Manifestoes: A Study in Genre

This project is a book-length study of the manifesto, which attempts to trace adaptations writers have made to the genre, beginning with the Luther's "95 Theses." From there I move to political manifestoes, including the "Twelve Articles of the Swabian Peasants and Marx and Engels' "Manifesto of the Communist Party," and then to the aesthetic manifestoes of modernism. Later I treat manifestoes of critique, examining texts by Virginia Woolf, Frank O'Hara, Eve Kosofsky Sedgwick, and Donna Haraway, the Students for a Democratic Society and the Lesbian Avengers. While this project is a study of genre and influence, it is grounded in contemporary theories of social reproduction. I avoid taking a taxonomic approach to -genre, instead treating the concept as a process, which situates the text within the social context of its production. Generic influence in this study means much more than the "textual correspondences" of a taxonomic approach. In implementing this research method, I examine three elements which capture the richer concept of"social influence:" (1) the social image of the act of production of the text, (2) the rhetorical dynamics of the act, and (3) the formal elements of the act. This approach allows me to address three issues: (1) the relationship of genre to the agency and socialization of the writer; (2) the relative stability, or lack of it, in a generic form such as the manifesto; and (3) the ways in which the history of writing practices both constrains and enables the future writing practices of individuals. These issues are also important to pedagogy, given the prevalence of writing courses centered around the uses of genre.


LIST OF FIGURES
it has also been appropriated by theorists working to adequately define the results of such practice. If such a concept is to have any use at all, it must give us insight as to why certain texts are grouped together. Writers, readers, and critics have evidently found that certain similarities between texts have consequences.
What I'm attempting to do in this project, is to conduct a materialistic analysis of a genre that answers certain questions about how readers and writers use genres. In this analysis, I try to uncover the accumulated layers of adaptation which have constructed the manifesto as a genre. These layers, the residue of intersections between language usage and the constitution of social practices, are a record of sorts of the activities of individual agents who have made, and were made by history. This method relies, to a large extent, on the sociological theories of Anthony Giddens, who points out that generic structures such as manifestos "are logically implicated with" (Social Theory and Modern Sociology 220) human agency. Excavating these layers will reveal this "duality of structure" (Social Theory and Modern Sociology 60) which Giddens sees as essential to understanding the temporal nature of human social practices. In such an investigation as this, "Agency is history, where 'history' is the temporal continuity of human activities" (Giddens,Social Theory and Modern Sociology 220). Genres form one of the intersections between agency and structure, and generic analysis must investigate this intersection. The methods I use to conduct such an investigation are more fully elaborated in chapter 2.
In accounting for the genre labeled "manifestoes," certain questions come to mind: (1) Is it a sturdy category? Is it ongoing and durable? (2) Does it factor into the composition of texts? (3) Does it factor into social reality? (4) Is it what Giddens calls a "sedimented practice?" (5) Does it have a longstanding and intricate relationship to social events? These questions are important because they question the relation between a received structure (the genre) and the actions of the agent composing the text (the agency). The manifesto, which as Mary Ann Caws notes, is "a loud genre" that "announces itself,"(xx) is a particularly productive site in which to investigate these questions about genre, because the manifesto seems to be a genre which, by its very nature, challenges the institutions of modern life which use and regulate genres. Furthermore, noticeable throughout this investigation of the manifesto is a tendency, perhaps even a predisposition, built into this genre for altering, rather than just reproducing the generic form.
This project then, is a investigation into such alterations, both formal adaptations, at the micro level of the text, as well as social adaptations made at the macro level, such as modifications to the relationship between the writer, the audience, and the information mediated through the text. And because these texts function both explicitly and implicitly within a web of what Foucault calls "power relations" (Ethics, Subjectivity, and Truth 167), they are a fertile site for investigating the ways in which writers use and adapt them for political and aesthetic purposes. A record of these adaptations will not only tell us how the genre has functioned in the past, but may also suggest how it might function in the future.
This project suggests several preliminary research questions, which I will sum up as follows: (1) What does the history of the manifesto tell us about genre, and the relationship of genre to the agency and socialization of the writer? (2) What does the record of adaptations to the genre tell us about the relative stability of the generic form, and the ways in which writers use genres? (3) How might the history of writing practices in the manifesto genre both limit and enable the future practices of writers contemplating the use of this generic form? By more closely examining the terms within these three questions, I will further narrow the focus of this research.

II. Definitions of Terms/Review of Literature
Three terms within the research questions I have posed would seem to require careful definition: genre, agency, and manifesto. Since a definition can, in and of itself, circumscribe a research methodology, I will approach this process by considering a number of possible definitions of each term, not so much as competing alternatives from which a selectioff must be made, but as a way of approaching the rich implications these terms carry. Such "thick definition" is necessary, since in many ways this entire project can be conceived of as an investigation into the space created by the intersections of these terms. By reviewing some of the literature associated with these terms, these intersections will become more visible.
Aristotle's classificatory system of genre has influenced discussions of the topic up to contemporary times, and is still recognizable, in somewhat altered form, in many textbooks in the fields of speech communication and writing (for example Lucas, Corbett and Connors). Scholars still debate Aristotle's categories, and in recent years have moved into investigations of hybrids, which blend elements of each category. James Jasinski notes "As Aristotle recognized, an advocate can shift from epideictic praise to deliberate advocacy, or can blend the two" (270). Examples of such scholarship include Jamieson and Campell' s investigation into the use of deliberative appeals in ceremonial eulogies, and Garver' s work on the intersection of deliberative and forensic genres.
One modem extension and revision of Aristotle's system which should be addressed in any consideration of genre is James Kinneavy's 1971 work, A Theory of Discourse. Kinneavy expands and renames Aristotle's triad of discourse participants into a four part system: the encoder (speaker or writer), decoder (reader or listener), signal (language or sign system), and reality (referent, or thing referred to). Kinneavy then divides discourse into four generic categories or "aims:" expressive discourse in which the encoder is foregrounded, persuasive discourse in which the decoder is foregrounded, literary discourse in which the signal is foregrounded, and referential discourse in which reality is foregrounded. Like Aristotle, Kinneavy further subdivides these categories, and under expressive discourse of a social nature, Kinneavy lists the manifesto (Kinneavy 61).
individual instantiations of genre do not all share the same features, the question must be asked, why this feature, and not that feature? Beebee finds his answer in Saussure, who wrote that "In language there are only differences without positive terms" (166), which Beebee applies to genres, saying "Genre is a system of differences without positive terms" (256). He points out that "the Saussurean principle goes a long way toward explaining the paradox of genres, namely that they seem real and at the same time indefinable" (257). His example of a critical work on genres which treats the concept as a system of differences is Benjamin's The Origin of German Tragedy. Beebee writes that "For Benjamin, conflict and instability rather than conventional generic features alert us to the transcendental forms ofliterature" (257-58). While Beebee raises important questions about our ability to define or characterize genres, he seems to ignore the rhetorical aspects of genre as it is immersed in textuality at the expense of readers, writers, and contexts. And focussing upon those rhetorical aspects of genre reveals a materiality that goes beyond Beebee's "seeming real." Sociocultural investigations into genre show us that it is a concept that materially contributes to the reading and writing processes.
The sociocultural approach to genre seems to originate in Bitzer's 1968 formulation of genres as recurrent "situations and the rhetorical responses to them" (13). The evolution of this approach can be seen in the work of Campbell and Jamieson (1978) who define genres as "groups of discourses which share substantive, stylistic, and situational characteristics" (20), and Swales (1990) who argues that definitions of genre are less useful than an approach which recognizes "prototypes" or "exemplars" ( 49). These approaches tend to go beyond taxonomic classification into a consideration of the relationship between the generic form and the context in which it is used, yet they fail to fully place genre theory within a field of social relations.
An even earlier movement away from Aristotelian taxonomies into a more social definition of genre is that of the Russian theorist Mikhail Bakhtin. Bakhtin argues that genres are sites of dialectical tension between the centripetal forces of convention and the centrifugal search for difference. This leads him to emphasize the "changeable, flexible, and plastic" (80) nature of genre, and to argue that readers need to pay attention to the ways in which writers manipulate genres for rhetorical purpose. Here Bakhtin is challenging structural linguists like Roman Jakobson who looked at genres as being constituted by relatively fixed registers, which are language varieties characteristic of certain situational or rhetorical circumstances surrounding their use. By distinguishing between "primary" and "secondary" speech genres, Bakhtin recognizes that those primary forms used for daily communicative activities are situated within the local context of their use, while secondary forms such as the manifesto are more highly developed means of cultural communication which occur across time and space, and thus "lose their immediate relation to actual reality and the real utterances of others" (9). Instead they enter into actual reality through political, literary, or artistic events.
Bakhtin's concept of genres as situated, and dynamic has also been revised and expanded by rhetoricians. A fully developed example of the sociocultural approach are the efforts ofBerkencotter and Huckin who presesent five principles which they see as central to genre analysis: (1) Dynamism. Genres are dynamic rhetorical forms, which change over time in response to their user's sociocognitive needs.
Our knowledge of genres is derived from and embedded in our Genre conventions signal a discourse community's norms, epistemology, ideology, and social ontology ( 4).
It is important to note that this definition sees genres as evolving in response to rhetorical needs, functioning as scripts for rhetorical agents, and participating in the construction of social and discursive relationships.
Where Berkencotter and Huckin emphasize the idea that genre is a kind of social knowledge, Anis Bawarshi has taken the idea further by emphasizing the functional nature of genre. Bawarshi argues, "genres do not simply help us define and organize kinds of texts; they also help us define and organize kinds of social actions, social actions that these texts make rhetorically possible" (335). Genre here becomes a process, or as Bawarshi puts it, genre "constitutes the activity by making it possible through its ideological and rhetorical conventions. In fact, genre reproduces the activity by providing individuals with the conventions for enacting it" (340). In Bawarshi' s view then, genres enter into the field of cultural and ideological reproduction, a move that puts genre squarely into the realm of political economy.
Like Bawarshi, I tend to view genre as a process, a process real writers use when they have model texts "in mind" during the composition process. Like Berkencotter and Huckin, I think the study of a genre must investigate the texts alongside a consideration of the broader sociocultural context which was the exigency for their production. Like Foucault, I don't believe that you can consider genre outside the field of power relations which regulate it. And like Harrell and Linkugel and other taxonomists going back to Aristotle, I think you must examine the formal features of a genre, if for no other reason than to prove or disprove Beebe' s argument that genre is a system of differences without positive terms. My rhetorical methods, which meet these requirements will be more fully elaborated in chapter 2.

