Mimesis in Practice: The Intersection of Artistic Reproduction and Politics

A thesis presented to theDepartment of Political Science

University at Albany, State University of New YorkRockefeller College of Public Affairs and Policy

in partial fulfillment of the requirements forGraduation with Honors in Political Science

andGraduation from The Honors College

Troy NortonThesis Advisor: Morton Schoolman, Ph.D.

May 2016

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Abstract

Political theory is a field best analyzed through the lens of history, which we can

understand to include art and literature. Here I do so in an effort to determine how we can use

history to better our existing political communities. We may, as Walter Benjamin argued, focus

on preserving the historical value of a given artwork, thereby subverting a potentially fascist

regime. Or we may, as Jacques Rancière argued, reproduce artwork so as to illustrate recurring

sociopolitical struggles and thus offer a means of resistance. By subjecting both arguments to

analysis in terms of Erich Auerbach’s Mimesis, I demonstrate how we can scrutinize art in such a

way as to both maintain its historical value and apply it to contemporary political societies.

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Acknowledgments

I would like to thank first Professor Morton Schoolman, who oversaw this project from

its beginnings as a concept into which I wished to delve further. I would also like to thank

Professors Victor Asal and Peter Breiner, whose insights guided me throughout my time at

Rockefeller College. I owe much to Professors Jeff Haugaard and Leslie Halpern, who saw to it

that I and many others gained immensely from our Honors College experiences. Finally, I am

indebted to my mother and my brother, without whom nothing I accomplish could be possible.

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Table of Contents

Abstract ………………………………………………………………………………………….. 2

Acknowledgements ……………………………………………………………………………… 3

Chapter One: Defining the Issue of History …………………………………………………….. 5

Chapter Two: Walter Benjamin and the Sanctity of History …………………………………... 10

Chapter Three: Rancière, Reproduction, and Means of Resistance ……………………………. 14

Chapter Four: A Technical Approach: Erich Auerbach and Literary Mimesis ……………....... 18

Chapter Five: Forging New Political Paths through History …………………………………... 23

Bibliography …………………………………………………………………………………… 27

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Chapter One

Defining the Issue of History

It is certainly a commonplace that history in itself is of utmost importance to political

theory as well as our political practices. That, however, is the extent of the commonplace. It is

not obvious precisely how history influences our politics. It is not even entirely clear what forms

of history we should consider when assessing these matters. As we shall see, history is a

manifold entity, and it is crucial that we treat it as such.

In the chapters that follow, I shall consider analyses presented by Walter Benjamin,

Jacques Rancière, and Erich Auerbach. Each of these thinkers proposes a distinct way in which

we should view and subsequently treat history relative to our politics. Yet there is a common

thread that runs through all three of their arguments, namely that all three are considering in

some way the historical value of artwork. This might not be how we traditionally conceive of

history, but it is history nonetheless, and we have to consider it and its implications accordingly.

It is important, then, to spend some time assessing why exactly this is the case before discussing

the thinkers in turn.

There is a rudimentary yet critical distinction between primary historical sources and

secondary ones. Most students, and in turn most people in general, learn history from secondary

sources: textbooks, course readers, and the like. Such an education is important insofar as it

provides students with a base knowledge of historical facts without which they can perform no

sort of critical analysis. Yet although this sort of knowledge is a necessary condition for critical

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analysis, it is in no way sufficient for it. Proper critical analyses can only be enabled by the study

of primary historical documents, from which the typical citizen is largely restricted.

These primary historical documents might vary greatly in nature. One might, for instance,

be inclined to analyze the text of the United States Constitution, or that of any other nation for

that matter. Or, one might instead opt to scrutinize Monet’s Rouen Cathedral series of paintings.

Further still is the attention that works of literature demand of us. For reasons I shall explain

shortly, works of art shall be especially important to us in this analysis. My current point,

however, is that primary historical documents may take many different forms, and we must be at

least tacitly cognizant of this moving forward.

If there are indeed so many forms history can take, most of which the bulk of the

citizenry does not consider in such a way, then it seems safe to assume that that citizenry will

inevitably be subject to exploitation. And this might be the precise sociopolitical problem facing

many of us today: because art is not presented to us as something of historical or political value,

we do not view it as more than a leisurely complement to our otherwise busy, work-oriented

lives. We do not consider properly the ways in which this art might be of greater value to us.

Consequently, we often miss key opportunities to overturn the aforementioned exploitation, or at

least gain a greater awareness of it. Indeed, awareness alone seems crucial at this juncture, as

with it comes a sense of duty to act on what is socially, politically, and morally correct.

