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Franz Kafka's (1883-1924) "Die Brücke" is one of the less well-known texts by one of the most prolific authors of literary modernity. However, this short prose text embodies prevalent questions of literary modernity and philosophy as it reflects the crisis of language in regard of identity, communication, and literary production. Placed in the context of fin-de-siècle's discourse of language crisis, this article provides a dialogue between Kafka's "Die Brücke" and Hannah Arendt's (1906-1975) philosophy of thinking and speaking in "The Life of the Mind". Contrary to Arendt's understanding of the metaphor as "a carrying over" between the mental activities of the solitude thinker and a reconciliation with the pluralistic world shared with others, this article argues for a deconstructionist reading of "Die Brücke" as a tool to reevaluate Arendt"s notion of a shared human experience ensured through language and illustrates the advantages of poetic texts within philosophical discourses.
In a letter to Scholem, dated 22 December, 1924, Benjamin famously writes of the manuscript that was to become his 'Trauerspiel' book: "[I]ndessen überrascht mich nun vor allem, daß, wenn man so will, das Geschriebene fast ganz aus Zitaten besteht" (GS I.3, 881). Much has been made of the mosaic-like citational technique to which Benjamin refers here; his "Zitatbegriff" is said, for example, to subtend the theory of a "mikrologische Verarbeitung" of "Denkbruchstücken" into "Ideen" that Benjamin develops as his theory of representation in the "Erkenntniskritische Vorrede", which in turn figures the relation between individual phenomena and their "ideas" in astral terms. Because, however, the 'Trauerspiel' book is so often understood only on this theoretical level, e.g. as either an early articulation of Benjamin’s "avant garde" and "messianic" philosophy of history (Jäger, Kany, and Pizer) or as a performance of his systems of allegory (Menninghaus) and "constructivism" (Schöttker), his "Zitierpraxis" and the actual citations that form large parts of 'Der Ursprung des deutschen Trauerspiel' have seldom been read for the purchase they provide on the vexed status of the period and concept that was the book’s direct subject, namely, the German Baroque.
To explicate what distinguishes pain, Benjamin elaborates: "Of all corporeal feelings, pain alone is like a navigable river which never dries up and which leads man down to the sea. [...] Pain [...] is a link between worlds. This is why organic pleasure is intermittent, whereas pain can be permanent. This comparison of pleasure and pain explains why the cause of pain is irrelevant for the understanding of man's nature, whereas the source of his greatest pleasure is extremely important. For every pain, even the most trivial one, can lead upward to the highest religious suffering, whereas pleasure is not capable of any enhancement, and owes any nobility it possesses to the grace of its birth - that is to say, its source. (SW I, 397)" In these important lines, pain's unique strength is linked not to its origin (this is reserved for pleasure), but rather to the way that its strenuous flow throughout the suffering body has the power to lead it to infinite heights. In contrast to pleasure, which is forever seeking out its sources, pain manifests itself most consummately when it is intensified; it fulfills itself most deeply by gradually reenforcing its own fortitude. To make sense of pain, therefore, we must understand the nature of its 'movement': and in Benjamin's metaphor of the "navigable river" - its flow. In what follows, I develop Benjamin's idea of the nature of pain as manifested in the internal law of its ,ow in two other of Benjamin's texts: 'Berlin Childhood Around 1900' (1934) and 'Thought Figures' (1933).
At the forefront of those who tenaciously pondered this issue are, I would claim, Walter Benjamin and Ludwig Wittgenstein. Benjamin and Wittgenstein both are philosophers of language who tried to establish in unique ways the doctrine of resemblance respectively: "Lehre vom Ähnlichen" and "[Lehre der] Familienähnlichkeit." What they see and find in language are not communication and mutual understanding but instead one of the weirdest phenomena in/of the world, viz., resemblance (likeness) in/of language. This phenomenon, I would insist, indicates the correlation of appearing and disappearing, of differentiating and integrating, and of dividing and imparting of language as such. For Benjamin and Wittgenstein, to sum up, language is a paradigmatic paradoxical site of (dis)appearance, differentiating integrity, and divisive imparting. For this reason, it is worthwhile to pin down where their thoughts on language converge and where they diverge.
The aim of this paper is to analyze the concept of body developed by Luhmann's systems theory. Privileged places where one can look for the body will be the interpenetration between human beings and the concept of socialization. Another fundamental problem is the relationship between semantics and body, although the most explicit presence of the body in this theory comes with the concept of symbiotic mechanisms or symbols. The last place where this enquiry will look for a bodily reference are emotions, which were highly ignored by Luhmann. Alternative approaches explored in the paper are treating the body as a structure, as a medium or as an internal environment.