B. Agency
The manifesto is a genre which calls for action, for agents to gather together and challenge existing political and aesthetic institutions and movements.
As such, any investigation into the manifesto requires a theory of action. And any theory of action, including rhetorical action, needs a notion of causality linking social phenomena and discursive practices to events and other actions.
Enlightenment thinkers like John Locke reacted to a teleological view of agency which put the power to determine history in the hands of God, a view famously satirized by Voltaire in his character Pangloss in Candide. Locke recognized that there are two kinds of power, passive and active. Passive power is the power to be influenced by something, while active power is the power to influence something. Locke believed that men were born into "a state of perfect freedom,"(8) and that any subordination of such active freedom to the passive occurs because men enter into communities to preserve both themselves and the human race. However, this Enlightenment vision of human freedom has been challenged by other theorists.
Karl Marx's materialist philosophy of political economy is the major turn away from both teleological causality as well as the unbridled freedom of Enlightenment thought. The tenets of Marxist philosophy which most relate to a discussion of agency can be seen in the following passage from Marx's "Preface to A Contribution to the Critique of Political Economy": In the social production of their existence, men inevitably enter into definite relations, which are independent of their will, namely relations of production appropriate to a given stage in the development of their material forces of production. The totality of these relations of production constitutes the economic structure of society, the real foundation, on which arises a legal and political superstructure and to which correspond definite forms of social consciousness. The mode of production of material life conditions the general process of social, political and intellectual life. It is not the consciousness of men that determines their existence, but their social existence that determines their consciousness (425).
This is the Marxist conception of causality in its most deterministic formulation.
The economic base structures society, and societal institutions and disciplines form a superstructure which controls and shapes human consciousness. The historical nature of this causal chain can be seen in Marx's argument that a society must pass through several stages of historical development marked by the transformation of the economic base. For example, the economic structures of feudalism are historically supplanted by those of capitalism, which are later historically supplanted by communist structures. The strength of such an approach is its simplicity, its reduction of cultural production to a subset of the overall process of reproducing the means of economic production. However, that simplicity is also its weakness.
The Russian Revolution of 1917, while establishing the first Marxist state, also presented challenges to orthodox theory, because at the time of the revolution, Russia was just beginning in the process of transitioning from the feudal to the capitalist mode of production, and was far from the type of organized capitalist society where the proletarian revolution envisioned by Marx was likely to succeed (Kemp-Welch). The attainment of power by or for an advanced proletariat had occurred before the social and economic determinants described by Marx. The Leninist revolution, by its very existence, argued "that minority action by a revolutionary party could hurry history along" (Kemp-Welch 9).
While Lenin was himself a major theorist, after 1917 he left much of the theoretical work of the party to others. Nikolai Bukharin, principal author of the first Soviet constitution, was given the task of reconciling orthodox Marxist social theory with the radical events of the Russian Revolution. Bukharin's Historical Materialism, published in 1921, served as textbook for hundreds ofthousands of students for more than a decade, particularly at the Institute of Red Professors (Cohen 219). This work begins the process of resolving the paradoxical relationship between individual agency and economic determinism.
Bukharin's revision of Marx redefined the concept of causality. First of all, he broadened the definition of superstructure to include not only the political, legal, and educational institutions of society, but also more abstract ideological categories such as language, thought, and art. Secondly, he softened the determinist nature of Marxism by arguing that in periods of transition, such as that which existed in Russiaj n 1917, a "process of a reversed influence of the superstructure" (264) can occur. There is a reciprocity of effect here, where Bukharin describes the influence of the superstructure on the base as "a constant process of mutual cause and effect" (228). This reciprocal concept of causality obviously entails a great deal more human agency than is typically considered possible under the orthodox Marxist framework, because human will is not always determined by the activity of the economic base.
Bukharin's concept of causality is much more flexible than that of orthodox Marxism, particularly Darwinian Marxists like Karl Kautsky who believed the Bolshevik Revolution to be "premature," and who advocated waiting for the appropriate conditions for the establishment of a proletarian state ). Bukharin's expansion of the concept of superstructure to include discursive processes also delivers a broader view of agency. However, the agency offered by Bukharin does seem to be limited to periods of transition, and within these periods, Bukharin seems to fall back upon an enlightenment view of the subject/agent, in spite of his clear distrust of idealism.
Louis Althusser develops a more nuanced theory of agency by weaving the Marxist tradition into structuralist theories. On the surface, Althusser's Marxism appears to be only modestly more progressive than that of Bukharin. In fact, in his essay "Ideology and Ideological State Apparatuses," Althusser begins with a very deterministic view of causality when he states unequivocally that "every social formation arises from a dominant mode of production" (128).
However, once the base, or infrastructure, produces the superstructure, then "there is a 'relative autonomy' of the superstructure with respect to the base" and "there is a 'reciprocal action' of the superstructure on the base" (135). This is a modest expansion of the sort of reciprocity seen in Bukharin.
The area where Althusser makes his greatest contribution to a theory of agency is in his expansion of the concept of superstructure. Althusser emphasizes that it is in the area of reproducing the means of production where the superstructure plays its major role. Using spatial/architectural metaphors, he expands the notion of superstructure to include two "levels:" the politico-legal institutions of the state, and the ideological apparatuses of the state.
It is with the concept of ideology that Althusser's conception of causality seems to go well beyond the Marxist tradition, and enters the French Structuralist tradition. Although Structuralist thought represents a diverse array of thinkers 0 from Piaget, to Levi-Strauss, to Barthes, and crosses a number of disciplines, structuralists share the common idea that human action is at least partially determined by hidden mental structures, particularly linguistic structures (Harmon and Holman 498 Giddens sees institutional systems as consisting not only of such loops, but also including feedback loops, which he calls "reflexive self-regulation. Thus, Giddens gives us a stratified theory of causality and consciousness which rejects "the distinction between consciousness and unconscious followed by the structuralist and post-structuralist authors" (Social Theory and Modern Sociology, 89). The highest layer, which Gidden's calls the "reflexive monitoring of action" is the discursive consciousness of agents who are able to talk about the conditions of their own actions. The next layer, "practical consciousness," involves tacit knowledge that agents may have of their own actions, but which they are unable to articulate. The lowest level, "unconscious motives," contains the Althusserian model: repressed desires, semiotic impulses, ideological residue (Giddens,Central Problems 25,78). The structuration approach to causality leads to a far more materialistic model for action than the approaches of any theorists discussed previously, in that it demonstrates the way in which individuals construct, and are constructed by institutional discourse. And interestingly enough, Giddens's concept of "reflexive monitoring of action" seems similar to Foucault's concept of"Care for the self' developed in his later works, and Donna Haraway's concept of"diffraction." In all of these models, agency occurs when, instead of reproducing the hegemonic structures of production, the agent modifies or adapts those structures to her/his own needs. It is a process that both opposes traditions such as "genres," yet also adapts and utilizes those structures for subversive purposes. It is the story of those adaptations this work seeks to tell.
Giddens states that "To be human is to be an agent.. .and to be an agent is to have power. 'Power' in this highly generalized sense means 'transformative capacity,' the capability to intervene in a given set of events so as in some way to change them" (Social Theory and Modern Sociology 167). By reading Marx, Bukharin, Althusser, and Laclau through Gidden's social theories an acceptable definition of agency is developed, which explains both the deterministic effects of the economic base and the ideological superstructure as well as the contentious sort of human agency which the voluntarist approach allows.

C. Man if es to
The New Shorter Oxford English Dictionary traces the history of the word "manifesto" to the 17th century, and defines the term as "A public declaration or proclamation; esp. a printed declaration or explanation of policy (past, present, or future) issued by a monarch, State, political party or candidate, or any other individual or body of individuals of public relevance" (Brown 1686). It is interesting to note the way in which this definition gives the genre a governmental or political focus, given the fact that none of the manifestos examined in this dissertation were produced by government agents; and that the two manifestos produced by political groups (the Manifesto of the Communist Party and the Port Huron Statement) were produced by parties which were revolutionary and antigovernmental in nature. Clearly the dictionary definition of the term lacks the nuances brought to the genre during the modernist period.
A consideration of the root verb "manifest," which comes from the Old French manifester, to "Make evident to the eye,'' (Brown, Shorter OED 1686), brings a shade of meaning which seems appropriate given the visual rhetoric adopted by a number of the manifesto authors. The secondary definition "Of a ghost or spirit" also resonates, given the opening lines of the Manifesto of the Communist Party ("A spectre is haunting Europe"), and the fact that many of the literary (signal-focussed) discourse, and finally to referential discourse focussed on the reality of "performance." Ironically, Hewitt moves the modernist genre across every one ofKinneavy's categories except the one in which Kinneavy himself placed the manifesto: expressive discourse. Clearly, the manifesto is a genre which defies easy categorization, a genre that refuses to stay in its place.
In Janet Lyon's study of the genre, she acknowledges the vagueness of the term "manifesto," and uses Wittgenstein's concept of genre as "a complicated network of similarities overlapping and criss-crossing" (32). This conception of a genre as a series of "family resemblances" is close to the approach of Swales, and of Campbell and Jamieson, discussed earlier in this chapter. The recurring rhetorical features of the form identified by Lyon are (1) truth telling; (2) rage, "giving the appearance of both word and deed" (14); (3) a highly selective history of oppression; ( 4) an enumeration of grievances, "the parataxis of a list" (15); ( 4) epigrammatic rhetoric; ( 5) prophecy, or mythography; "it is both a trace and a tool of change" (16). To these five features I would add (6) the use of illustration or elements of visual design; (7) a pedagogical attempt to educate the masses; (8) the attempt by the writers move beyond the limits of their personal subjectivity; and (9) the attempt to constitute an avant-garde audience out of a larger public.
The last of these features is one I particularly wish to comment on, given that the thesis of Lyon' s work is that the manifesto is "coeval with the emergence of the bourgeois and plebian public sphere" (1). Lyon chooses works such as the 17 th century manifestoes of the Diggers and Levellers, which address "the Pie " and which attempt to put enlightenment principles in practice through the peo , establishment of a democratic "vox populi." Yet many avant-garde movements were suspicious of "the public" (for example, the Russian futurist manifesto A Slap in the Face of Public Taste) and a political manifesto like the Manifesto of the Communist Party seems addressed to a "vanguard" of political agents even as it calls for workers of the world to unite. At any rate, tracing the emergence of the manifesto as a form to enlightenment philosophy ignores the importance of Luther's manifesto to the development of the form, and ignores the fact that the first manifestoes of the Russian futurists emerged in a feudal society in which enlightenment principles were scarcely familiar to a largely illiterate populace.
Lyon' s attempt at portraying the emergence of the manifesto as "coeval with the emergence of the bourgeois and plebian public spheres" (1-2), like other attempts at grouping the manifesto genre around a single feature, whether a superficial similarity such as subject matter, structural-based linguistic form, motivational-based intent of the speaker/writer, or archetypical presence of "deep image," seems to miss the mark of telling us what a manifesto is. In figure (1), I have attempted to chart the formal features of the manifestoes I discuss in this work. As the figure indicates, while a number of manifestoes do share a number ofrecurring features, only two of these features are shared by even 75% of the 19 19: (1993) Sedgwick Queer and Now and do not seem narrow enough to define a genre. In fact, they can be seen in other genres, such as the recruiting poster (see the Lesbian Avengers' poster in Chapter 5), the public letter announcing a membership drive, or the organizational web site. It is these two broad rhetorical purposes-the challenge to an institution or practice, and the intention to form a community of like-minded thinkers-that seems to give a text the "feel of a manifesto" to the reader. Yet these broad rhetorical purposes seem much too general to qualify as "formal features." Furthermore, while certain subjects of the manifesto become more common in certain historical periods (aesthetics early in the 20th century, gender and subjectivity late in the 20th century), there is little evidence to suggest any historical trends here. After all, Wordsworth addressed aesthetic issues in the manifesto that served as a Preface to his 1802 Lyrical Ballads, and Mina Loy and Virginia Woolf addressed gender issues half a century before Donna Haraway or Eve Sedgwick. While writers may have earlier texts "in mind" as models when they write their manifestoes, they also deviate from those models because of the rhetorical dynamics of their own local writing conditions. The social image of the manifesto as a "rebellious" genre, also seems to contribute to the fact that, as a genre, the manifesto seems less stable in its formal elements, less able to "stay in its place," when compared to genres which operate under greater institutional constraints, such as the government report, or the scholarly essay.
This seems to suggest that writers have used the fluidity of the formal elements of the manifesto genre to escape subjectivization by institutions, and as avenues into agency. The fact that writers are able to adapt the genre to the requirements of their local rhetorical conditions is an example of Giddens' highest level of agency: reflexive self-regulation. The activity of manifesto writing is characterized by a process in which the writer constantly feeds back knowledge gained in the act of writing to modify future activity. This is consistent with Bawarshi' s conception of genre as a "function" rather than a stable form, a process always subject to modification.

