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Walter Benjamin in The Age of Digital Reproduction
Walter Benjamin in The Age of Digital Reproduction
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NICK PEIM
What claim might be made for presenting the figure of Walter Benjamin
(1892–1940) and one particular text, ‘The Work of Art in the Age of
Mechanical Reproduction’ (1999a), in the context of philosophy of
education? While Benjamin is not conventionally regarded as a
philosopher, various claims have been made on Benjamin’s behalf for
his having cultivated ‘a highly original philosophical method’ and one
which is concerned, among many other things, with ‘a dialectics of seeing’
(Buck-Morse, 1991, pp. 6, 9). My approach here to this key text in
Benjamin’s oeuvre addresses some phenomenological and ontological
questions, beyond ‘a dialectics of seeing’, about authorship and authority,
and the interpretation and status of texts. These things we might refer to as
BENJAMIN AS AURA
There can be no singular answer to what makes Benjamin significant—in
relation to questions of knowledge and education, or indeed to any other
matters. The name of Walter Benjamin symbolises a number of qualities,
events, judgements and positions. It is a name that conjures an era, an
identity, a style of intellect and a way of thinking and seeing, as well as a
way of being in the world. Benjamin’s ‘aura’ is the product of this restless,
multidimensional, polysemic symbolism. This aura is magnified and
intensified by the status of Walter Benjamin as a figure, an author, a
‘genius’ whose life is also subject to various representations, re-makings,
reinterpretations and redefinitions—the centre of a welter of signifying
acts and texts (Grasskamp, 1993). This figure of Benjamin clearly serves
as a metaphor for past ‘objects’ via a range of sources, via different
interpretative configurations, different forms of archive. In all this the
figure of Benjamin comes to enjoy its own specific kind of aura—an
excess that attributes significances to the name.
One way to identify Walter Benjamin that is highly relevant to the field
of education is as an author, a figure established and, in the Foucauldian
sense, archived and registered as an author associated with certain themes
and domains of knowledge. This is to locate Benjamin as a figure in
discourse. This process of granting recognition lends a particular
significance and authority to texts and textual material associated with
the name: and, for us, in the Nietzschean sense, the name is all we have to
give a kind of coherence, or at least the semblance of a unity, to the textual
legacy (Nietzsche, 1992; Derrida, 1986). As indicated, the identity of
Benjamin is always a textual matter, always a composite of readings and
established meanings. This ‘author figure’ (to borrow Foucault’s phrase) is
a composite of these assigned readings and meanings (Foucault, 1988).
Among these readings and meanings are the narrative details and
documentary fragments of the life as embedded in a particular phase of
modern European history: this open-ended archive includes childhood
photographs, memoirs, a series of postcards, copies of the signature, the
final unpaid hotel bill and other documents that constitute an evolving and
decentred archive (Scheurmann, 1993). This association—of the name to
the documentary fragments, to the figure—in turn lends a particular
resonance also to the work that is deemed to be more than contingently
marked by the life and its historical context. As Benjamin is established as
an author with certain features and qualities, this same figure also becomes
the subject (or object?) of a discourse of character—and of a discourse of
history.
Benjamin’s person becomes an object of interest, a symbol of its times:
he was, we are told, a troubled soul, a saturnine spirit, a European above
all, though always already an exile and by lifestyle choice a wanderer on
the borders: very much a spirit of the times. Benjamin is the unlikely and
hopelessly. Then came the film and burst this prison-world asunder by the
dynamite of the tenth of a second, so that now in the midst of its far-flung
ruins and debris, we calmly and adventurously go travelling. With the
close-up, space expands; with slow motion, movement is extended. The
enlargement of a snapshot does not simply render more precise what in
any case was visible, though unclear; it reveals entirely new structural
formations of the subject. So, too, slow motion not only presents familiar
qualities of movement but reveals them in entirely unknown ones ‘which,
far from looking like retarded rapid movements, give the effect of
singularly gliding, floating, supernatural motions’ [Rudolf Arnheim, Film
als Kunst, Berlin, 1932, p. 138]. Evidently a different nature opens itself
to the camera than opens to the naked eye—if only because unconsciously
penetrated space is substituted for a space consciously explored by man.
