Welcome back to Philosopher Fridays, where I tackle philosophers I find intriguing in very fragmented ways. In my last two entries, I tackled Walter Benjamin on history, story, and the messy ruins of any dialectical project. This week, I return to Benjamin once more to give a brief overview of his most famous essay: “The Work of Art in the Age of Mechanical Reproduction“.
Written in 1936, “Art in the Age” is the rough culmination of Benjamin’s thoughts on the politics of art and the ruins of historicity, connecting the political, the economic, and the artistic in a cohesive critique. While there are many fascinating things to take from this essay about Marxist theory and the destructive nature of progress, what makes this essay stand out above other similar critiques is its romanticization of artistic authenticity, and what he perceives to be its ever quickening decay. In this post, I will be taking up just a very small piece of what makes this essay so fascinating, and extrapolating fairly loosely in my commentary. Please take this as the commentary of a layman, and not a Benjaminian scholar of even the most novice caliber.
I’ve written before about the power of seeing an original work of art in person. To see a copy of something great – a photograph or print of a great work of art, for example – simply isn’t the same as seeing the real thing. There’s something about the original, unadulterated by changes incurred in producing the copy, that is truly special, but it goes beyond merely the degradation of a copy. What’s different about it is also its uniqueness, its connection to its maker, to its context, and its age, which are all slightly metaphysical qualities. Benjamin calls this unique authenticity its aura.
The uniqueness of a work of art is inseparable from its being imbedded in the fabric of tradition. This tradition itself is throughly alive and extremely changeable. An ancient statue of Venus, for example, stood in a different traditional context with the Greeks, who made it an object of veneration, than with the clerics of the Middle Ages, who viewed it as an ominous idol. Both of them, however, were equally confronted with its uniqueness, that is, its aura. Originally the contextual integration of art in tradition found its expression in the cult. We know that the earliest art works originated in the service of a ritual–first the magical, then the religious kind. It is significant that the existence of the work of art with reference to its aura is never entirely separated from its ritual function. In other words, the unique values of the ‘authentic’ work of art has its basis in ritual, the location of its original use value (Section IV).
When you reproduce a work of art en masse, let’s say a painting, you don’t just alter the tones of the colors or flatten the texture, you change what it means. When printed on coasters, mouse pads, and t-shirts, a masterpiece is no longer the expression of an artist, but becomes like a brand identity as it is used to express the tastes of the owner of the coaster and t-shirt. And when lots of people do this with a piece of art, it begins to lose its meaning. Munch’s The Scream and Monet’s Water Lilies are diluted into college cliches as they become lodged in our mind’s as “dorm art.”
It just gets worse for Benjamin when art is designed with reproducibility – or rather, realistic reproduction – in mind. Photography, film, and musical recordings remove from us our reflective imagination:
…mechanical reproduction emancipates the work of art from its parasitical dependence on ritual. To an ever greater degree the work of art reproduced becomes the work of art designed for reproducibility. From a photographic negative, for example, one can make any number of prints; to ask for the ‘authentic’ print makes no sense. But the instant the criterion of authenticity ceases to be applicable to artistic production, the total function of art is reversed. Instead of being based on ritual, it begins to be based on another practice–politics (Section IV).
Beyond that, Benjamin claims that our connection to the art itself is necessarily mediated in such that there is no original, and whatever authenticity may have been involved in the creation of the reproducible art is effectively cut off. Motion pictures seem to bear the brunt of his critique:
The camera that presents the performance of the film actor to the public need not respect the performance as an integral whole. Guided by the cameraman, the camera continually changes its position with respect to the performance. The sequence of positional views which the editor composes from the material supplied him constitutes the completed film. It comprises certain factors of movement which are in reality those of the camera, not to mention special camera angle, close-ups, etc. (Section VIII).
To add to that, post-production in its modern form goes far beyond editing – there are color filters and sound effects and musical scores, not to mention intercut pick ups (shots filmed at a later date), computer graphics layered into the scene, and more.
While it is certainly possible to see this cumulative process as itself an art form of a collective (as I do – I love film), Benjamin’s point remains: no matter how much of your heart and soul you pour into your performance, your set pieces, your editing, your post-production, or what-have-you, the art-piece itself has no real connection to you or the part you’ve played in creating it, given that your piece of the puzzle can be irrevocable altered by another member of the collective. A brilliantly dramatic performance by an actor can be rendered a farce by a simple change in score. A wonderfully color-balanced scene is ruined by a smudge on the projector lens. A beautifully shot scene may be filled with a cringe-worthy script that even the most talented actor would fail to deliver. The actor, the prop-master, the director, the cameraman, the editor, etc. can never themselves impart the authenticity of artistic creation; for Benjamin, the cameraman could never be simply compared to the painter, who by himself creates the whole of the work of art (Section XI).