One should not reasonably assume at this time that our current systems of work and

education will have some incentive to disseminate, much less explain, art in such a way. They

are likelier instead to continue on the path that they have tread thus far. The obligation falls on

us, then, as students of politics to begin considering art in new, increasingly dynamic ways. But

this begs a further question. Just as there are various media in which history can be represented,

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so too are there multiple ways in which we can use a particular artwork, given its unique

historical value. Which method, then, should we adopt?

Earlier I mentioned the three thinkers whose views shall be discussed here: Benjamin,

Rancière, and Auerbach. It is worth taking a moment to lay out the basic points these thinkers

make, as the rest of the analysis shall be centered on these views. Benjamin is, in a certain sense,

the most conservative of the three. On his view, there is a certain historical sanctity possessed by

any particular artwork. Modernity, however, may have rendered this sanctity largely obsolete, as

now quality appears not to hold any greater value than quantity.1 This has often allowed for

apparently fascist regimes to tighten their control over increasingly susceptible societies, as

mechanical reproduction of art will change the masses’ reaction to that art.2 Later I shall

consider whether this change must necessarily be as defeatist as Benjamin purports it to be. As

things stand, though, Benjamin’s solution to his problem is to simply work against the

mechanical reproduction of art, as in so doing populations will not find themselves as susceptible

to fascist threats.

If Benjamin is the most conservative of the three, then it seems appropriate to consider

Rancière the most radical. With Benjamin, Rancière acknowledges the historical value of any

given artwork, but he does not find solace in simply leaving them as is. On that matter he directly

challenges Benjamin, asserting that “Benjamin’s explanation via the fatal aestheticization of

politics in the ‘era of the masses’ overlooks, perhaps, the long-standing connection between the

unanimous consensus of the citizenry and the exaltation of the free movement of bodies.”3

1 Walter Benjamin, “The Work of Art in the Age of Mechanical Reproduction,” trans. Harry Zohn, ed. Hannah Arendt (Berlin: Schocken Books, 1936), 24, accessed February 9, 2016 via the Contemporary Political Theory POS 310 Fall 15 Dropbox, https://www.dropbox.com/sh/jhclpmcozv5w1a3/AAA2jNSWhMWqArVyqj0TYcHra/Benjamin%2C%20Walter.%20The%20Work%20of%20Art%20in%20the%20Age%20of%20Mechanical%20Reproduction.doc?dl=0. 2 Ibid., 19.3 Jacques Rancière, The Politics of Aesthetics, ed. and trans. Gabriel Rockhill (London: Bloomsbury Academic, 2006), 13.

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Perhaps, then, the masses need not be swept along by the reproduction of art. They may instead

infer from this reproduction certain sociopolitical struggles that have persisted across generations

and thus afford themselves a new means of political resistance. In this sense, Rancière’s

argument appears far more promising than that offered by Benjamin.

Yet for all the strengths of his argument, Rancière does not make especially clear to us

precisely how we are to do this. Framed another way, what, exactly, should this reproduction

look like? In Mimesis: The Representation of Reality in Western Literature, Auerbach offers a

more technical answer to this question. He interprets reproduction in terms of literary works

produced in different historical epochs, and his analysis relies on comparisons between two

given works. In this way, as Marc Blanchard suggests, we are able to gain through Auerbach’s

method a sense of the extent to which literature actually represents reality, a notion which

comports greatly with the argument advanced by Rancière.4 That argument, of course, came

years after Auerbach’s project. Nevertheless, there is analytical merit in considering Rancière’s

position in terms of what Auerbach has done, as Auerbach describes in detail the reproduction of

art that Rancière later places in a more political context.

We thus have three vantage points on which we can base our considerations: one

conservative, one radical, and one technical. It is worth reiterating, though, that all of these

vantage points make a bold move by speaking of the value of history squarely in terms of artistic

media. Because it is such a bold move, its implications are often not considered by the general

populace. And yet that is precisely why they mean so much to our politics. For if we can

successfully and properly make this transition from more traditional understandings of history to

more innovative ones, we can open new routes by which we can actively shape our political

4 Marc Blanchard, “Mimesis, Not Mimicry,” Comparative Literature 49, no. 2 (Spring 1997): 177, accessed April 14, 2016, http://libproxy.albany.edu/login?url=http://search.ebscohost.com/login.aspx?direct=true&db=f5h&AN=9707191680&site=eds-live&scope=site.

