(Ben)Jamin' with Dr. Phil: part 2?

In “The Work of Art in the Age of Mechanical Reproduction,” Walter Benjamin asserts that “even the most perfect reproduction of a work of art is lacking in one element: its presence in time and space, its unique existence at the place where it happens to be.” (Illuminations 220). Benjamin goes further, pointing out that reproduction through mechanical processes also removes itself from the original and places the subsequent copies “into situations which would be out of reach for the original.” (Ibid). In the case of Dr. Phil episodes, this is particularly true. Imagine a guest sitting down and watching the show they appeared on during a repeat, a year or so later. If symptoms and psychoses have intensified, it is easy to see how the patient would feel manipulated, abandoned, and like a failure. If the condition originally complained of has improved, it is likewise easy to comprehend how a repeat could retrigger or reshape a latent disorder. This is, of course, not exactly replicated when an average viewer watches a repeat, or a first-run example of mechanical reproduction. Benjamin is adamant, however, that this is as true for a spectator as it is for a participant. It is what he calls the “aura” withering, becoming alienated, and losing its uniqueness (222). While this idea has comprehensive implications for all arts and communicative media, Benjamin is focusing on film. Just as film loses ritualistic value and the ability to interact with an audience, Dr. Phil’s program—as compared to a heretofore non-existent live theatre version of Dr. Phil—is embroiled in difficulties since Dr. Phil is psychoanalyzing and performing, not for real live people, but to a camera. The audience, as Benjamin points out, is put in the position of the critic, identifying with the unseen cameraman, seeing Dr. Phil only through his mechanical, impersonal eyes (228). While Dr. Phil claims that his show aims to help viewers at home (particularly children) as much as he tries to help guests, this is of course impossible in a true psychoanalytical sense. Dr. Phil has the most powerful and oppressive bodyguard conceivable in the camera, taking away the audience’s freedom and preventing two-way communication. Benjamin describes a consequence by positing that “the aura that envelops the actor disappears, and with it the aura of the figure he portrays.” (229). The mechanical reproduction inherent in the television industry seems to analogously extinguish the aura to the person, the real humanness, of Dr. Phil. What is left? According to Benjamin it is the “spell of the personality” and “the phony spell of a commodity.” (231). The difference between a person and a star has nothing to do with their ability to communicate artistically and everything to do with whether or not they are being filmed. Film’s salvation is that it changes the methods of participation in a way that has positive, as well as negative, effects. It can be personal in a new, mechanical way in the sense that it is perhaps better adapted than any artistic medium to “mobilize the masses.” (240). If the Dr. Phil show is unsuccessful, then, it may have less to do with the capabilities and disabilities that follow the camera, and more to do with the limits of psychoanalysis. Unless one is speaking of a mass psychosis, a public and communal therapy is useless by its very nature. Benjamin ends his essay with a rather curious epilogue. Thinking of the essay as a quarreling over semantics or an arcane argument about aesthetics is shown to be completely false. In fact, as Benjamin makes clear, what is at stakes is far more serious: fascism, modern society, and war. Benjamin (a Marxist, of course) has a simple solution: “politicizing art.” (242). Dr. Phil’s politics are about as personal and overt as is his contact with the television audience. Following Benjamin’s model, Dr. Phil’s vague and cautious political aesthetic—“children are important!” and “craziness is bad!”—is the perfect fodder for a war-mongering fascist. The only question remaining is whether the aggressive Fascist of the future is today’s Dr. Phil or the viewers of his enduring repeats.

(Ben)Jamin' with Dr. Phil: part 1?

Today is Christmas, a holiday with strong Messianic overtones. It seems only fitting, therefore, that we celebrate with an exegesis of Walter Benjamin, the Jewish philosopher who points out that “like every generation that preceded us, we have been endowed with a weak Messianic power.” (“Theses on the Philosophy of History,” Illuminations, 254). Benjamin writes that “there is a secret agreement between the past generations and the present one” wherein the past asserts a claim that “cannot be settled cheaply.” (Ibid.) Benjamin’s philosophy of time is probably best expressed through his conception of “the angel of history.” (257). Benjamin’s description is worth a closer examination:

“His face is turned toward the past. Where we perceive a chain of events, he sees one single catastrophe which keeps piling wreckage upon wreckage and hurls it in front of his feet. The angel would like to stay, awaken the dead, and make whole what has been smashed. But a storm is blowing from Paradise; it has got caught in his wings with such violence that the angel can no longer close them. This storm irresistibly propels him into the future to which his back is turned, while the pile of debris before him grows skyward. This storm is what we call progress.” (257-258).

