The chapter argues that weaknesses in Anthony Giddens’s later work on “third-way” politics are a consequence of its neglect of the best instincts of his earlier, seminal work on structuration theory. The argument proceeds through reflective exposition and analysis of successive stages of Giddens’s writings, from the structuration theory and historical sociology of the 1970s and 1980s, through his wide-ranging and profound theoretical insights into radicalized modernity in the 1990s, to his subsequent strategic interventions in contemporary politics. The essay concludes by making the case for an alternative, more progressive politics grounded in a stronger version of structuration theory.

Rob Stones is Professor of Sociology in the School of Social Sciences, Western Sydney University, Australia. In 2005 he published Structuration Theory (Palgrave Macmillan), which developed the approach of strong structuration theory (SST) to inform empirical case study research. Recent publications include: Key Sociological Thinkers, 3rd edition (Palgrave Macmillan, 2017); and, coauthored with Bryan S. Turner, “Successful Societies: Decision-Making and the Quality of Attentiveness,” The British Journal of Sociology (2020).

There is a coldness to Basque cinema that separates it, perhaps deliberately, from the rich vein of eroticism in Spanish cinema that is mined in this volume and others (Jordan and Morgan-Tamosunas 1998; Perriam 2003; Fouz-Hernández and Martínez-Expósito 2007; Sánchez-Conejero 2015). Whereas ‘Spanish cinema is known for producing more explicit images (of both sex and violence) than most other contemporary European cinemas’ (Jordan and Morgan-Tamosunas 1998: 112), the emphasis on violence in Basque cinema is more exclusive. Apart from the films directed by Julio Medem, whose cinematic exploration of imaginative passions is the exception that proves the rule of a comparatively sexless Basque cinema, there are very few attempts at eroticism in relation to the Basque Country. The reasons for this paucity of sexual content centre upon the impact and legacy of the cultural oppression visited on the Basque Country during the Francoist dictatorship, which delayed the emergence of modern Basque cinema until Ama Lur/ Motherland (dirs. Nestor Basterretxea and Fernando Larruquert) in 1968; but blame is also due to the Basques themselves. The denial of sexual content and eroticism in Basque cinema extends so far into democracy that neither Spain's national censorship, which ended with the Transition, nor the prudery prompted by strict Catholicism, which has greatly loosened its hold, can be held wholly accountable for this lack. Something else is restricting erotic content in Basque cinema. In seeking to understand the sexlessness of Basque cinema, this chapter fixates on rare instances of eroticism in relation to torture and identifies a resultant tendency towards masochistic imagery and description that acquires complex symbolism in a context of political conflict and even violent armed struggle. Analysis suggests that, until recently, the abnegation of the sexual impulse in Basque cinema was indicative of the postponement of individualistic desire until the primary collective objective of independence or at least a degree of self-government and self-determination could be achieved.

That is to say, the Basque body in Basque cinema appears to be yoked to a higher purpose, with gratification and release deliberately withheld pending the resolution of conflict over the status of the Basque Country. Consequently, the puritanical Basque body, which is sexualised by being subject to rape-like tortures, represents both suffering on the part of the Basques and the masochistic pleasures of their self-sacrifice when this results in the embodiment of martyrdom.

Introduction

On Critique is an important book that deserves to be influential. In this chapter, I want to highlight the reasons for this, whilst also pointing to some limitations, and providing suggestions as to how these shortcomings might be addressed in ways that strengthen the overall project. In highlighting limitations as well as strengths I must be fair to Luc Boltanski, as he warns readers very early on that they should not expect a polished, carefully finished, product from On Critique. The chapters should just be read as if they were six talks, their actual genesis being even less than this – that is, three Adorno Lectures delivered at the invitation of Axel Honneth at the Institute for Social Research in Frankfurt in November 2008. They have since been ‘opened up’ by more up-to-date reflections on contemporary forms of domination and, inevitably, as a result of their journey from lecture to book form, during which Boltanski took the opportunity to reintroduce arguments into the text that had been relinquished for the lectures owing to strictures of time. Despite these amendments, however, the book is to be seen as sketchy and provisional. It is, he suggests, a series of remarks, presented in synthetic form, which accompanied his thinking in the three years before publication – and whose character and formulation, we can presume, will have continued to develop since. The articulation of these thoughts

At best, he contends, On Critique is a sort of précis of critique.

Having acknowledged these caveats, however, I believe that the most productive, and ultimately the most respectful, way to approach the book is simply to take seriously the arguments it presents and, in addition, the terms in which it presents them.