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conversations about these two categories—as well as to the even older mus-
ings about fate or destiny—is an emphasis on their distinct sociality or, bet-
ter, the institutional, political, and economic significance of what determines
us in our own willful determinations and what limits our efforts to break
through and change things. Baby steps, though.
To begin with, ideology, as an operative term, reminds us that a portion
of what we say has been said before, that a good deal of what we think has
been thought already, that some of what we do has been done previously, not
only by people in the past long before us but also by people today, right now,
both near and far. In other words, it’s relatively easy to acknowledge that
we’ve carried on doing things a certain way from the previous generation,
that we follow traditions, even if our actions aren’t called that or recognized
as such. But the term ideology makes this common insight a lot more chal-
lenging because it forces you to face yourself in the present. For the most
part we feel free, in the moment, as living, breathing individuals. Yet, the
quality of that experience—spontaneous and idiosyncratic—always has a
quantitative complement. That is, sure as day, there’s a minimum amount of
individuals feeling exactly the same as you and their number eventually
adds up to a generality in which you suddenly seem like all of them, all of the
rest, whether you know it or not, or like it or not.
Ideology is a magic number, a peculiar quality of quantity—a sum
greater than the total of parts. In other words, ideology works by not adding
up or making sense. That’s why one of the everlasting problems of ideology
is that even though people know what’s best for themselves, they—puz-
zlingly and annoyingly even—do their worst, especially if it means acting
against their own self-interest in the long run to screw someone over in the
short term. It’s frequently said that ideology is a remainder, an irreducibly
irrational element or kernel that eludes explanation or representation, such
as behavior like this. That’s true, though this problem of ideology as remain-
der could be cast in another way. Verily, in terms of explaining the inexplica-
ble, the term ideology is like the last person standing, the one holding the bag
left to clarify just how a mob of so many human tendencies—like idiocy,
indifference, helplessness, hopelessness, vulnerability, fragility, need, resent-
ment, paranoia, narcissism, prejudice, superstition, religion, error, disinhi-
bition, anger, tribalism, hate, brutality—can coerce truth, knowledge, even
science, into giving in; or how the latter three find the former absolutely
unshakeable and incorrigible. If there exists a better single term for this phe-
nomenon and problem, then many readers would be glad to hear it.
isn’t capitalism, it is of capitalism. After all, it’s in early capitalism that the
word was invented. And it’s in late capitalism that, we’re told, ideology has
come to an end, along with the critique of ideology. It’s for the spokespersons
of those latter ideas—yes, they’re around—to justify why they express the
deepest wish fulfillment of capitalism. Meanwhile, it’s for the authors of this
special issue of South Atlantic Quarterly to demonstrate just why the problem
of ideology, and especially the critique of ideology and of capitalism, is vital
now more than ever, in our pages and our practices.