Although theatrical performance can also be parsed as collective efforts – the stage actor still has a script to follow, a director blocking her scenes, and more – this fragmentation seems to matter less on stage. An otherwise mediocre play can be made great by an actor who connects emotionally with her audience there in the moment, creating a holistic experience. Watching a live performance takes more active effort to grasp, because the viewer is more removed from the performance – there is only one angle, there are few special effects, and there is only one location. You cannot help but take an actively imaginative role as you watch, because the moment, once it is passed, can never be regained, it is a special moment between artist and viewer. Movies, on the other hand, in being both mediated and repeatable, are more passive, leaving us desirous of that connection.
In an answer to the lack of artistic aura, we mythologize the personalities of the actors outside of the films through the “cult of the movie star.” By doing this, we can, he explains, have the notion of the auratic original. To meet the actor is to see the holistic original we never quite get in the experience of a film. Because there is no direct connection without auratic cult and the work of art, our attentions are once again diluted. In chasing the celebrity, we seek the connection we would normally receive from the performance itself.
In the case of the artwork designed for its reproducibility: “The public is an examiner, but an absent minded one” (Section XV).
I’ve left out a great deal from this post; Benjamin goes on to speak of optics, of passive and active artistic appreciation, of capitalism, and even of revolution, but what strikes me as most interesting in this piece is his focus on the fragmentation of mechanically reproducible art. I’d like to simply disagree with him, because as I’ve said, I love film. I want to think that there’s an aura created in the making of a film that isn’t inherently different from other collective artistic endeavors. But I can’t bring myself to deny that there is a marked difference between watching a raw stage performance and seeing a brushed up, processed movie performance.
Ultimately, I think that we can retrain ourselves to take that active role in connecting with films to reclaim an aura tic experience if we choose, just as many people are able to sit passively at a play or in front of a painting and remain unmoved. But there’s still something here that’s both intriguing and compelling. After all, we do still go to museums and plays, and value that which is unique or handmade over that which is widely available and easily reproduced. Perhaps we’re all just being pretentious when we’re turned off by electronically altered music and photoshopped images, romanticizing the artisanal and the raw, but perhaps there’s a good reason to curmudgeonly resist the ever more rapidly merging of technology and art.
While I can’t say that this essay answers this dilemma all that clearly, it certainly raises some great questions that I still can’t overlook. I’ll likely be returning to it for some time.
Stories & Soliloquies 
10 thoughts on “Philosopher Fridays: Benjamin in the Age of Mechanical Reproduction”
James Pailly
I love this post, and this is definitely someone I want to hear more about.
But perhaps it’s worth noting that the great master artists of old sometimes hired large numbers of assistants, to the point that modern scholars aren’t always sure if a given painting is 100% the artist’s work or a collaboration of the artist and the people working for him.
It’s also worth mentioning that artists of the past and today (myself included) often use live models for our work. Does that mean a painting is merely presenting the model’s performance filtered through the eye and brush of the painter? Is either the painting or the model’s performance diminished because of that?
We have new technologies, and that is changing the way we produce art. As an artist, that does make me feel a little uncomfortable. But I think Walter Benjamin is worried about losing a sense purity that, if we take a close look at art history, we might find didn’t really exist. At least not in the way we usually imagine it.
M. Joelle
I agree with you, but to be charitable to Benjamin, he does seem aware that reproduction is a part of art from the very first day we developed tools. I think he’s speaking more in degrees of authenticity rather than in clear distinctions. In the case of the model, the painter is considered the artist, whereas in the case of film, we’re still meant to see the actor as the artist even as we’re actually seeing the work of the camera, so that’s a difference. But I agree, there’s a lot to consider here – Benjamin gears his views towards commodification and a critique of capitalist politics , which may be the key element I left out.
James Pailly
I can agree that there’s something wrong when art gets over-commercialized. I recently saw an umbrella for sale with Van Gogh’s Starry Night printed on it, and that made me cringe a little.
But laying the blame on new technologies, like cameras, or on collaborative processes within the arts… I feel that Benjamin’s missed the mark.
However, even though I disagree him, I find Benjamin’s point of view instructive. I’m not sure I fully appreciated the collaborative side of art myself until today’s post forced me to think about it.
M. Joelle
I’m in your shoes – I feel like I agree, but I don’t agree, but I’m intrigued in any case!
stephencwinter
To begin by agreeing:
1) Any one who has stood before a great work of art for long enough will know that Benjamin is right to evoke the ritual purpose of art. As I read your piece I was reminded of the experience of standing before Pablo Picasso’s “Les Miserables” of 1904. I stood and looked for about 30 minutes as the painting came alive before me. I knew the detail of title and date because I just took the catalogue from a bookshelf. Indeed when I opened it to look at the photographic reproduction of the painting I was reminded of the power of that first experience but knew that I could not reproduce that moment.