Plan of the Work
Chapter Two will trace the emergence of the manifesto genre, beginning with the Reformation, and the "95 Thesis" of Martin Luther. This chapter also will provide a detailed explication of the methods and procedures I will be following in this study. Since this project examines the genre by looking backwards at its historical usage, I examine the genre both synchronically and diachronically. This method should allow us to trace the historical connections between texts.
Chapter Three will examine the emergence of the political manifesto, beginning with the rebellion of the Swabian Peasants, and culminating in Marx and Engels' publication of the Manifesto of the Communist Party in 1848, tracing the social and textual residue left by each, which influence the next generation of manifestoes.
Chapter Four will examine the emergence of the manifesto as a genre used for the elaboration of aesthetic theories, and its emergence as an object of art. This development parallels, and is part of, the history of early literary modernism (roughly 1900-1930 this chapter will examine the emergence of the manifesto as a genre used for institutional and cultural critique. This chapter will conclude with a short summary of findings and suggestions for further research.
Finally, I will note that while these chapters are grouped around certain adaptations made to the manifesto genre by writers, these groupings also coincide with certain historical periods. And in contextualizing the acts of producing these texts, I must often resort to narrative summaries of the historical events which produced the exigencies for the texts, often relying upon histories written by third parties. The problem with these histories is that they tend to be focussed on a

Chapter 2: Luther's Hammer: The Emergence of the Manifesto Genre
As I pointed out in Chapter 1, an investigation into a genre like the manifesto, which challenges existing institutions and movements, is an investigation into the relationship that exists between the generic structure of the text, and the agency of the writers who composed the text. By following Giddens in rejecting both the structuralist and enlightenment views of agency (see Chapter 1 ), I am suggesting that an investigation into the nature of a genre begins with a recognition that a relationship exists between structure and agency. My method, as elaborated here, is an attempt at bringing the two things (agency and structure) together. This involves combining a formal analysis of the manifesto with an analysis of the social relations which contributed to its composition.
This method is a materialist rhetoric, and I join a number of investigators in the fields of both composition and speech communications who contend that rhetorical studies can move from investigative methods based upon representation to methods based upon articulation. For example, Patricia Harkin defines articulation as "an active process through which meaning is expressed in local and contingent ways: in a specific context, at a specific historical moment, within a specific discourse. Thus articulation is both a saying and a connecting" ( 1 ). In her characterization of James Berlin's Rhetorics, Poetics, and Cultures as an example of a materialist rhetoric based upon articulation, she describes the process as one of bringing together the discourses of different disciplines or institutions, so "that they could speak to each other-articulate in the sense of enunciating their disparate projects-and fit together-articulate in the sense of joining different parts" ( 1 ). In this conception of a materialist rhetoric, my method Technologies of the Self, Green points out the importance of this formulation to rhetorical critics who "need not focus on how rhetoric represents practical reasoning, but instead can analyze how rhetorical practices exist as a specific human technology" (30). In this conception of a materialist rhetoric, my emphases on forms, contexts, and power relations can be seen as an attempt to move beyond the interpretation of manifestoes as signs, towards an elaboration of the techniques by which they make meaning possible.
A number of researchers in rhetoric and composition have turned to methods borrowed from the field of cultural geography (Marback, Aronson, Reynolds, among others). These researchers argue that any attempt at a material rhetoric must situate the production of texts within a certain geographical and geopolitical contexts. As Reynolds points out, "Places do matter; surroundings do have an effect" (20). And while I don't do extensive geographical analysis in this dissertation, I try to pay attention to place as I situate these manifestoes in the context of their production. the reflexive relationship between agent-writers and the genre they re/produced.
In The Constitution of Society Giddens sees this relationship, not as "two independently given sets of phenomena, a dualism, but represent a duality" (25).
This "duality of agency and structure" is a recursive relationship in which structural systems are "always both constraining and enabling" (25). In Giddens' formulation, agents not only reproduce structure, but through a feedback process he calls "reflexive monitoring of action" (376), these agents modify the production process and create new structures. When we talk about genre, this process is one of influence, which I will define as a perceived similarity in social situations. In such a definition, influence is not so much a causal relationship, a one-to-one correspondence between texts, or an enlightenment narrative, as it is a linkage consciously made by writers comparing rhetorical conditions. The manifesto as a genre becomes historically imprinted because writers have past examples of the genre "in mind" when they approach the rhetorical situation.
Tracing the influences that writers use in responding to the exigency of the rhetorical situation is consistent with Bawarshi' s concept of genre as "function,'' rather than as a mere comparison of "family resemblances" between texts, as discussed in Chapter 1. Influence, in this study means much more than such "textual correspondences." Instead, I will examine three elements which capture the richer concept of"social influence:" (1) the social image of the act of production of the text, (2) the rhetorical dynamics of the act, and (3)   Manifesto of the Communist Party. As I trace this influence through these premodern manifestoes, one conclusion becomes inescapable: Luther's work prepares us for the individualism upon which the disciplinary mechanisms of capitalism are later built. It pries apart the religious sphere from that of the state.
Uncovering these social images is important because when writers use a genre they have in mind more than the generic text itself In some cases they may have in mind an imaginary reconstruction of the production of the original text.
As Giddens has pointed out, these images are transmitted across time and space, in Luther's case through the emerging printing technologies, and accelerating in the modem era with the development of electronic communications systems.
These images become part of what Giddens calls the "carrying context" that move structures across time. By revealing these images, we will be revealing one of the means by which genre is reproduced and modified.
Interestingly enough, the famous and persistent image of Luther nailing the manifestoes to the door of the Wittenberg parish church on All Saints Eve in 1517, may not even be historically accurate. That image is traceable to Philipp Melancthon' s famous biographical sketch of Luther, who reports that Luther posted the manifesto on that date, a fact some scholars question (Brecht 200), since Melancthon was not in Wittenberg at the time, and Luther never referred to the act of nailing the theses in any of his writings. Whether the image is accurate or not, it is certain the theses were posted on the door of the parish church at some point, by some person, no later than the 15th of November, since it was university practice to announce disputations in this way, and the records of the university reveal the date the actual disputation was held (Brecht).
As attractive and persistent as the historical image of Luther is, like most "histories," the picture painted by the story is incomplete. Luther saw himself as a emerges from an imbalance in power relationships. These "dislocations" or "points of negativity that we have termed conditions of possibility" (Laclau 36) are certainly markers for generic changes, particularly in the case of manifestoes which frequently begin with a list of grievances. However in analyzing the power relationships which contribute to the production of a manifesto, we are also interested in those relationships between agents and institutions which empower, as well as those that enrage, the writer. in turn be allowed to keep half of the proceeds to repay the loan (Oberman 188,189). Indulgences were documents granting the remission of sins, based upon a church doctrine which claimed the "excess" good works of Saints, and relics of the Saints represented a kind of "treasury" which the church could sell to grant the remission of sins ( Figure 5).  (Oberman 191;Brecht 204,205). Figure 6 maps the rapid geographical spread of Luther's disputation.
The text we have is a rhetorical marvel, reflecting the conflicted rhetorical choices Luther faced. His concerns over using a language appropriate to his audience prefigures the concern for language shown by writers of modernist manifestoes (Chapter 4). The document addresses a dual audience, as Luther attempts both to convince the church hierarchy to institute reforms, as well as to stir debate among scholastics. In addition to countering Tetzel's claims about indulgences in his own parish, Luther attacked the indulgence instructions being circulated under Albrecht's name, having "skillfully assumed [they] were issued without Albrecht's knowledge and approval," (Brecht 191 ----l~ +"e 5~ I' 1"" 0'1 (} ;'\ .tr-~01. jPMe~ / 1)1%' -l\)20 The second audience which Luther addressed was the audience to which he directs the text: those he invited to debate "The Ninety-Five These" at the university. As Brecht notes "While Luther was addressing the bishops about practical abuses, he intended to clarify the deeply problematic indulgence theory through the disputation" (202), an undertaking certain to anger the theologians back at Erfurt. Luther also had to be concerned with a yet another audience here: Frederick III, elector of Saxony, and founder and patron of the university. Luther responded to a negative exigency with a very persuasive, logical, well-argued text, a text carefully constructed to emulate the norms of Catholic scholarship of the time. However, because the dislocation which leads to the production of the manifesto often occurs due to a traumatic reaction to an unbalanced power relationship, the reactions to this trauma, viewed outside of the context of their production, may seem irrational. Some of the writers treated in this dissertation respond to negative exigency in a manner quite different from Luther, producing and performing texts in a carnivalesque and unpredictable manner. James Berlin describes this reaction to unbalanced power relationships as "a celebration of diversity and deviance, the joy of the unexpected and comic.
Resistance is, to be sure, inevitable and is to be encouraged, even though it may end only serving the forces resisted" (51). And as Giddens points out in The Constitution of Society structural change occurs not only due to the deliberate, intentional actions of agents, but also due to "unintended consequences" ( 11) of their ironic, even comical actions. In this dissertation I also attempt to document the camivalesque and performative aspects of the manifesto genre, particularly as seen in the early manifestoes of the futurists, and in later works such as "The At times, particularly during the modernist period, the manifesto genre seems to be more about "form" than about "content,'' though I try to be careful in my analysis not to treat the liminal relationship between the two as a binary opposition. Instead they both contribute to the rhetorical field. As an example of such a contribution, consider rhetorical figures of speech such as schemes (de · · · Vtations m the expected or ordinary pattern or arrangement of words or I I . I syllables) and tropes (deviations in the expected or ordinary meanings of words).
As Michael de Certeau points out in The Practice of Everyday Life, "the 'tropes' catalogued by rhetoric furnish models and hypotheses for the analysis of ways of appropriating space" (100), and the manifesto is a genre that attempts to carve out a space for the group it seeks to constitute. Furthermore, an examination of these stylistic tactics can reveal the reflexive relationship Giddens sees between the constructions of agency and structure.
If the agency of the writer, and the exigency for the text occur because of an element of negativity, due to dislocations in a hegemonic discourse as Laclau contends, then by examining the ways in which the writer adapts the manifesto genre to resist hegemonic forces, strategies which other writers (our students, ourselves) can adopt become identifiable. Since hegemonic discourse attempts to use the ideological superstructure to master the Lacanian trauma which the superstructure has created, then ideological discourse "emerges in a dialectic with something that exceeds its symbolic and imaginary boundaries" (Stavrakis 100).
The manifesto, exemplary of such ideological discourse, emerges at such points oflinguistic and cultural conflict, challenging the forces which prevent society from becoming what the writer wants it to be. It is at this nexus point which Laclau calls a dislocation, where the manifesto genre does its impossible ideological work on the writer, the reader, and the social/discursive field.
How can a research method which traces rhetorical influences work to identify these typified responses to dislocations? Again, we can follow the lead of It who in Ethics Subjectivity, and Truth describes the reflexivity between foucau ' form and agency when he shows how resistance subversively, or covertly, appropriates the dislocation in a discourse and turns the cultural forces of oppression upon themselves: [T]he medical definition of homosexuality was a very important tool against the oppression of homosexuality in the last part of the nineteenth century and in the early twentieth century. This medicalization, which was a means of oppression, has always been a means of resistance as wellsince people could say, "Ifwe are sick, then why do you condemn us, why do you despise us?" (168).
A formalist analysis of this discourse reveals that it is in fact a variant of the semantic substitution called conciliatio, which Lausberg defines as "a manner of argumentation by which an argument of an opposing party is exploited for the for the benefit of one' s own party" (346). The dislocation occurred in the hegemony's social practice of mistreating those it had ideologically labeled as sick. By calling attention to the semantic meaning of the term "sick," the repressive nature of the treatment of the homosexual was revealed for what it actually was. Such appropriation revealed the lines of power connecting the rhetorical figure to larger ideological discourse. By identifying the use of such formal elements by writers of manifestoes, we can make explicit the strategies and tactics which the politically conscious writer can appropriate. I will now demonstrate this method of formal analysis by turning to Luther's text.
Luther begins the document with an invitation to debate the theses, and an invocation to Christ. His motivation is "Out of love for the truth and the desire to bring it to light" (Luther 1 ). From there, Luther moves on in the first four theses to define and clarify the meaning of penance. It is significant that he begins by quoting the words of Christ, beginning with scripture. Although the language of the manifesto seems moderate by modern standards, Luther's belief that scripture "trumps" tradition and hierarchical authority emanating from Rome is precisely what made the manifesto such a dangerous text in the eyes of the church. In the 4th thesis he concludes this process of definition with a syllogism summarizing the nature of penance. This is a method he uses throughout the text: using scripture as the major premise of a syllogism, building a minor premise based upon his own observations, and moving to a logical conclusion.
Before moving on to the long section (theses 8-29) which challenges Tetzel's claim that his indulgences had the power to remit penalties owed by purgatories in heaven, Luther first sets the stage by carefully defining exactly what authority the pope does possess regarding the remission of sins. The 5th theses states that "The pope does not intend to remit, and cannot remit any penalties other than those which he has imposed either by his own authority or that of the canons." This minor premise is reiterated in the syllogistic conclusion of thesis 20, where Luther concludes that "Therefore by 'full remission of all penalties' the pope means not actually ' of all,' but only of those imposed by himself' (Luther 2). Here we can see Luther approaching his audience very carefully. Although he is uncompromising in his opposition to Tetzel's sales of indulgences, he gives the church hierarchy an out: by assuming that the pope never intended to remit penalties imposed by God, he challenges the church to repudiate Tetzel and reform itself. And after challenging the church's authority to remit the penalties of sin, he goes on to note in the 7th thesis that God remits the guilt of sin only to those Christians who humble themselves "into subjection to His vicar, the priest" (2). Here Luther makes clear his belief that the church is necessary, and he seems to be giving a nod to the "proper" role of the papacy.
While admonishing Tetzel's claims, Luther returns to this theme in a famous passage (theses 27-28): "27 They preach man who say that so soon as the penny jingles in the money-box the soul flies out [of purgatory].