Even if one has a general knowledge of the way people walk, one knows
nothing of a person’s posture during the fractional second of a stride. The
act of reaching for a lighter or a spoon is a familiar routine, yet we hardly
know what really goes on between hand and metal, not to mention how
this fluctuates with our moods. Here the camera intervenes with the
resources of its lowerings and liftings, it interruptions and isolations, its
extensions and accelerations, its enlargements and reductions. The camera
introduces us to unconscious optics as does psychoanalysis to uncon-
scious impulses (pp. 229–230).
1981). It is both Benjamin’s Marxism and his symbolic aura that have
made this essay so congenial to contemporary Cultural Studies.
Introspectively alert to the public world of objects and spaces, as his
arcade meanderings witness, Benjamin has particularly good credentials
for the newly emerging project of Cultural Studies. Benjamin’s displaced
self makes his work especially interesting in relation to the emerging
claim for a politics of identity through engagement with popular culture.12
How, then, might the significance of Benjamin’s ‘The Work of Art in
the Age of Mechanical Reproduction’ for philosophy of education in the
age of digital reproduction be summarised? One way of approaching
this question is to cease to engage with Benjamin as an author—an
author ‘speaking’ (metaphysically loaded metaphor) or writing—to us, for
us—with the authority or aura of ‘genius’ (Foucault, 1977, 1988). If we
are to engage with his work in a different way, a certain fairly deeply
embedded (in ‘everyday’ discourses and in the more formal discourses
of education, for instance) approach to writing will have to be displaced
by a more grammatological attitude that refuses the seductive ideas
of language, presence, voice, self-expression and so on (Derrida, 1976,
1978, 1982, 1987). We are, after all, reading a text, a material entity
rather than communing with the self-presence of a voice and a
consciousness.
What Macherey does for literature and Foucault does for the author,
Benjamin does in reverse for popular culture (Macherey, 1978; Foucault,
1988). Macherey’s (later) Marxist account of literary production locates
the literary within a historically engendered set of social practices—and
highlights the uses of literature in relation to social reproduction in
education. Foucault’s ‘What is an Author?’ reminds of the historical
contingency of this idea in the first place and of the emergence of the
institutions and discourses that give life to and sustain the idea of literature
as a distinct domain of writing, undercutting its currency and deflating its
aura. Macherey’s Marxist inspired account of literary production
establishes the relation between the literary and social practices,
specifically in relation to the practices of schooling in the field of literacy
and the specialised, examinable techniques of textual analysis. Although
temporally prior, Benjamin’s thinking goes beyond Macherey’s in its
realisation of the domain of culture as radically altered, deconfigured and
reconfigured by socio-technological changes in modes of production and
representation. Clearly, this process must be massively accelerated by the
rapidity and extent that digital forms of reproduction allow (Demac,
1990).
This is what makes Benjamin appear as postmodern. The ‘work of art’
comes to stand as a metaphor for culture. Culture is reconceived in terms
of social symbolic practice—as against the traditional articulation of
subject (artist), object (work) and, in an altogether other space, audience.
This is the road that leads, through film theory, to contemporary audience
theory, which dislodges the idea of text and form as bearers of monologic
meanings (Lapsley and Westlake, 1988). This also corresponds with the
‘end’ of grand narratives of enlightenment through exposure to culture
CONCLUSION
It is possible to read ‘The Work of Art in the Age of Mechanical
Reproduction’ as a treatise on the status of certain kinds of knowledge—as
a critique of the mystique of hieratic knowledge. On this reading, the text
NOTES
1. Heidegger would eschew the subject-object divide by positing the historically located nature of
human being as Dasein. See Being and Time (Heidegger, 1962).
2. Lyotard’s The Postmodern Condition is particularly concerned to define significant shifts in the
grounds of knowledge.