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societies. The rest of the paper shall elaborate on a few specific ways in which we can do this,

but the idea alone is nothing short of liberating.

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Chapter Two

Walter Benjamin and the Sanctity of History

Walter Benjamin was a prominent Marxist thinker in Germany who was associated with

the Frankfurt School of critical theory and contributed greatly to aesthetic theory. In his 1936

essay “The Work of Art in the Age of Mechanical Reproduction,” he made a number of astute

observations regarding the role that artwork plays relative to the dominant political system in a

given society. Almost immediately Benjamin drew an essential distinction between mere

reproduction of art, which in principle has always been possible, and mechanical reproduction of

that art.5 As opposed to traditional forms of reproduction, mechanical reproduction allows one to

copy an artwork with minimal effort. If reproduction can indeed be done this easily, then it is

bound to happen more frequently and more rapidly with the onset of modernity than ever before.

It was with great purpose, after all, that Benjamin asserted that quality no longer amounts to

anything greater than quantity.6

There is a clear connection, on Benjamin’s view at least, between the historical value of

art on the one hand and its influence on our politics on the other. He argued that “[e]ven 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.”7 Traditional forms of reproduction, of

course, might not fully illustrate the extent to which this historical uniqueness relates to political

influence. In such cases it may simply be considered a given that the historical context in which

an artwork is created is part and parcel of the artwork itself. With the onset of modernity and

5 Benjamin, “The Work of Art,” 3.6 Ibid., 24.7 Ibid., 4.

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mechanical reproduction, however, the relationship becomes clearer and more drastic. Indeed,

the question no longer remains whether there is a relationship between the two; it instead

becomes who is doing the reproducing, and, consequently, what ramifications this might have on

our political systems.

To Benjamin, the general public represented not an informed and critical citizenry but

rather a receptive, and increasingly susceptible, mass entity. In a word, they are not, on

Benjamin’s view, going to be the ones reproducing artwork. Any benefits toward the masses that

could possibly be derived from mechanical reproduction, then, are left to the discretion of the

dominant government. Yet such an application of mechanical reproduction is not likely to

manifest. For, according to Benjamin, “[m]echanical reproduction of art changes the reaction of

the masses toward art.”8 And, he elaborates, “[t]he greater the decrease in the social significance

of an art form”—which is almost invariably a factor of mechanical reproduction and removal of

historical context in general—“the sharper the distinction between criticism and enjoyment by

the public.”9

There is little incentive, then, for a governing body to use mechanical reproduction of art

benevolently, for the well-being of the people. That governing body is instead far likelier to

choose one of two alternatives. It might opt not to exploit mechanical reproduction at all,

treating, to whatever extent possible, culture and politics as two separate entities. Conversely, it

might opt to use mechanical reproduction of art as a means of rendering the masses increasingly

complacent toward whatever activities, malicious or otherwise, that governing body might be

undertaking. As we shall see momentarily, this is a crucial way in which potentially fascist

8 Ibid., 19.9 Ibid., 20.

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regimes can consolidate their power in a given society. Moreover, this is precisely what

Benjamin found so concerning about mechanical reproduction.

As noted above, mechanical reproduction, according to Benjamin, renders the masses less

critical and readier to enjoy whatever artwork is presented to them. Importantly, this concept,

while typically understood in terms of art itself, quite readily extends to governmental policies:

rather than criticize them, the masses begin to unquestioningly accept them for what they are. In

this way, potentially fascist regimes are able to more fully exert their power over the

unsuspecting masses. This, to be sure, is an outcome we should not be inclined to idly accept.

Fortunately, it is in no way unavoidable.

The solution that Benjamin proposed harkens back to the options available to a governing

body mentioned above. We have seen the unfortunate ramifications that can be wrought on a

society by a government’s exploitation of mechanical reproduction. Moreover, we have also seen

that a government has little, if any, incentive to use mechanical reproduction for the benefit of

the people, if such a thing is indeed possible. The only remaining option is for the governing

body to not mechanically reproduce artwork at all. This, of course, is precisely the route

Benjamin urged us to pursue. We as citizens should constantly be on guard against mechanical

reproduction of artwork in any form, as such a technique could easily be practiced by malevolent

persons. In being on guard in such a way, we can effectively fend off fascist threats, preserve the

historical value of the artwork in question, and retain our critical sensibilities.

