, I can’t even defend myself properly against the resentment without being mistaken for a snob.⁶⁸

Adorno was prompt, however, to respond helpfully to a letter that arrived in 1968 from Amorbach, the paradise of his childhood in the Odenwald forest. The girl from the stationery shop over the road from the hotel where his family had spent the summer holidays before the war asked him to intervene with the government of Lower Franconia in opposition to a planned ring road. By return post, Adorno petitioned the politicians in Würzburg to ‘refrain from everything that could make this unique place ugly’.⁶⁹

Adorno felt an obligation to answer letters, and was hence afflicted by the number he received. Again and again, he pointed out in his replies that it was not his task to interfere ‘in the casuistry of anyone’s specific problems’.⁷⁰ He even complained occasionally of a ‘torrent of filth’ pouring down on him.⁷¹ His radio lectures were regularly followed by hate mail, and the project-initiators and amateur philosophers who wanted to involve him in their planning exercises were probably not his cup of tea, either. He had nothing to say about the ‘spectral analysis of reason’ which a legal counsellor from Darmstadt had thought up in a Russian prisoner-of-war camp, nor about the ‘international intellectuals’ unions’ that a writer in Duisburg thought necessary.⁷² He kept the astrologers at arm’s length too, who carried on a kind of personal feud with him after the publication of his analysis, written in exile in California, of the Los Angeles Times horoscope rubric.⁷³

Adorno’s best moments as the post-war Germans’ friend in need had to do with their situations of intellectual and existential distress. His correspondence with readers illustrates the strictures of a society in urgent need of the ’68 generation’s cultural revolution. ‘Dear Professor Adorno’, the moving letter of an 18-year-old Viennese art student begins:

My homophile disposition itself would not pose me any problems if I were not confronted with an ignorant, hateful, tyrannical world which tolerates no ‘difference’. It would help me a great deal if I could read something now and then that counterbalances the lies of my surroundings with a true and human attitude. Dear Professor Adorno, please send me the title and address of a good homosexual periodical so that I can subscribe to it. I am young and desperate, but I don’t want to lose faith in myself.⁷⁴

In his answer, Adorno recommended reading André Gide and encouraged the writer not to surrender ‘to conformism’. However, he was unable to recommend a homosexual magazine, ‘much as he would like to’, as he himself felt ‘not even the slightest inclination in that direction’.⁷⁵ If there seems to be a hint of antipathy here – of which Adorno can be suspected elsewhere, too – it did not diminish the art student’s gratitude. ‘I was honestly surprised and startled at the length of your reply’, he wrote back. ‘I appreciate your service to all humanity (of which we homosexuals are only a negligible part).’⁷⁶

A philosophy student from Berlin felt the same as she struggled to cope with the feeling of hopelessness that had possessed her after reading Adorno’s works. ‘Thinking about what I was reading and trying to think through other matters myself’, she wrote in the summer of 1966:

the more clearly I recognized the total negativity, the less I was able to understand how there could be any hope. I can no longer feel the exhilarating ‘air of other planets’ as anything but a promise of the impossible; I cannot grasp the last sentence of the Minima Moralia. And I can’t find anyone who could help me somehow. Because I cannot bear to go on living and talking as if it were possible to lead a light-hearted personal life, I have broken off personal contacts that were of no help in my search for some possibility of hope, but only made me more desperate with their spiritual emptiness.⁷⁷

Confronted with the potential side effects of his ideas, Adorno responded immediately. He warned his reader against doing anything rash, and suggested a personal meeting. ‘The way from thinking to so-called practice’, he pointed out, ‘is much more convoluted than is generally imagined today.’⁷⁸ Apparently, his tactics of reassurance had the desired effect, for his correspondent was feeling much better in her next letter. She thanked him for a meeting that had changed her life – and that in the tones of a true disciple: ‘You thought it somewhat odd that I should look to you of all people for consolation when I felt that “everything is so bleak”; I realized only afterward that I was not looking for hope, but for solidarity in my hopelessness.’⁷⁹