28
It is certain that when the penny jingles into the money-box, gain and avarice can be increased, but the result of the intercession of the Church is in the power of God alone" (3) Luther's use of sarcasm to demolish Tetzel's faulty syllogism that money can lead to the remission of sins follows this tactic of assuming that the pope and his archbishops are unaware of the doctrinal errors being made in their name.
Theses 30-52 focus upon the dangers caused by Tetzel's activities. 16th century Germany was undergoing dramatic change due to the rise of the merchant class, which was beginning to rival the royals and clerics in importance. Luther himself was a product of this revolution: his grandfather was a peasant farmer, but his father chose to work as a copper miner, eventually accumulating enough to lease a mine of his own. When Hans Luther died in 1530 he left a fortune of "l Z50 gulden, a sum more than ten times the salary earned at that time by an ' average professor at the University of Wittenberg" (Oberman 85). The language used by Tetzel, as well as by the rest of the church, when discussing penance and indulgences, was the language of the new merchant class, the language of the balance sheet. The penalties of sins were debts. These debts were remitted by the church, or by God. Tetzel had taken the process of remission from the metaphorical marketplace into the actual marketplaces of the German towns.
Luther challenged what he saw as a dangerous tendency to falsely grant the promise of the salvation to the wealthy. Luther makes this clear in thesis 36 where he states that "Every truly repentant Christian has a right to full remission of penalty and guilt even without letters and pardon" (3). By basing salvation solely on faith and the grace of God, (solafide, sofa gratia), Luther takes salvation out of the marketplace. In concluding this section, Luther gives his readers a glimpse of his own plan for reform, a set of teachings that are diametrically opposed to those ofTetzel, and other purveyors of marketplace Christianity. Beginning in thesis 42, and continuing through thesis 51 , Luther begins each thesis with the statement "Christians are to be taught,'' using the parallel rhetorical scheme anaphora to fix the importance of these teachings in the reader's mind (interestingly, his namesake, Dr. Martin Luther King Jr., would use the same scheme in his famous "I have a dream" speech). He concludes this section quite stridently, asserting that Tetzel and his like "are enemies of Christ and of the pope" ( 4). Luther has taken us a long way from the invitation to debate an issue: his opponents are not just misguided-they are evil enemies.
Jn theses 59-79 he returns to the doctrine that was most likely to anger the church, the doctrine of"sola scriptura." The theological basis of the indulgence system was the concept that the institution of the church possessed certain treasures (again note the economic language) from which indulgences were distributed. These treasures included physical treasures such as relics (here Luther is treading dangerous ground, because his patron, Frederick of Saxony, was a famous collector of religious relics), as well as a more metaphorical bank of treasures, a sort of positive balance sheet the pope holds due the good works and grace of Christ and the saints. Luther attacks this view, claiming in the 62nd thesis that "The true treasure of the church is the Most Holy Gospel of the glory and grace of God" (5). It is curious how Luther then sarcastically uses the trope of irony to criticize the basis of the indulgence system in the 63d and 64th theses:

63
"But this treasure is naturally most odious, for it makes the first to be last."

64
"On the other hand the treasure of indulgences is naturally most acceptable for it makes the last to be first." (5) Here Luther is attacking what he sees as an attempt to equate salvation with economic class. In some ways, Luther's resistance to a class-based system within the religious sphere anticipates the efforts Marx and Engels would later make with their manifesto in the sphere of political economy.
In theses 81-90 Luther uses another trope, that of the rhetorical question.
This technique is useful in that it addresses two audiences. By using this type of question for disputation, Luther phrases the question in such a way that the audience of the faithful who agree with him will make the appropriate response.
To those who violently disagree, he can claim that he is only raising questions for debate, not necessarily taking a stand on those opinions. He raises questions which he admits are slanderous to the pope, but only if the pope actually agreed with Tetzel's and Albrecht's practices. He concludes this section with the interesting 90th thesis: "To repress these arguments and scruples of the laity by force alone, and not to resolve them by giving reasons, is to expose the Church and the pope to the ridicule of their enemies, and to make Christians unhappy" (7). According to Luther, reason must decide these issues, rather than feudal power, and he concludes the manifesto by repeating the assurances to loyal Christians with which he begins the document.
Luther, throughout his life, claimed that he never intended to spark the reformation with his delivery of the disputation on indulgences. Luther claims in his invitation to debate, that the theses were intended to facilitate debate. Brecht notes that "A disputation attempted, by means of combining definite assertions and open questions, to identify a problem, and then through discussing it to lead to its solution" (200). Yet in his performance and delivery of "The Ninety-Five Theses," Luther produced, not a disputation, but a manifesto.
If Luther really intended the disputation to be merely an invitation to debate at Wittenberg, then why did he enclose it in a letter to Archbishop Albrecht, a Jetter he later admitted was an ultimatum? Why, if the theses were intended to spark a debate among scholastics in Wittenberg, did Luther authorize their printing in Latin and distribution throughout Germany and Europe within two weeks of their composition? And if Luther actually believed he was merely inviting an academic discussion, then he badly misjudged his audience. Frederick, who came to defend Luther and the work of his new university, stated to Spalatin upon reading the theses, "You will see that the pope will not like this" (Brecht 202,203). Bishop Schulze of Brandenburg replied to Luther, advising him against this attack on the power of the church, to which Luther would later respond that "through the bishop the devil was speaking" (Brecht 205). Albrecht sent the letter on to Rome, expecting Pope Leo X to take action against Luther. And Tetzel, the nominal target of the manifesto, is said to have advocated that Luther should be burned as a heretic.
While Luther expressed surprise and some regret at the rapid spread of the disputation on indulgences, the new medium of the printing press provided a forum that Luther could not resist. In March of 1518 he preached his Sermon on Indulgences and Grace, a shorter version of the disputation, which was printed in German. Brecht reports "of twenty printings from Wittenberg, Leipzig, Nuremburg, Augsburg, Basel, and Breslau before 1520." And in May 1518 Tetzel published his own "theses," refuting Luther. The genre Luther introduced was already replicating itself. Tetzel, copying the language Luther used in theses 44-S l, started each of his these with the words "Christians are to be taught" (Brecht 209 ). Luther responded to Tetzel's manifesto with a counter argument,

Concerning the Freedom of the Sermon on Papal Indulgences and Grace.
What were the conventions of the genre that Luther introduced in  copies of a small press book printed on wallpaper were ever delivered would seem to minimize its importance. Instead one must address the fact that the Russian futurists orally performed the manifesto dressed in outlandish attire in a camivalesque atmosphere while on a tour that criss-crossed the geography of prerevolutionary Russia. The manifesto is a form in which the often ignored rhetorical canon of "delivery" must be attended to.
It is important to note than in my analysis of style and form, I am not attempting to find "hidden mental structures" within these forms which tend to universalize human experience. Instead I look at style and form as the textual residue of the actions of agents who were, in some ~ay, attempting to resist the hegemonic forces they encountered. A rhetorical analysis that looks at "influence" at the levels of the social image, rhetorical dynamics, and form, uncovers such power relationships, and identifies ways in which writers can respond to them. This is what I mean when I say this project is a record of adaptations made to the manifesto genre by writer/agents. The "Twelve Articles of the Swabian Peasants" takes quite a different approach. First of all it is a corporate document. Its subject is the pronoun "We," the voice of the many opposing the few, the Germari nobility. Lyon notes that such usage is significant in that: The manifesto as a form legitimates the polemical popular voice by propping it retroactively on republican principles: vox populi is held in the manifesto as the lowest common denominator of power, and a government that denies its own power base by ignoring or repressing the criticism and challenges of this, its most fundamental constituency, risks delegitimation (23).
While the peasants occasionally make deferential remarks towards nobility in the . 1 s those remarks are always couched in the language that implies such art1c e , deference will only occur if the nobles justly accede to the peasant's demands.
Otherwise, as in the tenth article regarding the noble's appropriation of community meadows and fields, "These we will take again into our own hands" (4). The rights of the many override the privileges of the few.
A second way in which the articles move the genre beyond the boundaries defined by Luther' s theses is in the way in which they imply the public's overriding interest in both religious and secular matters. Where the articles begin, like Luther's theses, with a preamble praising Christ, and asserting the good of the gospel which they see as the source of their freedom, they quickly move from the religious sphere to secular matters. While the first article is ostensibly religious, it challenges the right of the Prince to appoint and remove pastors, and demands that such power be given over to the community of believers. The second article makes a similar challenge, admitting the justness of a religious tithe for God's work, but refusing to pay additional tithes demanded by the Prince, which are "an unseemly tithe which is of man's invention" (2): The remaining articles make demands which are entirely outside the religious sphere: release from the slavery of serfdom, the right to fish and hunt in any wood or stream, access to forests for wood-cutting, release from excessive service to the Prince, fair payment for any such service rendered, release from unjust rents, unjust laws, and an egregious inheritance tax.