Perhaps, though, there are other solutions to the problem posed by fascist regimes,

solutions that went largely unconsidered by Benjamin. Recall his assertion that mechanical

reproduction of art changes the attitude of the masses toward that art. Benjamin, of course,

assumed that this change of attitude would entail the passive acceptance of the artwork in

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question. But we need not assume that this is the only possible change in attitude that mechanical

reproduction of art begets. Indeed, there is likely to be a number of different forms that the

masses’ new attitudes may take. These forms, in turn, might illustrate the extent to which the

label of “masses” might be misplaced on the general populace.

If nothing else, Benjamin has illustrated the legitimate danger posed by malevolent,

fascist governing bodies. He has also shown one way in which we can combat these fascist

regimes, namely by doing what we can to prevent the mechanical reproduction of artwork

wholesale. Benjamin erred, though, in assuming that this is our only method of resistance. As we

shall soon see, this is hardly the case, for if we consider alternative methods of interpreting

reproduced artwork, then we can also begin to comprehend new, more active means of

resistance. These, of course, call into question Benjamin’s characterization of a government’s

subjects as “masses,” for such a characterization effectively robs them of the performative

capabilities they possess.

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Chapter Three

Rancière, Reproduction, and Means of Resistance

In his famous poem “Song of Myself,” Walt Whitman wrote on the topic of diversity,

emphasizing the manifold forms that he (or, presumably, anybody) could take and noting that he

is “[a] farmer, mechanic, artist, gentleman, sailor, quaker, [p]risoner, fancy-man, rowdy, lawyer,

physician, priest.”10 There are, on the one hand, multiple occupations and identities mentioned

here. Equally pressing, though, is the fact that on the other hand, this list is in no way all-

encompassing or complete. Whitman could easily have selected different jobs, identities, or

personalities, and, moreover, he could have done so ad infinitum, for there is no real limit as to

how many different identities one could assume. This speaks primarily to two ideas: that we

possess, in effect, limitless performative capabilities, and that artwork and literature are

important media through which this can be clearly demonstrated.

These are precisely the ideas that Jacques Rancière, contemporary French philosopher

and democratic theorist, intended to convey throughout The Politics of Aesthetics. There he

directly challenged Benjamin’s view, claiming that “Benjamin’s explanation via the fatal

aestheticization of politics in the ‘era of the masses’ overlooks, perhaps, the long-standing

connection between the unanimous consensus of the citizenry and the exaltation of the free

movement of bodies.”11 We have already seen how Benjamin’s assessment of mechanical

reproduction and fascism, astute as it was, was much too narrow in scope. He assumed that the

masses’ only choice was to prevent this mechanical reproduction altogether. Rancière, however,

10 Walt Whitman, “Song of Myself” (1855), 16, accessed March 14, 2016 via the Contemporary Political Theory POS 310 Fall 15 Dropbox, https://www.dropbox.com/sh/jhclpmcozv5w1a3/AAByjZY15QEZM5sHBUuY_xFHa/Whitman%2C%20Song%20of%20Myself%20copy.doc?dl=0. 11 Rancière, The Politics of Aesthetics, 13.

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hoped to demonstrate that we might be able to make good use of such reproduction, rather than

be forced to abandon it entirely.

On Rancière’s view, “[i]n order for the mechanical arts to be able to confer visibility on

the masses, or rather on anonymous individuals, they first need to be recognized as arts.”12 With

this assertion Rancière has made two important moves. First, he has completely done away with

the label “masses,” opting instead for the term “anonymous individuals,” which carries a

relatively more positive connotation. For in so doing, he has suggested that each one of us is

capable of far more than Benjamin would have allowed. And second, he has indicated that there

is far more to mechanical arts than first meets the eye. Rancière has not disputed Benjamin’s

claims regarding the inherent historical value of a given artwork; that much remains true. But we

need not refrain from reproducing art to properly acknowledge this. In fact, in this refraining we

may well be neglecting to attribute to art its whole historical and sociopolitical merit.

In the afterword to The Politics of Aesthetics, Slovenian cultural critic Slavoj Žižek

discussed the continued relevance of Rancière’s analysis: “in our time of the disorientation of the

Left, [Rancière’s] writings offer one of the few consistent conceptualizations of how we are to

continue to resist” (emphasis Žižek’s).13 In light of the discussion thus far, one can see why this

would be the case. If, on interpreting a reproduced work of art, citizens opt for critical analysis

rather than passive acceptance, then they would come to understand new means by which they

can resist oppressive regimes. On this view, citizens no longer need to act in a strictly preventive

way so as to ensure a fascist regime never takes power. On the contrary, citizens now possess the

tools to create increasingly democratic societies, all by way of the historical value of and

constant struggles illustrated by art.

