The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly of Ideology Critique
Avoiding the pitfalls of an established genre
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In last week’s post, I wrote about the standard formula for ideology critique:
‘X’ sustains THE DOMINANT IDEOLOGY. If people just realized ‘X’ is part of the problem, we would be one step closer to ending THE DOMINANT IDEOLOGY.
I argued there’s nothing wrong with this kind of formulaic writing.
Theory is a genre. Like any other genre, it has standard tropes, motifs, and conventions that reappear across texts. These things get recycled because they have rhetorical utility — not because writers are lazy or unoriginal.
Less experienced writers often think they need to reject genre conventions in a bid for total originality. In fact, it’s often more effective to master these formulas and apply them in creative or unexpected ways.
Today, I want to weigh the limits and affordances of the formula for ideology critique. Understanding what the formula offers, how it can be useful, and where it tends to go awry will help you make informed, deliberate decisions about when and how to use it.
The Good
Ideology critique is appealing because it promises to reveal the hidden assumptions and veiled logic governing human affairs. The truth is shrouded, but it can be deciphered by critical thinkers and skilled interpreters of text.
This promise is appealing to a lot of writers and audiences, but it also has political utility. Once something has been revealed, it tends to stay revealed. This means that when ideology critique is successful, readers can’t return to their old way of inhabiting the world.
The Bad
The downside of ideology critique is that it tends to assume a specific relationship between the writer and audience. In short, the audience is either unwilling or incapable of perceiving the hidden truth without the writer’s special insight.
This is a useful fiction in certain contexts, but it doesn’t reflect how writers and audiences relate to one another in the real world.
First, audiences are smarter than you think. There are lots of people out there who have read all your favorite theorists and happen to think they’re full of shit. These folks aren’t “stupid,” “ignorant,” or “brainwashed.” They just disagree with you.
Second, audiences aren’t passive receptacles of someone else’s genius. They interpret the writer’s work through the lens of their own ideas, experiences, and values. They push back against anything that seems wrong or incorrect.1
The Ugly
Ideology critique has been around for a long time. Like any established genre, it comes with its own set of clichés.
Moreover, since ideology critique almost inevitable positions audiences as the passive recipient of the speaker’s special insight, it’s easy to parody:
I think about this clip a lot. It’s a good reminder of how ideology critique can go awry, especially when it comes off as condescending or the writer is suffering from the above-average effect.
Ideology critique stops being useful and gets a little cringe when writers assume they’ve achieved terminal uniqueness.
Like terminal velocity, the maximum speed attainable by an object, terminal uniqueness refers to the maximum amount of originality an argument can achieve.2 Generally, you are assuming a position of terminal uniqueness if:
You’re claiming to be the first person to discover the truth.3
You’re claiming only certain people can understand the truth (“you won’t understand X until you read so-and-so”).
You’re claiming your truth is the only truth, or that it applies in every context.
Terminal uniqueness is “terminal” in the other sense of the word as well: it’s completely fatal to your argument. You won’t reach anyone who doesn’t already agree with you.
There are two religious proselytizers who frequently visit the campus where I used to teach. One of them wears a billboard that lists all the different groups of people destined for hell. The other yells through a bullhorn and encourages students to repent.
Both have assumed a position of terminal uniqueness, which makes them ineffective and easy to ignore. Specifically, they’ve adopted unidirectional communication because they’ve already decided that their audience has nothing to contribute to the conversation.
As far as these dudes are concerned, they’re already in possession of the truth — what could they possibly learn from students? Especially students who have been “brainwashed” or “indoctrinated” by a false ideology?
All of this to say, there’s an easy way to avoid falling into the trap of terminal uniqueness. You just have to remember that you are also susceptible to ideology. Yes, you’ve identified something most people haven’t noticed — but those folks have probably picked up on things you don’t know yet.
I’ll write more about this next week. In the meantime, good luck with your writing!
Slavoj Žižek makes a similar point in his fantastic analysis of John Carpenter’s (1988) “They Live,” when he describes the scene where John Nada (Roddy Piper) tries to force Frank Armitage (Keith David) to put on the “ideology glasses” and the two men end up getting into a fist fight.
The point here is that ideology critique — as a genre of writing — tends to be more successful when it anticipates a certain amount of resistance on the part of the audience. Writers who have truly mastered the genre don’t just respond to this resistance. They leverage it as a resource in their writing.
I’ll write more about this in a future post, but the work of Slavoj Žižek is a great place to start if you’re looking for a model of how to do this well.
Truly original work tends to fail, because audiences have no context for interpreting the text. A work of art, literature, or critical theory has to (implicitly or explicitly) reference something the audience already understands.
That’s why it’s important to approach theory as a genre of writing. Relying on standard elements of form gives the writer more leeway to innovate at the level of content. The structure of the text is familiar, even when the ideas aren’t. This gives the audience something they can hold onto when things get murky.
Higher education valorizes new knowledge, which means academics seeking tenure have a strong institutional incentive to assume a position of terminal uniqueness in their work. But academics are also notoriously bad at communicating their ideas to the general public.