c. Formal Elements of the Twelve Articles of the Swabian Peasants
The articles also differ from Luther's theses at the stylistic level. While the articles retain Luther's number system, the articles differ markedly from the theses, in that each article is a paragraph, rather than a statement. Where Luther's statements take the form of propositions, premises, and conclusions which often form syllogistic arguments, the articles are basically a list of demands. Each article/paragraph begins with a summary statement of the demand (topic The articles also failed to stir a revolt against the princes within the free cities. As Harold Grimm has noted, there was a great deal of change and ferment occurring within the cities: struggles between territorial princes and the emperor, the emergence of an artisan class organized around guilds, the commercial revolution which changed the means and ownership of the methods of production, and the development of a patrician, or landowner class who gradually took control of city councils and governments. While the citizens of the cities often were · d to swear an annual oath to the prince, the citizenry was usually left to requtre their own devices. Rather than the large class differences between nobility, clergy, and peasants that existed in the countryside, Grimm notes that "The society of the medieval German city was not divided into classes in the modern sense of the term. Luther and his contemporaries spoke of the various urban groups as 'estates,' each having its special interests and duties" (77). And while each group had competing interests and concerns, they were united by (I) a pride in their city which they say as a union of the secular, the spiritual, and the feudal; they had already "worked out a modus vivendi among themselves and their feudal lords (Grimm 77); (2) a vested interest and influence within the city councils, which were replacing the nobility as the center of governmental authority, built upon learning and humanistic values, and an improved social status; and (3) "the practical, late-medieval mysticism with its emphasis on inner spirituality and ethics" (Grimm 77). The German city of the 15th century was not yet figured into the proletariat/bourgeoisie split Marx would observe· four centuries later, and its citizens were unlikely to risk their new found freedoms, or their salvation for a risky alliance with a violent group of uneducated· peasants. While Luther unleashed a powerful genre for the expression of grievances when he penned "The Ninety-Five Theses," his actions during the peasant's war helped create a cautious strain within German society that worked against the myth-making process of ideology formation which the manifesto promoted. The powerful image of a Thor-like Luther knocking down the walls of feudalism would appear to lose much of its mythical appeal with Luther' s cautious limitation of the reformation to the religious sphere. This cautiousness would cause such manifestoes to be seen in Germany more as mimetic expressions of discontent rather than generative texts which promoted the formation of a revolutionary politic. Yet a myth is not so easily dissolved in mere history. We can see this in the Germany where Marx and Engels were to reinvent the manifesto form four centuries later.

m. The Genre as Legacy and Precursor: The Communist Manifesto
Most people, when asked to name a manifesto, would probably name the Manifesto of the Communist Party. And while it is certainly the "Ur-text" for the later manifestoes of the twentieth century, a period Mary Ann Caws calls "A Century oflsms,'' it is also a text that was influenced by its medieval precursors.

A.
The Communist Manifesto and the Social Image

Looking Backward
In spite of Luther' s attempts at limiting his programme to the religious sphere, by the l 9 1 h century the reformation had become a symbol for, not only the national liberation of Germany, but also for revolution in general. Max Baeumer points out that "in 1788, the historian of constitutional law, August Ludwig Schlozer called the beginning of the revolution in France a National-Reformation" and "None other than Goethe demanded in 1817 ... that the Anniversary Festival of the Reformation be merged with the National Festival of the People's Battle of Leipzig ... . commemorating the victory over Napoleon" (ZS4). Hegel, in his Philosophy of History (published shortly after his death in 183 1), regards the Reformation as "that blush of dawn which we observed at the termination of the medieval period" (348), the beginning of the modem times.
Hegel was aware of Luther' s actions during the peasant's rebellion, but Hegel's philosophy is not one which blames individual subject/agents for the events of history. In his view "the world was not yet ripe for a transformation of its political condition as a consequence of ecclesiastical reformation" (3 51 ). Yet in Hegel ' s view, the reformation begins the modem period, in which the dialectic begins to work on the antithetical spheres of church and state, which the medieval mind was so quick to separate. In Hegel's history, the story of modem Germany is one where "The spiritual becomes reconciled with the secular, and develops this latter as an independently organic existence" (206). The reformation frees the spirit, and "Consequently law, property, social morality, government, constitutions, etc., must be conformed to general principles, in order that they may accord with the idea of the free will and the rational'' (350). The thinkers of the French enlightenment called this the revolution d'esprit.
While Hegel looked upon the modem revolution as a continuing evolution growing out of the dialectical process beginning in the reformation, his follower Marx rejects the lingering Christian spiritualism of Hegel and argues that "Luther liberated the body from slavery, but he shackled the human heart" (quoted in Baeumer 255). Baeumer notes that Marx's collaborator Engels, the author of an 18 50 pamphlet on the Peasant's War, was even more uncompromising in his . ti· on of Luther, "interpreting the Peasant's War and one of its revolutionary reJeC leaders, Thomas Muntzer, as the only focal point of this period, with no serious consideration to its general religious aspects or to Martin Luther himself' (Baeumer 256). Yet Hegel seems to have understood more than Marx and Engels that Luther's manifesto was the beginning of a process, an initial demonstration of the rhetorical and ideological conventions of a certain generic form. If Marx and Engels were unwilling to acknowledge their debt to the genre, they certainly were willing to borrow from those conventions.

Looking Forward
One enduring convention of the genre which we first begin to see in Marx's and Engels' text, is its self-referentiality. The text refers to itself, in the title, as a Manifesto, an example of the genre. The expected rhetorical function of such a move is one of allusion, of looking back to a referent, an earlier text.
Again, according to the Shorter Oxford English Dictionary, the term "manifesto" emerged in the middle of the 1 ?1 11 century, among anti-royal forces in England.
Ironically, its first use in the title of a document appears to come in service of the Like the other manifestoes, this one also is· numbered. But instead of a numbered list of grievances, Marx and Engels deliver four numbered histories.
Rather than Lyon's "foreshortened, impassioned, and highly selective history" (14) they reconstruct the manifesto genre as detailed historiography. In Chapter 1 they carefully examine the process by which "modern bourgeois society ... has sprouted from the ruins of feudal society" ( 419). They show how this process inevitably splits the complex social diversity of the medieval city into two classes: the bourgeois and the proletariat. In Chapter 2 they detail the historical development of Communist theory. The essential point here is that the theories are not deduced from abstract principles. Rather they are the results of inductive logic based upon material observations of historical processes, "actual relations springing from an existing class struggle, from a historical movement going on under our very eyes" ( 425). This is the essence of the Marxist methodology which becomes to be known as "historical materialism." Towards the end of this chapter they provide the closest thing in the text to a list of demands: a numbered list of 10 political measures which would likely be necessary to begin transforming bourgeois societies into communist ones. In Chapter 3 they examine other socialist movements in Europe, and describe why those movements are historically reactionary. And finally, in the very short Chapter 4 they describe the relationship of the international communists with certain other leftist allies. The Manifesto of the Communist Party certainly contains a historical narrative, but instead of using a history to frame their arguments or demands, what is unique in this manifesto is the fact that it is history itself that makes the demands.
Another conventional feature of the manifesto genre we saw in the medieval manifestoes were their attempts at calling into existence an audience. In at least one sense the audience for the Manifesto of the Communist Party was already in existence: the members of the Communist League. In Engels' preface to the manifesto, he reports that prior to 1848 the League had existed as "unavoidably a secret society" ( 415). Its appearance at what Engels called "the first great battle between proletariat and bourgeoisie" ( 415) marked the corning out of the Communist movement. And although the league dissolved after the failure ifthe European uprisings of 1849, the manifesto and its ideas survived, and was translated into numerous languages and reprinted frequently . In 1864 Communism was reborn as the International Workingrnen's Association (Draper).
Later attempts to "exorcise" Communism were only moderately successful-and the movement continued to spring up, held together by the manifesto, what Engels called "the most international production of Socialist literature, the common platform acknowledged by millions of workingmen from Siberia to California" (416). If Engels is right, the document certainly has called an audience into existence.
The call is explicitly made at the end of Chapter 4 when the writers point out "The proletarians have nothing to lose but their chains. They have a world to win. Workingmen of all countries, unite" (434). Janet Lyon notes the performative nature of this conclusion, which becomes yet another formal convention we shall add to our list of the generic features of the manifesto.
The passage is perforrnative in at least two of that term' s theoretical senses: in J.L. Austin's sense, by implying a priori assent, it forecasts the unified class that it invokes; and in Judith Butler's sense, it produces a flexibly scripted/aux identity for workers and non-workers under hortatory radicalism (Lyon 28).
The repetition of such calls to organize become a common feature of many manifestoes occurring from the 19th century forward, and it is a major reason that If we were to conclude the matter there, that would be fine : Marx and Engels, in the Manifesto of the Communist Party produced a text which rivals and has affinities with other great modernist visions. But we cannot conclude the matter there. Where other modernist writers leave us in a sea of paradox, conflict and irony, afloat in what they hopelessly and nihilistically describe as "the modern condition," Marx and Engels refuse to do so. Whenever we find conflict and paradox in Marxist works, we should always remember that the methodology in which a Marxist works is dialectical materialism. And while not every inconsistency in Marxist thought can be facilely dismissed as simply part of the dialectic, remember that the methodology requires the thinker to analyze theses, antithesis, and then to look for the synthesis. In the manifesto, the synthesis is the optimistic, hopeful vision of a Communist future. In this vision, the romantic remnants of humanism have been swept away for good reason: Marx and Engels describe these remnants as "half lamentation, half lampoon; half echo of the past, half menace of the future ... ludicrous in its effect through total incapacity to comprehend the march of modern history" ( 429). But bourgeois capitalism is also swept away in revolution. Marx and Engels see in that revolution the hope for a future where a new humanistic order can develop. We may not know exactly the form that order will take, but one needs to trust the dialectic.
Where other writers of the time abandon their readers to nihilism, or hopelessness, or take the path of Eliot, or Pound, and look backwards to a restoration of the aristocracy, or a fascist nationalism to resolve modernist paradox and conflict, Marx and Engels instead offer us a solution to the problem, asking us to see paradox, not just as a sign of decay of the old order (which of course it is), but also a sign of the continuous, historical operation of the dialectical dance, a complex operation where we may not be able to tell the dancer from the dance, the agent from the process, but nevertheless trust that agency is, really a possibility after all, if only "Workingmen of all countries [will] unite." It is clear here that Marx has entered the aesthetic debate between two binaries, the mimetic, or reproductive impulse versus the genetic, or creative impulse.
Marx appears here to align himself with the latter, which is interesting considering the fact that one of the criticisms of Marxist thought has been that it emphasizes the determining power of the economic base over that of individual agency.
This is a far cry from the traditional conception of Communist Art and Literature as Agitprop, a tradition that has been ascribed to Engels' influence. As The bourgeoisie has stripped of its halo every occupation hitherto honoured and looked up to with reverent awe. It has converted the physician, the lawyer, the priest, the poet, the man of science, into its paid wage labourers ( 420).
The writers' use of the term "halo" here is interesting, and seems to anticipate Walter Benjamin's famous essay "The Work of Art in the Age of Mechanical Reproduction" which defines the "aura" of pre-modernist art, and analyzes its decay under the impact of capitalist cultural technologies. This essay led to a debate between Benjamin and Theodor Adorno as to whether the dialectical synthesis would work its way out through a new aesthetics of mass produced art (Benjamin) or through the avant-garde autonomous work of art (Adorno). While Marx and Engels don't develop a Marxist aesthetic, it is interesting that they begin framing the terms of that debate in the manifesto. has reached such a degree that it can experience its own destruction as an aesthetic pleasure of the first order" (Illuminations 242). The horrors of World War II and the holocaust which accompanied is now part of the image that surrounds the work ofMarinetti, and in Lukacs' view, the modernist avant-garde in general.
In recent years, Frederick Jameson has effectively challenged that view, arguing that "the familiar split between avant-garde art and left-wing politics was not a universal, but merely a local, anglo-American phenomenom" (45)  Given the futurists' position as the dominant cultural movement in Italy before that country tipped towards fascism, and given its revolutionary use of a political genre, the manifesto, within the aesthetic field, it is important to reevaluate the Italian movement in relationship to the larger world of modernism.
Gramsci is correct in noting that the exigency for the futurist manifestoes was modernity itself. Before I can begin to more closely discuss the exigency for these modernist manifestoes, I will first begin by analyzing the epistemic break