12 Ibid., 28.13 Slavoj Žižek, “The Lesson of Rancière,” in Rancière, The Politics of Aesthetics, 75.

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It is precisely these struggles that lend to Rancière’s argument its strength as a theory.

There is a reason, after all, that Rancière’s work is titled The Politics of Aesthetics, as throughout

he is speaking to the idea that there is much of political merit to be derived from art. This is a

complement to the notion of the aesthetics of politics, which concerns how political ideas can be

conveyed through art; indeed, Whitman accomplished this in “Song of Myself” by intentionally

listing many but not all possible identities that one could assume. And the politics of aesthetics is

a more radical complement at that, as it allows us to ascertain those sociopolitical struggles that

have remained constant over time and across space. By gaining a greater cognizance of these

struggles, we are afforded new means by which we can resist fascist, oppressive regimes.

Yet the concerns posited by Benjamin remain. Even if there is some positive value to

reproducing artwork, we do not yet have a way of guaranteeing that we act properly on that

value. Absent such a guarantee, we might end up subject to the whims of a fascist regime after

all. So, while Rancière has made a significant contribution to aesthetic theory insofar as he has

demonstrated how art can possibly be used as a means of resistance, his argument errs in much

the same way Benjamin’s did. That is, Rancière has accounted for only one side of the story,

namely that in which citizens make full use of the historical value of and struggles illustrated by

art. In order to guarantee that we do exactly that, we need a technical account of a proper way in

which we can reproduce art. Rancière, in focusing on the positive political ramifications of

reproducing art, did not provide such an account. But that does not mean this account does not

exist. Our current task, then, is to seek out and identify a technical account of this sort and

determine the extent to which it comports with Rancière’s theory in favor of artistic

reproduction, as this extent is a measure of whatever success we will find in constructing more

democratic societies as opposed to enabling more oppressive, potentially fascist ones.

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Chapter Four

A Technical Approach: Erich Auerbach and Literary Mimesis

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Erich Auerbach was a 20th-century philologist and literary critic whose seminal work,

Mimesis: The Representation of Reality in Western Literature, is typically regarded as a defining

text in the study of languages generally. Philology and political science, of course, are two

separate, if at times interrelated, fields; make no mistake, Auerbach was no Benjamin or

Rancière, and vice versa. That does not mean he refrained entirely from making political

comments: he expressed, much as Benjamin had, a certain concern about the rise of fascist

regimes in light of the Nazi order.14 But such comments are relatively few and far between in

Mimesis. Auerbach instead devoted the bulk of his time and effort to developing a precise,

technical way in which the mimetic qualities of literary works could be understood. Such a move

is important insofar as it paves the way for a necessary complement to any politically-centered

analysis of the ramifications of artistic reproduction.

The basic methodology that Auerbach employed in Mimesis was simple enough: take two

literary works, each from a different historical epoch, and scrutinize them so as to bring out their

similarities and differences in terms of substance as well as structure. As simple as this

methodology might be, though, the findings it yields reveal much about not only the works

themselves but also the historical circumstances in which they were produced. We need only

consider one such case, namely that in which Auerbach assesses Homer’s Odyssey and the

Biblical story of the sacrifice of Isaac, to see how this works in practice. But the methodology

and its usefulness remain constant throughout the rest of Mimesis and, similarly, is of utmost

importance to artistic reproduction as seen from a sociopolitical vantage point.

14 Erich Auerbach, Mimesis: The Representation of Reality in Western Literature, fiftieth-anniversary ed., trans. Willard R. Trask (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2003), 23.

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According to Auerbach, Homer wrote the Odyssey in a decidedly expository way. No

detail is left to the reader’s imagination: everything is “scrupulously externalized and narrated in

leisurely fashion,” and virtually anything of note is placed “in a realm where everything is

visible.”15 This, Auerbach suggested, was because Homer intended “merely to make us forget

our own reality for a few hours.”16 That is, we should not read a Homeric poem with the intent to

act on it in some sociopolitical way. Rather, we are simply to enjoy what we are reading for

precisely what it is. Escapist as it may seem, by so carefully laying out each and every expository

detail, Homer crafted the definitive leisurely literary work, and it should be regarded as such.