To continue by modifying the argument as I have understood it today. Please feel free to say that I have misunderstood Benjamin here:
2) There is also fine writing about art. One might include Benjamin’s essay here when we speak of such writing. A collection of reviews written by Andrew Motion, one time poet-laureate in the UK, also come to mind. Motion enables me to look at a work of art in a different way, not least because he tells me what to look for in a painting; a particular detail that I might have otherwise missed. I do not regard such writing to be parasitic upon the original work but to create a particular relationship with it. This is a plea for great critical writing to be considered as art.
To end with a disagreement:
3) When Benjamin speaks of film surely he confuses means and ends? I note above that you speak of Benjamin’s critique of commodification within capitalism and I would agree with him. I would not agree that all film in and of itself will lead to commodification. I think the film maker deserves the possibility of respect for what he/she is trying to achieve.
Thank you for giving me something to think about. I love Philosophy Fridays!
M. Joelle
You raise some great points, and I agree basically with everything you’ve said here – you’ve left me with even more to think about! There are some aesthetic theories that argue that art culminates in philosophy as it becomes more and more self-expository, making writing like this just as much “art” as anything else (search “End of Art Thesis” for Hegel and Danto and commentaries/criticisms if you want to give up a day or two to reading more about art and politics and history).
Another great place to look for writing that makes art come alive is the blog Standing Ovation Seater (https://artmoscow.wordpress.com). It’s one of my favorite sites, and I think you’d enjoy it based on what you’ve said here.
I’m glad you’re enjoying the series. I wish I were more familiar with Benjamin scholarship so as to better answer these questions!
Steve Morris
Human creativity underlies all artistic and design endeavours. Who is to say whether the iPhone 6 is less worthy than an original painting?
M. Joelle
This one is a little more difficult for me; on the one hand, I completely get Benjamin’s impulse. People do have a desire for the “real” or the “authentic”, even if we’re speaking in degrees of change rather than essential quality. I’d rather hear someone play an instrument and sing live than an electronically altered version.
But then, on the other hand, once I look at it at all closely, I can’t really come to any other conclusion than what you’ve said. I want to, but I can’t. It’s like the debate over processed foods – we’d like to prefer “whole”, unprocessed foods to packaged, highly altered food, but when you take a closer look, everything we eat is processed. Picking the fruit off the tree is a process. Cleaning the fruit is a process. Cutting it is a process. Mixing it with sugar over the stove is a process. Baking it into a pie is a process. Squeezing out juice is a process. What makes these processes somehow more acceptable than others is, frankly, nothing of great substance for most people (as most people aren’t food scientists or nutritionists), and yet there’s still the idea that the homemade pie is intrinsically better than the Little Debbie version. We want the organic apple, not the GMO one. We’re ok with some chemicals, but only the ones we can pronounce with ease or make ourselves.
This notion of “authentic aura” is the same, really. We just “know” the original painting is better than the forgery, even if we couldn’t personally tell the difference in a blind test. The unique, one of a kind piece of artisanal craftsmanship is more valuable than the mass produced version for no other reason than the fact that it’s unique.
But then back to the first hand, there’s at least merit in attempting to understand why we have this desire – even if it’s a desire for something we can’t prove exists or even explain (or even that which clearly doesn’t exist; Tolkien and Lewis engaged in similar discussions about their desire for dragons). The fact that we have this desire makes it important to examine, because if the desire is real, then it can impact and reflect our cultural and personal decisions, values, and view of reality in a really interesting way.
But I’m perhaps leaving philosophy behind and treading into the murky waters of psychology, where I may be a bit out of my depth.
Steve Morris
The “I could do that” notion carries some power. Perhaps it is not so much that “I could do that”, but that “I can see how that is done”. Is that what we call authentic?
Home-made apple pie wins over mass-produced pie every time by that argument (and probably on health grounds too, since highly processed food is correlated with cancer and heart disease, but that’s an entirely different argument.)
But this is surely a matter of taste. Many people adore the kind of cutting-edge design that can only be machine-produced, and they prefer this to artsy-crafty traditional production. What Benjamin denigrates as “reproduction” ignores the fact that the design for mass-produced objects is just as much a creative human process as the hand fabrication of an individual work of art.
Besides, when you broaden the definition of art to include literature (something that Benjamin seems to conveniently ignore), the “original” makes almost no sense at all. Who (apart from a biographer or researcher) wants to thumb through scraps of paper with illegible handwriting and heavy crossings-out? Give me the (mass-produced) published version anytime!
M. Joelle
That is a perfect way to describe it – we like manufacturing processes we could at least imagine ourselves trying, and feel disconnected from processes we don’t understand. I have more to say here, but I think I’m going to save it for a follow up blog post. Thanks for the inspiration!