Formal Elements
Marinetti's 1909 "The Founding and Manifesto of Futurism" is noteworthy for its formal innovations to the manifesto, but it also borrowed from past instantiations of the genre. Following the lead of Luther, the Swabian Peasants, and Marx and Engels, Marinetti begins· his work by describing the exigency of the manifesto in personal narrative. He describes an all night meeting of young friends-"The oldest of us is thirty" (43)-who are sitting around discussing aesthetics, a discussion which Marinetti obscurely describes in a series of metaphors and similes which point out their humble, yet heroic status as challengers of the existing order, the "army of hostile stars glaring down at us from their celestial encampments" (39). Marinetti, suddenly realizing that their (coffee-house, barroom, or drawing-room-it's never specified) discussion is going nowhere, and is doomed to becoming yet another example of passivity, enjoins his friends to jump in his car, and go on a ride to watch the sunrise (Marinetti 39). And so it begins, the founding authors of modernism racing into the future aboard the defining product of the Fordist system. After a horrific ride, Marinetti ends up putting the car in a ditch full of "good factory muck" ( 41 ).
While observers help fish the car out of the ditch, the group "bruised, our arms in slings, but unafraid, declared our high intentions to all the living of the earth" (41). Marinetti's narrative serves to unhinge the text from conventional literature by placing it in the middle of "good factory muck,'' and connects it with the proletarian working class.
The eleven numbered points of the manifesto tend to repeat a number of aphoristic principles by which the group declares its opposition to the existing monuments of art and literature. This use of numbered points follows the tradition of Luther, and its aphoristic form, as we noted earlier, can be traced to Nietzsche.
Futurism is a movement that celebrates speed, energy, courage, and fearlessness, a movement whose icon is the race car, a "hymn [to} the man at the wheel" (Marinetti 41 ). The movement intends to "destroy the museums, libraries, academies of every kind,'' institutions which they deride as feminine. This contemporary reader familiar with the violent, racist and misogynist history of the 20th century finds the ninth point particularly troubling: We will glorify war-the world's only hygiene-militarism, patriotism, the destructive gesture of freedom-bringers, beautiful ideas worth dying for, and scorn for woman (42).
Yet beyond the misogynism, the ideas in the manifesto do not seem that far from What was new was the packaging of that programme within a genre that had been used for political purposes, and even more, the valuation of that package as art. Marinetti called this "the art of the manifesto," and Perloff notes that "The novelty of the Italian Futurist manifestoes ... is their brash refusal to remain in the expository or critical corner, their understanding that the group pronouncement, sufficiently aestheticized, can, in they eyes of the mass audience, all but take the place of the promised art work"(85). Cinzia Sartini Blum goes even further in her claim that the futurists "created a new genre straddling poetic and theoretical discourse-a collective statement directed at a mass audience, in which the articulation of an aesthetic and political program is transformed into a literary construct"(29). While Blum' s claim reveals a lack of understanding of the nature of genre as a historically evolving function rather than a fixed entity, and while both Blum and Perloff seem to be creating a binary between literary/artistic discourse and expository/critical discourse which marginalizes the latter, they are correct in recognizing the fact that Marinetti mass-marketed his manifestoes as artistic products.
Yet we can also read Marinetti ' s concept of the manifesto as art backwards, not as the creation of or adaptation of a literary genre, but as an act of deconstructing that binary between literary and artistic discourse. In some ways what the futurists seem to be doing is attacking the whole notion of art as a "holy" discourse, somehow separate from everyday life. What this act does is "To pry an object from its shell, to destroy its aura" (Benjamin, lllumuninations 5). The political object and the aesthetic object are both treated as cultural objects, as products of market capitalism.
To treat the manifesto as a cultural product, then I first will examine its mode of production and distribution. While Marinetti ' s first manifesto was Clearly, Marinetti is a "special case" among Futurists, part poet, part actor, part circus promoter. R.W. Flint is correct in identifying him as an Italian "P .T.
Barnum" (Marinetti 11). While "The Founding and Manifesto of Futurism" describes the actions ofMarinetti and a group of his friends, and like the "Twelve Articles of the Swabian Peasants" uses the pronoun "we" throughout, Marinetti alone is identified as the "author" of this manifesto. Its is Marinetti's controlling egoism which separates his manifestoes from those of other futurists. Most of the other futurist manifestoes were produced by short-lived groups that came into existence, and then splintered and were replaced by new movements.

n. From Hylaea to Constructivism: Russian and Soviet Futurism
Nowhere was this splintering tendency more prevalent than pre-and postrevolutionary Russia. And in Russia, we discover a Futurism that produced works of art and literature that extend beyond the manifesto genre, a futurism which was built around communities of artists, rather than a single charismatic artist like Marinetti.

A. The Social Image
Russian Futurism seems to present us with not one, but two distinct social images: an anarchistic and carnivalesque movement which thrived during the chaotic years leading up to and during the revolutionary period, and a movement of dedicated socialist artists who channeled their energies into projects which furthered the development of the proletarian state. The fact that we find the poet  (Markov xiv). In this section I will necessarily be briefer and more evaluative than Markov, but I will also take the discussion beyond Kamensky describes it in typical Futurist manner as meant "to throw a bombshell into the joyless, provincial street of the generally joyless existence" (Markov 9) that was characteristic of Russian city life during this period. As Markov notes, this collection was neither a success, or much of a bombshell since very most of the 300 copies were never sold. It is important, because it marked the movement away from impressionism by a group that would come to call themselves budetlyane, or men of the future, a Khlebnikov neologism. The real "bombshell" would come in 1912 with the publication of the first manifesto of Russian Futurism.

The first manifesto of Russian futurism, "A Slap in the Face of Public
Taste," the opening work of a collection of the same name, is dated "Moscow, 1912 December,'' and signed by "D. Burliuk, Alexander Kruchenykh, V.
Mayakovsky, and Victor Khlebnikov" (Lawton 52). While standing "on the rock of the word 'we"' (Lawton 52), the manifesto characterizes the giants of Russian literature as "tailors" and states that "From the heights of skyscrapers we gaze at their insignificance" (Lawton 53). Both these statements seem ironic considering the fact that Russian Futurism would eventually come to embrace the notion of writing as a useful "craft," and given the native primitivism which characterizes much of the work of the early Russian futurists. The skyscraper line seems more reminiscent ofltalian Futurism and the colorful urbanism ofMayakovsky' s later works (though I am not aware that there were any skyscrapers in Moscow in 1912) rather than Khlebnikov's "pure Slavic elements in its golden, linden tree quality" (Markov 49). Furthermore, just as the skyscraper may have been more metaphor than building, Markov notes that the attack on the past was "purely tactical and did not express the real ideas of the writers. Most of them were far from actually rejecting Pushkin, and they were on good terms with some of the attacked contemporaries" ( 46). Osip Brik, a later futurist and collaborator with Mayakovsky correctly identified the real nature of the attack: " It is perfectly well known to everyone that nobody is going to destroy the. works of Pushkin, burn the paintings of Raphael or break up the statues of Michaelangelo." What was being attacked was "the halo of sanctity which encircles these sinless priests of the with the literary nature of the manifesto-he considered himself primarily a visual artist, and didn't take his own writings particularly seriously. And Benedict Livshits "refusal was based on the grounds that, as a soldier, he could not afford at that time to take part in controversial enterprises" (Markov 45). The collection was controversial, and the attack on the greats of Russian literature brought a hostile public reaction (Markov).

Linguistic experimentation
As we noted before, Markov  Marinetti in using the public performance as the primary means of rhetorical delivery of their manifesto (Markov).

Collectivity
From agitate the masses with our arf' (Lawton 194). While this was consistent with the Marxist idea of a revolution where "all that is solid melts into air,'' such ideas were found highly suspect by the Stalinists who were gaining control of the revolution (Lawton).

The Artist as Socialist Engineer: Constructivism
One of the Le f 's few successes in gaining acceptance from the Stalinists was its promotion of an artistic movement now known as Constructivism. In What Does Lef Fight For, the writers tried to justify the group's continuing existence by stating that "Lefwillfightfor the aesthetic construction of Life" (Lawton 195).
This idea that art is something "constructed,'' even engineered, is an important principle upon which the modern design movement is based. Brik's work in linguistics which proclaimed "Not idealistic fog but the material thing" (Gassner 306). Brik promoted the concept of the "proletarian artist," which metamorphized in the INKHUK discussions into the "artist engineer." Its key concepts were: (1) Art is not the "private affair" of the artist's ego, but "a socially important task" within the "collective," (2)  The First Working Group of Constructivists was formed in 1921 within Inkhuk. and included Aleksander Rodchenko, who became the movement's leading figure, both as an artist and polemicist. In his 1921 ·manifesto "Liniia" or "The Line," Rodchenko takes the idea of the artist as engineer much more seriously than Malevich's fanciful manifesto: "The craft of painting is striving to become more industrial. Drawing in the old sense is losing its value and giving way to the diagram or the engineering drawing." (Lodder 270). Rodchenko and the other constructivists were responding also to Tatlin' s model for the Monument to the Third International, a sort ofrevolutionary Eifel Tower which was the sensation of a Petrograd exhibition in 1920, and which Mayakovsky declared to be "the first object of October" (Lodder 272). Tatlin ' s influence can also be seen in the Obmokhu exhibition on 1921, in which a number hanging and spatial constructions were exhibited. It is clear that these constructivists were serious about the creation of real, useful objects, a trend that Kandinsky was quite uncomfortable with, writing that "even though art workers right now may be working on problems of construction ... they might try to find a positive solution too easily and too ardently from the engineer. And they might find the engineer' s answer the solution for art-quite erroneously. This is a very real danger" (Lodder 271). Kandinsky's views were overpowered, however, by the need of the artists to arrive at some sort of reconciliation between aesthetics and politics. To further parse the term, I will address two criticisms of poststructural critique, which I believe will lead to a better understanding of the term. Here I will return again to Giddens, who as much as any theorist, has attempted to described the mechanisms and processes by which these institutions Reflexive Modernity."

A. Processes of Reflexive Modernity
According to Giddens, three processes are responsible for generating the dynamic web of power-knowledge relationships in late modernity: (1) Space-Time distanciation; (2) the disembedding mechanism within modern culture; (3) the self-reflexive character of late modernity. I will now describe each.

129
Even as late as the first half of the 20th century it was unusual for most human beings to travel more than 50-100 miles from their home at any point in their lifetime. Modern transportation and communication systems, and information technologies are changing that. The world is now small, and the world is fast. Space seems to have "shrunk" and time is "speeding up." The results of these effects, "space-time distanciation," may be defined as the ability of agents to coordinate the actions of people distributed across distant realms of time and space; such coordination no longer necessarily requires face-to-face interactions.

Disembedding Mechanisms
Local cultures are being replace by global cultures. Local systems of exchange (for example bartering) are being replaced by global systems (the dollar, the euro ). Global, electronic cultures, and money systems move human cultural relationships away from the more material culture of the local carnival, to the abstract culture of global media. Similarly, human exchange relations move away from the immediate physical exchange of goods to the symbolic exchange of global currency. These forces, along with an agent's experiences working within a mobile, global, information-based economy, tend to disembed the agent from the context of her/his local culture.