Contrast this with the way in which the story of Isaac was written. Unlike Homer’s

Odyssey, the story of Isaac, and Biblical stories generally, is largely devoid of expository details,

defined instead by an ideal of suspense.17 Practically the only thing the reader is assured of is the

father-son relationship between Abraham and Isaac; virtually no other details regarding context

or motivations are given, and the third character, God Himself, is shrouded in mystery. So, while

the Homeric poem was meant simply to be read and enjoyed, Biblical stories were meant to be

interpreted. And “interpretation in a determined direction becomes a general method of

comprehending reality.”18 We can see, on the basis of this notion of comprehending reality, how

the structure of Biblical stories laid the foundation for Western religion in a way that Homeric

poems, by way of their structure, could not possibly have done.

None of this, of course, is to undermine the merit of either work, either as pieces of

literature or as sociopolitical hallmarks. Both are of utmost cultural significance. The relevant

point, rather, is that they are products of two markedly different historical circumstances. That is,

15 Ibid., 3.16 Ibid., 15.17 Ibid., 10-11.18 Ibid., 16.

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while both works can be traced back to approximately the eighth-century B.C.E., the Odyssey

was written, historically speaking, with a lesser sense of urgency than that with which the story

of Isaac was written. Biblical stories lacked details so they could be interpreted and applied to

society writ large; of course, such applications were to pave the way for Western religion as we

understand it. Homeric poems had no such larger purpose, and so they conveyed any and all

details directly to the reader. These differences, though distinct, might not be immediately

obvious to the reader, so it is important to consider them in light of Auerbach’s methodology so

as to understand these distinctions more clearly.

It is worth, at this juncture, briefly considering Auerbach’s work in light of a few other

thinkers. One point worth illustrating in this way is that there lies a further implication here. As

Adam Hammond has argued, we can understand the differences between the Odyssey and the

Bible in terms of legend and history.19 Homer relied primarily on legend, and as such, he made

any and all relevant details immediately available to his readers. The Old Testament, by contrast,

relied on history instead, and thus demonstrated that “real personalities develop from a process

and do not arrive ready-made.”20 This suggests something that Auerbach himself does not make

especially clear, namely that the study of history and the different forms it takes can effectively

mobilize the masses. It would seem, then, that Auerbach’s project is a bit more radical than first

appears to be the case. Since he does not fully clarify this, though, it is necessary, as I attempt to

do below, to connect his work to that of a more overtly political figure such as Rancière.

Beyond such implications, though, it is important to clarify what, precisely, Auerbach

was doing. Marc Blanchard considers this with respect to the very subtitle of Mimesis, namely

19 Adam Hammond, “The Honest and Dishonest Critic: Style and Substance in Mikhail Bakhtin’s ‘Discourse in the Novel’ and Erich Auerbach’s Mimesis,” Style 45, no. 4 (Winter 2011): 642, accessed April 11, 2016, http://libproxy.albany.edu/login?url=http://search.ebscohost.com/login.aspx?direct=true&db=edsglr&AN=edsgcl.285206692&site=eds-live&scope=site. 20 Ibid.

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“The Representation of Reality in Western Literature.” Bearing this in mind, he asks: “Is a book

supposed to represent reality? And if so, what does the term ‘representation’ (Darstellung)

mean?”21 One’s answer to this question, of course, will depend on how one interprets a given

literary work. Should one interpret it is a piece of history, he will likely see that it in fact does

represent at least some portion of reality. And if this is the case, then it seems clear that there is

indeed evidence in favor of Rancière: historically constant sociopolitical struggles can be

ascertained and acted on through close study and careful reproduction of art.

We might be able to better grasp Auerbach’s methodology, and, subsequently, how it

comports with Rancière’s argument, if we consider it with Giambattista Vico’s influence in

mind. Vico, an 18th-century philologist, argued that “human beings are historical creatures in that

they make history.”22 Moreover, on Vico’s view, “[i]n order to be able to understand a

humanistic text, one must try to do so as if one is the author of that text.”23 There are two

important ideas that we should derive from such an argument. First, while historical epochs

contribute to the creation of art, the creation of art itself contributes to history. In this sense there

is a clearly defined, practically cyclical relationship between history and art. And second, by

envisioning ourselves as a given artist, we are better able to understand both that particular work

of art as well as the historical context in which it was produced. This is precisely what

Auerbach’s method allows us to do, with a comparative component thrown in for good measure.