Although Walter Benjamin was never timid when it came to writing, one practice he consistently avoided was that of creating neologisms. It is therefore with all the more reluctance that I find myself compelled to resort to something similar, in order to sum up a motif that has imposed itself over the years in my reading of Benjamin. What is involved is, to be sure, not exactly a neologism, since it does not involve the creation of a new word, but rather the highlighting of a word-part, a suffix (eine Nachsilbe). In English, to be sure, this suffix, when spoken, is indistinguishable from a word: what distinguishes it from a word is not audible, but only legible: a hyphen, marking a separation that is also a joining, a 'Bindestrich' that does not bind it to anything in particular and yet that requires it to be bound to something else. The suffix in question thus sounds deceptively familiar, since it coincides, audibly, with the word "abilities". However, unlike that word, its first letter - which purely by accident happens to be the first letter of the alphabet--is preceded by a dash. When written in isolation, this gives it a somewhat bizarre appearance, to be sure, since suffixes are not usually encountered separately from the words they modify. But this bizarre appearance pales when compared to its German 'original'. If the book of essays to be published in English under the title, "Benjamin’s -abilities," is ever translated into German - "back" into German I was tempted to write, since German here is of course the language in which Benjamin wrote and in which I generally read him - then its title, were it to be entirely faithful to the English, would indeed have to involve the creation of a neologism. For translated back into German, the German title would require its readers to "read, what was never written", namely: "Benjamins -barkeiten" (written, "Bindestrich- b--kleingeschrieben").
Benjamin's early reception in the United States can be broken into eight phases: 1) a few notices of his work in the 1930s; 2) the appearance of two major works, without translation, in the 'Zeitschrift für Sozialforschung', when it was published in New York and mimeographed in Los Angeles; 3) several reports of his suicide along with the death of other Jewish and left-wing writers who fell victim to Nazi terror; 4) scattered use of his work in the late 1940s and 1950s; 5) a growing realization in the early 1960s that American literary and cultural criticism was missing something of significance by neglecting Benjamin's work; 6) the appearance in the 1960s of competing portraits of Benjamin by four of his surviving friends, including Hannah Arendt, who edited and introduced the first collection of his writings in English; 7) an uncanny repetition of the earlier neglect, as a significant number of Benjamin's texts are published in Great Britain during the 1970s and early 1980s but remain unavailable in the States; 8) the beginning of a sustained critical engagement with Benjamin in the late 1970s.
Walter Benjamin's best-known comment regarding nihilism - "to strive for such a passing away [for nature is messianic by reason of its eternal and total passing away] [...] is the task of world politics, whose method must be called nihilism" (SW III, 306) - occurs at the conclusion of his "Theological-Political Fragment" (1920–1921). In this pithy fragment Benjamin challenged the distinction between the political and the theological by pointing out the necessary relation - even codependence - of historical time and messianic time, the secular and the redemptive. The focus is the temporal dimension that dictates one’s "rhythm of life," on the one hand, and politics - its formative power - on the other. Benjamin’s translation of such abstract principles into different systems - the secular and the religious, the abstract and the particular, the collective and the individual - have confused scholars for many years. The result was often a misreading of Benjamin’s last sentence, connecting politics to nihilism and identifying the maker with his method. In order to reverse such readings, this chapter moves in four consecutive stages. I begin with the "temporal-rhythmic" principle, relating it to Benjamin's notion of Nihilism as a method. Second, I consider the specific meanings of "Nihilism" during the 19th and early 20th centuries, which I identify with the idea of a temporal 'stasis'. Third, I track down Benjamin’s uses of Nihilism and demonstrate that they reflect a certain methodological approach rather than a solution to a problem. Finally, commenting directly on contemporary interpreters of Benjamin who see him as a "nihilist" or an "anarchist," I show that Benjamin focused on the temporal and critical dimensions in order to 'overcome' nihilism and stasis.
It is no accident that the figuration of rewriting as copying is an image from "One Way Street". This apparently casual assemblage of small, rather belletristic texts - still some of the least explored terrain in all of Benjamin - is in important ways the key to all of Benjamin’s later writing, and especially that writing based on the form of the "Denkbild" or figure of thought. In what follows, I will concentrate on one set of paired examples in order to demonstrate in a more focused way the practice of rewriting and its effects: on the relationship between "Berlin Childhood around 1900" and "One Way Street".
In post-Kantian idealist aesthetics, at the very latest, literature and philosophy come to rival each other as producers of "history" At this point, philosophy takes it upon itself to "adopt" art and literature, treating the image as an object upon which to lavish the philosophical "labor of the concept" and explicitly asserting the primacy of concept over image. This objectivation of the image by the concept, however, goes hand in hand with the attempt to cover up and efface the poetic act that underlies the paradigm of "history," an act that had still informed the older, premodern meaning of the concept and had been conspicuously retained and reflected in the modern literary genre of historical drama. I therefore wish to propose that the origin of the logocentric discourse of history is to be found in Hegel's philosophy of art. In the first part of my essay, I will accordingly set out to reconstruct Hegel's effacement of the poetic origin of "history" by jointly examining his aesthetics and his philosophy of history. In the second part, I will confront Hegel's logocentric approach with a reading of Goethe's historical drama Egmont that exposes the poetic origin of "history" and thereby offers an alternative to Hegel's logocentrism.