Reflexivity in Late Modernity
There are two forms ofreflexivity in Giddens' theory. One, the reflexive monitoring of action predates modernity and is present in pre-modern practice.
This type of reflexivity is the intentional character of an agent's activity; activity is not a series of discrete events, but a continuous process. The second form is reflexive self-regu1ation. In this form of reflexivity, characteristic of modernity, activity is not simply a process, but a process which constantly feeds back knowledge gained in the activity process to modify future activity. Reflexive selfregulation is the basis for agency and historical change in late modernity. It recognizes that processes are not always "true' or "stable," but are always subject to modification. Speaking in Marxist terms, agents are not merely reproducing the means of production, they are revising them. Self-regulation is the basis of "expert systems" upon which work in the globalized information economy is based. It results in the creation of Giddens' "clever people."

B. Institutions of Reflexive Modernify
These three forces work within a system of modern institutions which Giddens also details. This system derives from Gidden' s theory of structuration, which identifies a reciprocal relationship between the institutions and agents acting within modern systems. In this theory he bridges the gap between a deterministic-Marxist, structuralist approach which sees structure as dominant, and agents as mere cultural dupes, and the voluntarist approach of the enlightenment/humanist tradition in which agency rules over structure, and agents are seen as totally free. In his theory, there is a duality, a reciprocal relationship between agents and structure. Agents build institutions, and new agents come to modify them.
Giddens has identified four major institutional structures which form the base of what we call modernity. Two of these structures work upon principles of domination, the Nation-State System and the World Capitalist economy. A third structure, the World Military-Judicial order works upon principles oflegitimation (legal principles), and the fourth structure, the Global-Information System, works upon principles of signification. The chart below shows each of these operating principles in bold, followed by the base structure, the types of institutions making up the structure, the types of human rights contended for in this structure, and oppositional forces within the system.  These institutional categories are far from distinct, there is a web of relationships between them. For example, educational institutions help create an understanding of the "laws" or "norms" upon which the process of Legitimation depends. And the process of Allocation plays a role in all of these categories.
What is interesting in this formulation is that none of these institutional clusters completely dominate the others. All are influential. Abel's contention that the text focuses upon "a psychoanalytical guise that, in contrast to Room, replaces, rather than parallels the economic frame" (104), a text that "situates Woolf on Freud's terrain and constricts her remapping of the terrain" (107). It is even further from Stephen Barber, whose Exit Woolf treats the text not as political economy (Muther), not as a hermeneutic interpretation of female sexuality (Abel), but rather as "an aesthetics of existence that in strikingly prescient ways exemplify Michel Foucault's final work on the ethics of concern for the self as a practice of freedom" (Barber 1). The.way in which Woolfs text performatively demonstrates the nature of agency (the practice of freedom) is what gives it its life as a manifesto, in spite of its stark move away from the form of the genre as practiced by the futurists and Vorticists. I will return to this point in my discussion of the formal elements of the text.
The variety of interpretations of Woolf s text by scholars leaves us with the popular image of an obscure text that is difficult, or as E.M. Forster described it, as "cantankerous" (White 5). And while this is part of the social image that circulates around Three Guineas, an examination of the rhetorical dynamics surrounding the production of the text and of the formal elements of that text will deliver quite a richer view of Woolf s performance.

B. Rhetorical Dynamics
While Woolf describes the exigency for the writing of Three Guineas in the text itself, the context behind the production of the text begins not in its completion in the late 1930s, but much earlier, in the pre-war emergence of the occupied, though at a lower tension, and in a humbler way"' (Woolf,Roger Fry,188 (Woolf,Roger Fry,192). It also charged Fry with preventing an Omega member from exhibiting at a non-Omega show, and went on to attack the workshop on aesthetic grounds, for its embracing decorative crafts over "the rough and masculine work" (Woolf,Roger Fry,192)   The years 1914-1917 seem to hover behind, as a ghostly subtext to Three Guineas.

C. Formal Elements
There is no question that Woolf struggled to find the appropriate genre for Three Guineas. Stephen Barber notes that both Three Guineas and The Years emerged from an earlier text Woolf had titled "Here and Now" which combined the discursive and novelistic forms . Woolf described the writing process for the work as "six years of floundering, striving, much agony, some ecstasy: lumping the Years & 3 Gs together as one book--as indeed they are" (148). The form that did emerge-three letters responding to requests for money-seems to take it a long way from the violent forms of the Blast manifesto, and most other manifestos of the modern period. But these facts are not surprising: Woolf was no futurist, and likely associated the movement with fascism.
Yet there is no doubt Woolf herself saw Three Guineas as a manifesto, in the sense that it challenged the masculinist status quo and carefully attempted to construct a new audience, or society of outsiders. While revising and proofing the manuscript, she even considered publishing an illustrated broadside "to be called The Outsider" (Woolf,Diary 128). However, Woolf s purpose here is not to adopt the visual style of the fascists, a style she describes as "decorated inkpots to hypnotize the human mind" (Three Guineas 14). Her use of the manifesto seems more akin to that of an even earlier genre, the prophetic Jeremiad, a genre more poetic than reasoned, a genre where "Pictures and voices are the same today as they were 2,000 years ago" (Woolf,Three Guineas 141).
Stephen Barber points out how Woolf uses the five photographs in the book to produce not only "a critique that identifies fascism as the aestheticization of politics" (5), but "appropriates this aesthetic element for (1)  government, or society, is the one that insists the individual follow only the dictates of her own reason. The government, the society, that insists upon more than that, the government that uses violence to impose another reason, the reasoning Spinoza denounced as that of"sad passions,'' the reasoning of "the Slave, the tyrant, and the priest" (Deleuze 23), is fascist reasoning. Instead, as Woolf describes in The Years, "The soul-the whole being ... It wishes to expand; to adventure; to form-new combinations" (296). Woolf is a prophet here, not of doom, but the prophet of freedom, of possibility, of "the capacity of the human spirit to overflow boundaries and make unity out of multiplicity" (Three Guineas 143). Woolf s manifesto is one which attempts, even in its narrative structure, to do just that, to "overflow boundaries,'' to make "new combinations." Woolf s manifesto performatively deconstructs the "We" which has been with the manifesto at least since the Twelve Articles of the Swabian Peasants, and replaces it with a multiplicity of ' we' s' and 'I's.' Erin Carlston notes: "The intricate layering of voices in Three Guineas, the shifting narrative identities, and the convoluted loops of argumentation diffuse and defer narrative identity" (140).
She goes on to point out that '" we' ought logically refer to the narrator and the male treasurer who is the pretext for all of Three Guineas, but seems instead ... a collectivity defined by gender" (140). But Woolfs society of outsiders is much more than a feminist sisterhood, a political group working in the public sphere.
Barber quotes John Mepham as saying that the territory created by such groups "is the first thing that totalitarian regimes abolish" (38). Three Guineas is an attempt at group formation . But Woolf reinvents the manifesto when she proposes the formation of a society of outsiders. Her text exemplifies a politics that seeks to undermine efforts to crush freedom, which resists what Foucault has called "the fascism in us all, in our heads and in our everyday behavior, the fascism that causes us to love power, to desire the very thing that dominates and exploits us"  arguing that "to fail to engage in the social processes of making science and to attend to the use and abuse of scientific work is irresponsible" (Olson 56). She also seems to adopt a theory of agency close to that of Giddens' model. Although she rejects reflexivity as "a bad trope" which "only displaces the same elsewhere, setting up worries about copy and original and the search for the authentic and really real" (Modest Witness 16), what she is really rejecting is the inadequacy of "reflexive monitoring of action." Her own preferred term for describing agency in modernity is "diffraction," an optical metaphor which "is about heterogeneous history," not the reproduction of originals. "Diffraction is a narrative, graphic, psychological, spiritual, and political technology for making consequential meanings" (Modest Witness 27). Sticking with this optical metaphor, instead of producing a mirror image of past production, it modifies the production of future activities. In other words, what Haraway calls "diffraction" can be seen as the same process which Giddens labels "reflexive self-regulation." The exigency for this work seems to be a call to embrace the possibilities of agency, that rather than passively accepting the deterministic restraints of institutional life, the cyborg/agent is one who uses technology to open new pathways to freedom.

C. Formal Elements of "A Cyborg Manifesto
If Haraway is an optimist, she is an ironic, rather than a cockeyed one. She begins the manifesto by announcing her intention to use the text "to build an ironic political myth faithful to feminism, socialism, and materialism" and "At the center of my ironic faith, my blasphemy, is the image of the cyborg" (Cyborg Manifesto 149). By irony, she seems to mean the unlikely pairing of her feminism with the products of a technological society which seems more inclined to subjugate women than empower them. She goes on to define the cyborg as the ultimate hybrid, "of machine and organism ... of fiction and lived experience"

E. Rhetorical Dynamics of Sedgwick's Manifestoes
If the social image of Sedgwick's work is marked by controversy and dispute, the exigency of her work is clear. In her introduction to Epistemology of the Closet, she argues "that an understanding of virtually any aspect of modern Western culture must be, not merely incomplete, but damaged in its central substance to the degree it does not incorporate a critical analysis of modern homo/heterosexual definition" (1). And in "Queer and Now," which opens her the survival of emerging queer identities. She writes that, "I look at my adult friends and colleagues doing gay and lesbian work, and I feel that the survival of each one is a miracle" (1), and that her goal is "to tell kids who are supposed never to learn this, that, farther along, the road widens and the air brightens" (2).
By examining the construction of queer identity, by showing the "kids" an optimistic view of a road that widens, and by demonstrating the inadequacy of sexual taxonomies as defined and practiced by institutions of modernity, "to resist in every way it can the deadening pretended knowingness by which the chisel of modern homo/heterosexual definitional crisis tends, in public discourse, to be hammered most fatally home" (Epistemology 12), Sedwick practices a critique that attempts to pry open those seemingly closed definitions.
Sedwick's critique involves more than analysis; by emphasizing the performative aspects of identity formation she moves her arguments into the genre of the critical manifesto. She writes "that both the act of coming out, and closetedness itself, can be taken as dramatizing certain features of linguistic performativity in ways that have broadly applicable implications" (Tendencies 11 ). This latter statement seems to be performatively calling forth an audience, a rhetorical move we saw as typical of the manifestoes in chapters three and four.
Her texts "Introduction-Axiomatic" from Epistemology of the Closet and "Here and Now" from Tendencies, demonstrate the power of such a performative call.