Thus Auerbach’s method of selecting two texts of different historical circumstances and

weighing them against one another illustrates one particular way in which mimesis is to be

understood. Indeed, while Benjamin and Rancière laid out political discussions concerning

reproduction of art, Auerbach has demonstrated exactly what that reproduction can look like. To 21 Blanchard, “Mimesis, Not Mimicry,” 177. 22 Edward W. Said, introduction to Mimesis: The Representation of Reality in Western Literature, fiftieth-anniversary ed., trans. Willard R. Trask (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2003), xii.23 Ibid., xiii.

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be clear, this is only one method of reproduction; one can imagine many others. Auerbach’s

methodology is useful, though, insofar as it clearly illustrates the significance of artwork as well

as history. So while other examples might certainly exist, Auerbach’s is especially important to

the discussion at hand given its clarity and efficacy.

Yet it must be reiterated that Auerbach’s analysis exists in what is essentially a political

vacuum. Auerbach was obviously aware of the political happenings of his time, as evinced by

the earlier discussion of his concern toward the Nazi regime. But little, if any, of that political

concern is directly reflected in Mimesis. To fully capture the political side of the discussion

relative to Auerbach’s methodology, we have to revisit the analyses offered by Benjamin and

Rancière. In so doing, we will round out this particular narrative of politics, history, and art, and

understand more clearly what sociopolitical options, precisely, art offers to us.

Chapter Five

Forging New Political Paths through History

In a 1955 interview in The Paris Review, Ralph Ellison, author of Invisible Man,

discussed the notion of fiction as art, and the way this notion plays in society generally. He noted

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that he recognizes “no dichotomy between art and protest.”24 That is, there is no evident reason

to separate one from the other. It hardly comes as a surprise that Ellison would think this given

how influential Invisible Man has proven toward the ways in which we should perceive black

persons in the United States. Of particular interest, however, is how neatly such a stance

comports with our discussion thus far. Indeed, replace “protest” with “resistance” and one would

think the aforementioned quote came straight from Rancière.

This speaks, above all else, to the generalizability of the argument discussed here. History

plays greatly into our works of art, and vice versa. The way in which we perceive these concepts

determines how, exactly, we apply them to our political societies. If we see art for its historical

sanctity alone, then we may appreciate it as a bulwark against oppressive governments. Or, if we

see art for the sociopolitical illuminations its reproduction can provide, then we may instead

appreciate it as a means of resistance, or a form of protest to borrow Ellison’s terminology. That

analyses of reproduction of artwork and mimesis can apply to such a wide array of cases serves

to validate arguments depicting art as more than a leisurely commodity.

In order to ensure this wide applicability, though, we must take care to thoroughly

connect the political to the technical. Absent a technical account, we are presumably left with

two possible outcomes, both extreme in their own regards. On Benjamin’s view, the masses, lest

they prevent entirely the mechanical reproduction of artwork, will inevitably be subject to the

whims of fascist regimes. Alternatively, on Rancière’s view, anonymous individuals will

invariably be inclined to use reproduced art and the findings thus derived as means of resisting

these oppressive governments. One could reasonably argue that the former view attributes too

24 Ralph Ellison, “Ralph Ellison, The Art of Fiction No. 8,” interview by Alfred Chester and Vilma Howard, The Paris Review, no. 8 (Spring 1955), accessed March 17, 2016, http://www.theparisreview.org/interviews/5053/the-art-of-fiction-no-8-ralph-ellison.

Norton 24

little to the citizenry and the latter too much. So, we need a technical account to steer these views

toward some sort of middle ground.

As we have seen, Auerbach’s method of ascertaining and explicating the mimetic

qualities of literary works has done a great job of this, especially as concerns Rancière’s more

positive argument. But consider what use this method would have if we isolated it from

Benjamin and Rancière. Under such conditions we would have a novel way of comparing and

understanding different literary works. One could certainly see how this would matter to literary

or scholarly purposes. Less evident, however, is how this could apply to society generally. For

this application we need a sense of the political ramifications of mimesis, as discussed,

separately, by Benjamin and Rancière. Consequently, for the widest possible sociopolitical

application, Auerbach requires Benjamin and Rancière just as Benjamin and Rancière require

Auerbach.

We have thus seen the merit of each argument offered here in turn. Benjamin

demonstrated to us the tangible threat of oppressive regimes; Rancière showed us how art can be

understood as offering means of political resistance; and Auerbach offered us a particularly

effective way of properly analyzing reproduced artwork, and, as Blanchard suggested, assessing

the extent to which literary works actually represent reality. We have also seen how all of these

arguments rely on each other. Indeed, absent any one of these positions, our entire sense of scope

on these issues is severely diminished. At this juncture the narrative might seem complete; we

have, after all, considered the relevant arguments individually and in connection to each other.