3. The organisations in questions are NATE (National Association for the Teaching of English),
AATE (The Australian Association for the Teaching of English) and NCTE (National Council
for the Teaching of English).
4. The essay was written in 1936.
5. Terry Eagleton notes this ‘prescient’ quality (Eagleton, 1981). Benjamin’s work strikingly
prefigures many of the motifs of post-structuralism.
6. De Saussure famously proposes the idea of ‘a science that studies the life of signs within
society’.
7. The text refers to ‘graduated and hierarchized mediation’ in relation to the reception of
paintings and the development of a ‘public’. Earlier, the text has drawn our attention
to the change in perception wrought by Freud’s Psychopathology of Everyday Life, which is
likened to the effect of the film on our awareness of the ‘entire spectrum of the optical’
(p. 237).
8. In the influential British journal, Screen, film theory became highly elaborate, drawing on a range
of disciplines including psychoanalysis, anthropology, semiotics and linguistics, and very much
concerned with the politics of representation.
9. Audience studies arose in the mid-1980s as a movement within Media Studies and Cultural
Studies away from concerns with the intrinsic properties and meanings of texts towards a
concern with how texts and media were actually being read and made sense of and with the ways
that texts and media formed significant elements in the lived experiences of their users. Pre-
eminent theorists were Ien Ang (1985, 1991) and John Fiske (1989a; 1989b). Ang’s Watching
Dallas (1985) was something of a founding statement.
10. Concerns about perception, meaning and representation might be characterised as having two
main strands: one is the phenomenological tradition in philosophy initiated by Husserl; the other
is the linguistics that follows from de Saussure. These two strands combine particularly in the
work of Derrida.
11. Different perspectives, from both right and left: common denunciations of popular culture as
eroding values.
12. Benjamin stands (in so many ways!) opposed to the later Heidegger’s pastoral-mystical
tendencies: as the cosmopolitan, knowing wanderer in the arcade, displaced person in exile from
exile. Heidegger invokes a mystical return to an attentiveness to Being, while Benjamin is
immersed in the detailed historical engagement with very contemporary beings.
13. This description drastically reduces the difference between Lyotard’s agonistic postmodern
condition and Habermas’s idea of public communication and the necessary continuation of the
modernist collective project.
14. In a recent discussion of moral and ethical issues in relation to ‘literature and the arts’ David Carr
and Robert Davis present an argument that considers difficulties that may arise in relation to the
specific moral or ethical properties of texts. In doing so, they never question the identity of texts
that appear within the category of art and never consider the nature of that categorisation. Their
concluding statement indicates the extent to which their argument remains firmly within a
framework that accepts the accrued value of ‘works of art’ that are, in the structure of the essay,
to be distinguished from works of popular culture: ‘the moral and spiritual status of
Shakespeare’s King Lear, Dostoevsky’s Crime and Punishment, Goya’s Saturn or Wagner’s
The Ring is surely not something to be determined on political grounds alone (at any rate, on any
narrow construal of ‘‘political’’), and such works ought not to be ruled educationally out or in
according to whether they are at odds with the sensitivities of particular individuals or
communities. On the contrary, the fact that they are so at odds may well be the best educational
reason for ruling them in.’ We may ponder on the phrase ‘at odds with the sensitivities of
particular individuals or communities’ and how this might resonate if the word ‘sensitivities’
were replaced with the word ‘sensibilities’. The idea of the socio-cultural status of textual
material does not get addressed in this paper that clearly takes for granted the intrinsic, hieratic
value of the cited texts. Their essay is full of such automatic references to established canonical
texts (Carr and Davis, 2007).
15. This is demonstrated in some small way by the fact that ‘The Work of Art . . .’ is available
online: http://www.marxists.org/reference/subject/philosophy/works/ge/benjamin.htm
REFERENCES
Adorno, T. (1991) The Culture Industry (London, Routledge).
Ang, I. (1985) Watching Dallas (London, Routledge).