F. Formal Elements of Sedgwick's Manifestoes
Sedgwick, like Haraway, is an academic. Unlike Haraway, she does not label "Introduction: Axiomatic" or "Queer and Now" as a manifesto, yet in form at least, these two texts bear more of the markers of the modernist manifesto form than Haraway' s self-labeled text. Both contain epigrammatic lists, "Queer and Now" uses bold fonts to preview the contents of each of the manifesto's points, and " Axiomatic" includes a series of numbered "axioms. " And yet each text also pays a certain homage to the conventions of the academic essay, using footnotes, although Sedgwick's project is not as much about developing an allencompassing model (the cyborg), nor does it take a form resembling an academic genre such as the journal article, dissertation, or conference presentation.
Sedgwick's project is much more of a "modest proposal" than Haraway' s.
Axiom 1 of "Axiomatic" is both self-evident and profound: "People are different from each other" (22). In many ways both of her manifestoes attempt to develop a "few respectable conceptual tools for dealing with this fact" (Axiomatic 22).
"Axiomatic" begins with the exigency that "many of the major nodes of thought and knowledge in twentieth century culture as a whole are structured-indeed, fractured-by a chronic, now endemic crisis of homo/heterosexual definition, indicatively male, dating from the end of the nineteenth century" (1). "Queer and Now" announces its motive as a survival narrative by one "haunted by the suicides of adolescents" (2). Both manifestoes attack the tendency of institutions in late modernity to put individuals within sexual categories, and both manifestoes problematize that practice.
"Queer and Now," puts a little "pressure" on the term "sexual identity" and ends up with a list of sixteen elements going into the makeup of that term, beginning with "your biological sex,'' "your self-perceived gender assignment," "masculine or feminine ... personality traits" and moves to those same interrogations of "your preferred partner" and concluding with "your community of cultural and political identification (supposed to correspond to your own identity); and-again-many more" (7-8). Besides the seven "axioms" which define Sedgwick's methodology in "Axiomatic," that manifesto also presents a similar bulleted list of thirteen "things that can differentiate even people of identical gender, race, nationality, class, and 'sexual orientation' -each one ... retains the unaccounted for potential to disrupt many forms of available thinking about sexuality" (25). Even more so than Haraway, it becomes difficult to characterize Sedgwick as a "sustained optimist," given her critique of the group of leftist students to endorse such a complex document would be a difficult task. Hayden writes that the first step along that path was a commitment that "whatever came out would not be final, but that it would be offered as a discussion paper to our generation" (Miller 109). Nevertheless, the convention made several immediate changes to the document, and appointed a drafting committee which included Hayden (who was elected SDS President at the meeting), Al Haber (past president of the organization), and Bob Ross to implement further changes suggested by the discussion groups during the convention (Miller).
The most serious challenges to Hayden ' s draft came from two groups. The Slaiman who was attending the convention as a non~voting observer, objected to wording in Hayden's draft which described a "crisis of vision" in the labor movement. Labor had become "too rich and sluggish" (Miller 112) to be part of a vanguard for social change.
While Slaiman' s objections did not necessarily have to be satisfied, he was supported by Harrington, and the Socialist Party' s concerns had to be taken seriously if the group wished to continue receiving financial and administrative support from the Socialist League for Industrial Democracy, and if it wished to use the Socialist Party' s influence in reaching the "Old Left" (Miller, Sales) ..
After an angry debate in which neither Harrington nor Hayden backed down, the discussion group on "Communism" directed Richard Flacks to work with Hayden to add language which would eventually read that "As democrats, we are in basic opposition to the communist system. The Soviet Union, as a system, rests on the total suppression of opposition, as well as a vision of the future in the name of which much human life has been sacrificed, and numerous small and large denials of human dignity rationalized" (Miller 121 C.

Formal Elements of The Port Huron Statement
The final document, as published in July 1962, is remarkable, both for its vision of a New Left, and for the details of its theoretical analysis. In my opinion, not since Woolf s Three Guineas had there been such a well-theorized manifesto.
Ultimately, it was distributed as a stapled, mimeographed booklet to the entire SDS membership. The drafting committee had elected to call it The Port Huron Statement to emphasize its status as a work in progress. According to Hayden, '"manifesto' sounds like 'case closed' ... 'statement' sounds like 'Take a look at this"' (Miller 141). After an unremarkable introduction titled "Agenda for a New Generation" which follows the typical manifesto formula of describing the exigency for the student movement (the struggle against racism and the threat of nuclear annihilation), the statement moves into a section titled "Values" which emphasized "participatory democracy," a concept Hayden borrowed from Arnold Kaufman, a University of Michigan Philosphy Professor, who was Hayden's academic mentor (Miller, Sales).
For the SDS, "participatory democracy" became something of a transcendent mantra. The SDS saw such grass-roots democracy as a supplement to, rather than a replacement of representative democracy. James Miller notes that to an extent, "the ambiguity surrounding participatory democracy in The Port Huron Statement was deliberate: more than an empty slogan but less than a formal doctrine" (143). However that ambiguity was not universally recognized by all readers. Harrington sees in the term evidence that the students were "nonsocialists who took the formal promises of American democracy with deep and innocent seriousness" (Miller 143), a stance which led the SDS into disillusionment and violence. On the other side of the coin, SDS member Paul Booth argues that the language was performative, "a literary style that we affected. There was no question that we knew that dramatizing the rhetoric versus the reality of democracy was politically efficacious" (Miller 143). Hayden himself argues that participatory democracy meant "action; we believed in action. We had behind us the so-called decade of apathy; we were emerging from apathy" "sustained optimism" This can also be seen in the closing of the manifesto which states that "If we appear to seek the unattainable, as it has been said, then let it be known that we do so to avoid the unimaginable" (Miller 374). The failure of the student movement to achieve its lofty goals, and the tragedy that the SDS is remembered today more for the violence of the Weatherman faction than for the well-reasoned politics of The Port Huron Statement is perhaps indicative of the practices of a Global Information System which finds the rhetoric of the wellcrafted bomb more usable than the rhetoric of the well-reasoned argument. Street Journal chanting "We're here, we're queer, we're not going skiing" which interrupted a tourism presentation by the mayor of Denver, after Colorado had adopted an anti-gay proposition. These actions culminated in the non-violent march of20,000 Lesbians on the White House in April 1993 .
Again, like the SDS, the Lesbian Avengers demonstrated their faith in the power of political action within the American system, even while their actions were a critique of that system. Both are examples of the type of Reflexive Self-Regulation elaborated by Giddens which can not only tolerate, but effectively utilize the paradoxes and inconsistencies at work within the institutions oflate modernity.

F. Formal Elements of The Dyke Manifesto
The Lesbian Avengers depart from the serious form of the other manifestoes treated to this point in their use of ironic humor and parody in their form. However, with their use of the broadsheet, and campy design, they also seem to be reproducing some of the elements of the avant-garde manifestoes of the futurists. According to Janet Lyon, the language of The Dyke Manifesto is "something quite different than a choral voice seeking access and privileges of the liberal bourgeois public sphere" (38) and that its project is "nothing less than a dramatic exposure and upending of the implicit universal standards by which the control of access is regulated" (38). I concur with Lyon's contention about the nature of the Avenger's text. However I disagree with her claim that this project of The Dyke Manifesto is "shared by virtually all manifestoes" (38) and that "However paratactic or irreverant or systematic a manifesto may be, it always makes itself intelligible by putting the case of a particular group into a context that honors the idea of a universal political subject" (39). This statement seems to ignore the long history of manifestoes written by avant-garde artistic movements, from the futurists' Slap in the Face of Public Taste, to Tristan Tzara' s dadaist Note on Art, to Charles Bernstein's The Conspiracy of "Us" which announces '" We' ain't about no new social groupings-nobody gotta move over-this is the deconstruction of the team" (Caws 639). The avant-garde writer is frequently not interested in contesting the public sphere, and the idea of a universal political subject is not only irrelevant, but frequently lampooned by these artists. poems which advocated a new poetic form which could "engage the political, economic, historical, and social realities" (Perloff 1990, 134). O' Hara found such grandiose statements of aesthetic principle not only flawed, but humorous. For O'Hara poetry was a simpler process, and like the other manifestoes we have covered in this chapter, he preferred action over excessive theorizing: "I don't even like rhythm, assonance, all that stuff You just go on your nerve. If someone's chasing you down the street with a knife you just run, you don't tum around and shout 'Give it up! I was a track star for Mineola Prep"' (Caws 591).

H. The Social Image of O'Hara's Personism
O'Hara goes on to mockingly describe in typical manifesto fashion, the exigency of the movement: personism. It was founded by me after lunch with LeRoi Jones on August 27, 1959, a day in which I was in love with someone (not Roi, by the way, a blond). I went back to work and wrote a poem for this person. While I was writing it I was realizing that ifl wanted to I could use the telephone instead of writing the poem and so Personism was born. It's a very exciting movement which will undoubtedly have lots of adherents. It puts the poem squarely between the poet and the person, Lucky Pierre style, and the poem is correspondingly gratified. The poem is at last between two persons instead of two pages (Caws 592).
O'Hara' s humorous critique of aesthetic theorists blasts away at what seem to be some of the central tenets of the manifesto form : its mocks the manifesto's intent at building an audience ("lots of adherents"), it implicitly critiques the manifesto's use of the Lutheran "We" (I was writing, I was in love), and it mocks the rhetorical complexity of the form by instead embracing a radical Bakhtinian dialogism which deconstructs the importance poststructuralism gives to the text ("between two persons instead of two pages"). Yet there is a serious message underneath the poem: a coy, yet brave reference to his homosexuality in pre-Stonewall 1959 (I was in love with someone .. . not Roi ... a blonde) is indicative of a radical subjectivity which as Harriet Zinnes notes, "demonstrates his conviction that life is first, not only in the living but in the making: it must precede art" (Elledge 56).

I. Formal Elements of O'Hara's Personism
O'Hara's manifesto, performatively enacts his aesthetic by refusing to take its own message seriously. In doing so, O'Hara, in a remarkably un-self-conscious manner, created a gay sensibility that ironically, did exactly what he showed little interest in doing in Personism-it led to a movement now known simply as the New York school of poetry. As Marjorie Perloff notes, "His was the spirit that held together a whole group of artisans and poets-gay and straight-in New Turner has collapsed!" and "The Day Lady Died" ironically criticize the methods by which the Global Information System has created this utopian vision of sunny Hollywood with its strange star system, yet demonstrates the way in which that sunny paradise is marred by events such as Turner's collapse, and Billy Holiday' s death. O'Hara's legacy as the poet who found a pastoral richness in modern urban life marks him as representative of the sustained optimism which Giddens sees as essential to survival in late modernity. His camp sensibility becomes a survival mechanism, as is clearly evident in "The Day Lady Died," which shows the poet already ready to deal with the next apocalypse, ready to write the next elegy, a survivalism which could seem eerily anachronistic, and yet doesn't, to a generation which has experienced the devastation of AIDS. By collapsing the "we" of the public sphere, O'Hara creates a smaller, more manageable alternative.
As Herring notes, "unlike Habermas, O'Hara does not yearn for an idyllic age of reason. And unlike the New Critics, he celebrates poetic form's now inextricable connection to consumerism and the society of spectacle" ( 419). Yet he also criticizes that spectacle even as he celebrates it: the public's infatuation with Lana Turner's every move in the fifties seems innocent compared with the public's infatuation with every detail of the life and death of Lady Diana in the nineties.
His voice in both "The Day Lady Died" and "Lana Turner has collapsed" is the voice of the newspaper headline addressing a mass public, yet we know that O'Hara's personal poems are addressing a much more local public. As Herring puts it, the poems are "in search of a localized public using the techniques of mass subjectivity" (422). Private acts become public, the personal poems become transported to the public through the impersonal voice of the media, and O'Hara lets his personism collapse into one great big dialectical fusion of the personal and the public.

V. A Brief Conclusion
These critical manifestoes show that the genre is as plastic as ever, and that writers are still finding new and creative ways at adapting the form to the needs of the social context of late modernity. The fact that these five manifestoes, all very different in purpose, style, and form, all manage to say something new about the construction of subjectivity in late modernity, again restates the dynamic power of the manifesto genre.

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In chapter 1, I framed the question if a manifesto cannot be defined by its formal features, what can define it? Figure 1 in that chapter showed that only two features were shared by even 75% of the manifestoes examined in this project, and those features were broad rhetorical purposes: "the challenge to an institution or practice," and "the intention to form a community oflike-minded thinkers." Expanding those principles into our working definition-manifestoes as textual elaborations of political or aesthetic beliefs which challenge existing, and attempt to constitute new religious, political or artistic institutions and movementsseems to be about as close as we can come to "nailing down" the form. The form as we recognize it today certainly has performative and critical elements to it, but those elements have gradually emerged, as other elements have waned, only to occasionally reappear. Beebe is not too far off the mark when he argues that the formal elements of a genre like the manifesto creates "a system of differences without positive terms" (256). However the system is not textual, or formal: it is a social system, an embedded process which writers draw on, adapt, and reproduce.
Manifestoes are social acts, acts which demonstrate the creative perforrnativity of agents working both with and against the social institutions which constrain and enable them.