In fact, we call this storm the t.v. schedule. One of the particularly interesting aspects of Benjamin’s portrayal of history is what it does to the viewer. Besides the approximate deification, the viewer is actually flummoxed. For one, the angel of history cannot see where he or she is going. If it is being blown away from Paradise with such force, it also seems that it will not be able to return, at least not any time soon. Perhaps most importantly, the angel is in a constant state of parallax and vertigo as it continually sees history building as a giant trail of self-created refuse and wreckage. This can all be easily adapted to the small scale temporal world that exists on and around television. Somewhat recent inventions and industry changes such as Tivo or DVDs of popular shows do, in some ways, alleviated the pain and chaos felt by the angel. In its most basic sense, however, watching television forces the viewer to take the position of the angel. Television cannot, of course, show the future. The viewer is placated and distracted with elaborate (often trashy) images of the past in lieu of control and awareness which must remain, if anywhere, in the spontaneous blackness and snow of dead air and lost signals. It is probably no secret that sitcoms and dramas are filmed months in advance. So are many “reality” shows. Even live sports and news events are broadcast with a standard 7 second delay. This is not to say that the television universe is entirely without order. We, the angelic viewers, know when the shows we like are usually on. We’re aided by guides and advertisements, and even within programs we are introduced to motifs, patterns, and limits. If each generation places a “weak Messianic power” in the generations that it expects to follow, we might also say that we found our television viewing habits on an überweak Messianic power. As a simple thought experiment, imagine your favorite show being cancelled, perhaps inexplicably, mid-season. Would it not cause one to mourn for that which was supposed to come while losing at least some faith in what is left? But, in television, as with all things containing an important temporal component, there are far more überweak Messianic powers at stake. With relatively little leeway, we expect the tone, format, and style of our favorite shows to continue unchanged. In short, we expected to see new—and yet oddly familiar—wreckage dumped in front of us as we travel, blindly, through time. As Dr. Phil said in yesterday’s episode: “video doesn’t lie.” However, Benjamin’s model makes one question in what way video could ever tell the truth. As he writes: “every image of the past that is not recognized by the present as one of its own concerns threatens to disappear irretrievably” and “even the dead will not be safe from the enemy if he wins.” (255). Yet there is a very interesting added element, one which is partially unique to television, or at least modern communication and art: the repeat. While this might appear to offer a loophole, since the wreckage is returning, for a moment allowing one to see a small portion of the future, this is, in fact, not entirely the case. We will have to look backwards yet again, to Benjamin’s previous and most famous essay: “The Work of Art in the Age of Mechanical Reproduction."

Will This Message Self-Deconstruct?

For the next three weeks, Deconstructing Phil. is going on a writer's strike. However, Dr. Phil is continuing on, so we hope that our patrons will bravely assume the role of thesis to Dr. Phil's antithesis by sending in guest blogs. If not, we'll be back in three weeks. Now you know what's happening; but why don't you watch the video below to see if Brecht is right that it's more fun to watch how something happens?

Dr. Phil Now or Never

Today we were treated to another dose of “Dr. Phil Now!” where Dr. Philistine investigated the very current phenomenon of school shootings. Obviously, we shouldn’t belittle the trauma felt by victims of any violence, nor should we condone brutal, inhumane behavior. At the same time, it might be just as wrong to refrain from belittling Dr. Phil, allowing his brutal, inhumane brand of psychology to persist without criticism. This issue touches upon many political ramifications such as gun control, education policy, and the rights and freedoms afforded to individuals (particularly young people). The most interesting fallacy related to school shootings, though, is not overtly political, but rather historical. Dr. Phil repeats an oft reported error so familiar to media reports, expert explications, and uneasy community meetings: these acts of violence are new and anomalous. This is an irrefutable—and perhaps deliberate—distortion of the historical record. A Columbine survivor and guest added: “one thing got me into college, I thought it didn’t happen there.” Again, this is the historical record being annihilated. Even between the Columbine shooting and the Virginia Tech massacre (which apparently re-opened this victim’s eyes) there were at least 9 shootings on college campuses resulting in 19 deaths and many more injuries. In fact, there are dozens more similar acts of violence going back to at least 1936 where a student at Lehigh University killed himself and his English professor after demanded that his grade be changed. In 1966, for instance, a meticulously planned shooting by a deranged, well-armed shooter took place atop the Tower at the University of Texas which killed 16 and wounded more than 30 more. In fact, a reasonable (though necessarily morbid) examination of the relevant history shows that almost all the common assumptions are wrong. Some of the most deadly school related killings in modern times don’t even take place in America, but rather as part of broader conflicts in places like Bratunac in Yugoslavia, Stalino in Ukraine, Hue in Vietnam, and Beslen in Russia. As these events also illustrate, such attacks are also often not the result of, as Dr. Phil muses, “heartbroken teenage boys” and “loners” but rather adults (or, more ominously by groups of adults) with deep felt social, political, and personal grudges. Even in America, the deadliest school-related killing was not perpetrated by a depressed, socially awkward adolescent at a modern, suburban campus. Instead, it was at a rural Bath, Michigan schoolhouse in the year 1927 when a 55 year old school board treasurer and farmer killed 45 students and teachers, injuring 58 more. Disgruntled over his foreclosed farm, difficult family situation, and other townspeople who ignored his fight for lower taxes, the killer used dynamite and combinations of shrapnel to destroy his own home and set off explosions in three locations at the township’s only school. The purpose of recounting these gruesome events is not to glorify them or even compare body counts as part of a dismal contest, but instead to point out that they are not completely new phenomena, nor do they follow (at least with any great regularity) any of the characteristics so meticulously mapped out and emphasized by Dr. Phil. This is quite different from Santayana’s famous claim that “those who cannot remember the past are condemned to repeat it” (George Santayana Reason in Common Sense). It is difficult to see how anything can be repeated when it is forgotten, covered up, or unknown to begin with. There are many conceptions of history. Hegel and Marx posit dialectics where various stages and interactions are thought to lead to progress and eventually a teleological perfection. Others, like Walter Benjamin, read history as a persistent accumulation of chaos and catastrophe, with progress coming in the form of the backward-flung angel hurling through the post-lapsarian state (Illuminations). In this sense, it doesn’t really matter whether our age is the pinnacle of human existence or the nadir, or even if our time is not substantially different from anything that has already occurred. What is important is that virtually all reputable sciences, philosophies, and psychological movements (predicated on the idea that past events affect subsequent consciousness) must take account of past events and consider a broader historical context. Otherwise, as Dr. Phil demonstrates, one’s historical perspective mirrors that dangerous relationship where the subject becomes an illogical and introverted, social outsider obsessed with destruction.