The world seems to be in a dismal place and justice an ever-fading hope. How can anyone who has lived through the horrors of the twentieth and twenty-first centuries not sink into pessimism about the possibility of radical social transformation in the name of justice? This book deliberately runs against the grain of such pessimism without in any way denying the terrible, almost pathological, violence that has caused so much untold suffering for millions upon millions of human beings on this planet. But, we also cannot forgot the countervailing reality that during these past two centuries, millions upon millions of human beings also committed themselves to great ideals, particularly those of socialism and anticolonialism, and were willing to give up their lives in the name of freedom. Indeed, we might say that we owe those who died in pursuit of the dream of justice nothing less than the ongoing defense of the very ideals for which they fought to the very end of their lives.
As the thinker Walter Benjamin reminds us, “Hope is only for the hopeless.” We are obliged, in a profound sense, to keep alive hope in the name of those who refused to give up their own faith for a better world even as they succumbed to death. New critical theory begins by taking that debt seriously, and taking that debt seriously means that we must begin to decolonize the critical project itself as a part of what is owed to the upheavals and revolutions that shook the foundations of what we have mistakenly reduced to the “Third World.” Thus, the future of critical theory is itself integrally linked to the possibility of a future, just world. The impetus for this book is not only to revitalize many thinkers left outside narrow definitions limiting what is seen as the canon of critical theory itself, but also to open up the space for what such thinking should consider as the task of affirmative political philosophy. At the heart of this book is the argument that there can be no end of history, no death of the subject, and that the future is always open to the reimagining and reinvisioning of great ideals, even if we can no longer defend them through strong metaphysical arguments. But, defend these great ideals we must.
Similarly, this book is indebted to many special people. This manuscript could have never have been written without my research assistant and graduate student Kenneth Panfilio; he has partaken in every aspect of writing this book and has also been a major philosophical interlocutor with the heart of the arguments making up this text. While grappling with the deep complexities inherent to the thinkers wielded in this book could have easily been a burden, it was simply a pleasure due to Kenneth’s poetic additions and brilliant insights. I am deeply in his debt, and there are simply no adequate words to thank him for the work he has put into all of the areas of my academic life.
At the last stages of revision, Kenneth Panfilio and Maureen MacGrogan helped by reading this text aloud with me to edit its content, with the goal of rendering complex philosophical ideas as readable and accessible as possible. Maureen MacGrogan was the editor of my first six books. After she left Routledge I followed her to Rowman & Littlefield. She has been an invaluable source of emotional support and intellectual engagement since the beginning of my academic career. Maureen has always been and even now in her retirement continues to be an editor with unmatched talent. But, she played an especially important role in this book due to the fact that she wrote her dissertation on Being and Time and is familiar with the work of Ernst Cassirer. Her dedication to critical theory and political philosophy was evident by her commitment to help me complete this book, and, as always, her friendship remains a gift beyond words.
Sara Murphy and Sally Ruddick have my deepest gratitude for their unwavering friendship and helpful comments on drafts of this book as they went through innumerable revisions. Sally Ruddick has become an indispensible critic, bringing analytic clarity and logical precision to my writing; her breadth of mind always carries with it a rigor, keeping my thoughts firmly grounded to the argument at hand. Lewis Gordon and Paget Henry gave me extensive and thoughtful comments on chapter 4, which were extremely valuable in helping me come to terms with the growing literature on black philosophies of existence to which this manuscript is hopefully faithful. Such careful reading is only further valued since both thinkers deserve our highest respect for the ways in which they have reworked and kept alive the meaning of critical theory in a thoroughly racialized world.
Laurie Ackermann, former constitutional judge in South Africa, is truly a moral exemplar of what it means to be an ethical person in an unjust world. Judge Ackermann played a major role in developing the dignity jurisprudence in the new South Africa, which explicitly addresses the critical tradition of Immanuel Kant. During the last two years we have become friends and began a Kant reading group in South Africa. Judge Ackermann’s lifelong dedication to the tradition of transcendental idealism and well-crafted questions during our reading group led me to make significant changes to the first chapter. He deserves my deepest appreciation not only for his thoughtful comments but also for the inspiration drawn from his example. Martin Matustik and Patricia Huntington, both editors of this series, deserve all of our thanks and appreciation for having the broad vision to see the need for this series and for their tireless work to build such an excellent collection of manuscripts. They have read all of the chapters in this book and given thoughtful comments, which I hope I have faithfully addressed.
Of course, my daughter Serena is a constant source of inspiration as well as the deepest wellspring of hope for the future, something that I have fought for throughout all of my political and academic struggles. Her lyrical insight from one of my favorite songs that she has composed—“if you don’t like memories, then forget who you are”—reminded me of the debt we owe to all generations if something like the idea of perpetual peace can even have meaning in our lives. My beloved friend Mary Elizabeth Bartholomew has been a constant source of support in every possible way for me during the last year, giving me nothing less than the very space and time to write this book. Without friends like Mary Elizabeth who are always there for you, it is perhaps impossible to even undertake a project as intellectually draining and emotionally overwhelming as writing a book. Irena Molitoris has helped me with childcare since I first became a mother and has provided my daughter with immeasurable love and friendship.
It is a deep honor to offer remembrance to one of our greatest political philosophers, Wilson Carey McWilliams, who tragically died in March 2004 and has played such an important role in keeping political theory alive in the world of political science. His passing has been an irreplaceable loss for the political theory faculty at Rutgers University, but in the last five years my colleagues—Gordon Schochet, Dennis Bathory, and Stephen Bronner—have been indispensible in supporting my varied research projects. Yearly, Gordon Schochet and I have held debates which have influenced me more than I will probably ever tell him, because the next debate is just around the corner. Both his wit and his erudition are almost unmatched in our field and he continues to teach me so very much. I also want to thank my colleagues working with me on the Ubuntu Project, particularly the young women who worked so tirelessly to conduct the interviews that first began that project and taught me so much about Africana philosophy as it survives on the ground.
Jaco Barnard and I first met when I was a member of his dissertation committee. I was so impressed with his dissertation that we have continued to correspond, building an intellectual community at the University of Cape Town, which is one of the central reasons that I am joining the faculty there. His brilliant readings of continental philosophy have influenced me profoundly, and you will find echoes of his insight in many of the chapters in this book, especially in my continuing reflections on Jacques Derrida. Jaco exemplifies the spirit of intellectual rigor and political and ethical passion so necessary for the next generation of scholars in the new South Africa. I am honored to know him and to call him a friend.
What strikes me the most about all of these people, even more than their intellectual insights, is their lasting commitment to intergenerational friendship.
Roger Berkowitz, who I first met in 1993 when he took a year off from his program at Berkeley to study Kant and Hegel with me, has since been a brilliant interlocutor and colleague. We have met nearly every week since that time to slowly and systematically work through the major texts of Kant, Hegel, and Heidegger. Roger Berkowitz is simply an outstanding translator, making sure that we remain faithful to all of the subtleties of the German language that are so often poorly translated into English. Roger is also one of our most careful and profound interpreters of Martin Heidegger, and he challenged me to take up these texts again from a fresh viewpoint. It is no exaggeration to say that every page in this book echoes with the full force of my ongoing study with Roger. Of course, full responsibility for all of the mistakes in what follows belongs to me, but to honor the years of intensive and invaluable study together, this book is dedicated to Roger Berkowitz.
DLC, New York, 2007