But there remains one crucial assumption on which this discussion has been based that must be

brought to the fore and subsequently challenged.

Norton 25

Especially in light of Benjamin’s argument, which was the first one considered here, one

could see how the lingering threat of oppressive governments set the stage for the analytical

deductions that followed. Rancière offered a means by which we could resist these governments,

and Auerbach offered a way in which Rancière’s means could be better understood. All told, we

have developed an apparently effective way of combatting potentially fascist regimes. But what

if we assumed that there were in fact no such threats? Would Rancière’s and Auerbach’s

analyses serve no purpose to us beyond their scholarly merit?

We need not make such hasty conclusions. Rest assured, Benjamin’s explication of

fascist threats matters greatly to us not only insofar as these threats are very reasonably

conceived but also insofar as his argument adds a certain sense of urgency to those offered by

Rancière and Auerbach. And yet the latter certainly hold their own weight even without the

former. The absence of an active fascist threat does not mean we should not be doing what we

can to construct increasingly democratic societies. Art, of course, offers one especially effective

way in which we can do exactly that, regardless of the specific circumstances we are currently

facing.

History comes in many forms and has many more uses. We can study historical texts,

preserve the historical sanctity of a work of art, or apply the findings of historical analyses to our

contemporary political societies. All of the thinkers discussed here have presented distinct ways

in which we can grasp this general notion. And yet they have only scratched the surface, for as

Whitman suggested in “Song of Myself,” much like we cannot delineate each and every possible

identity one can possibly assume, we also cannot be sure of each and every form history might

take and, moreover, each and every way in which we can use it. We must, then, be constantly

cognizant of the forms of history available to us, as our use of these forms, perhaps especially

Norton 26

those which are artistic in nature, will play an immense role in the ongoing formation and

refinement of political societies.

Throughout we have seen that the thinkers at hand here all largely depend on each other.

Rancière requires Auerbach for an account of how reproduction should actually be carried out;

Auerbach requires Rancière so as to give political meaning to the technical forms of

reproduction; both Rancière and Auerbach are supported greatly by, do they do not strictly

require, Benjamin, whose bemoaning of fascist threats introduces an added sense of urgency.

The argument I have offered here can be expanded further in two key ways. First, there is the

notion, as I have suggested, that linking Rancière’s analysis with Auerbach’s methodology can

pave the way for increasingly democratic societies even absent the fascist threat posited by

Benjamin. Second, it is evident that there is a virtually infinite number of alternative ways in

which history can be considered. My argument here has considered but a few of these

possibilities; one could imagine how beneficial it would be, for purposes both scholarly and

practical, to delve deeper into the possible forms that history might take, and how we might

properly interpret these forms. Here I have shown how carefully reproducing art can offer new

means of political resistance, but other sociopolitical conclusions may well and arguably should

be drawn from proper analysis of other forms of history.

Bibliography

Auerbach, Erich. Mimesis: The Representation of Reality in Western Literature. Fiftieth-anniversary ed. Translated by Willard R. Trask. Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2003.

Benjamin, Walter. “The Work of Art in the Age of Mechanical Reproduction.” Translated by Harry Zohn and edited by Hannah Arendt. Berlin: Schocken Books, 1936. Accessed February 9, 2016, via the Contemporary Political Theory POS 310 Fall 15 Dropbox. https://www.dropbox.com/sh/jhclpmcozv5w1a3/AAA2jNSWhMWqArVyqj0TYcHra/

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Ellison, Ralph. “Ralph Ellison, The Art of Fiction No. 8.” By Alfred Chester and Vilma Howard. The Paris Review, no. 8 (Spring 1955). Accessed January 28, 2016. http://www.theparisreview.org/interviews/5053/the-art-of-fiction-no-8-ralph-ellison.

Hammond, Adam. “The Honest and Dishonest Critic: Style and Substance in Mikhail Bakhtin’s ‘Discourse in the Novel’ and Erich Auerbach’s Mimesis.” Style 45, no. 4 (Winter 2011): 638-653. Accessed April 11, 2016. http://libproxy.albany.edu/login?url=http://search.ebscohost.com/login.aspx?direct=true&db=edsglr&AN=edsgcl.285206692&site=eds-live&scope=site.

Rancière, Jacques. The Politics of Aesthetics. Edited and translated by Gabriel Rockhill. London: Bloomsbury Academic, 2006.

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