Adorno was suspicious of Benjamin’s notion of a collective dream: ‘For who is the subject of the dream?’ he wrote to Benjamin in 1935, referring to the Arcades exposé, where in place of the individual subject of bourgeois psychology, ‘the collective consciousness is invoked, but I fear that in its present form it cannot be distinguished from Jung’s conception’.footnote141 Adorno claimed that Benjamin seemed to presume that present dream-consciousness could exist outside of capitalist society, rather than being the distorted product of it,footnote142 and he argued that such a position was not compatible with Marxism: ‘It should be clear and sufficient warning that in a dreaming collective no differences remain between classes.’footnote143 Adorno’s reservations concerning the exposé were not without reason, but Benjamin’s other writings indicate that Adorno was misreading his intent. The dialectical images were clearly not eternal archetypes, but socially specific constellations, inherited historically rather than biologically—and not via a linear genealogy. Benjamin compared their appearance in consciousness to Proust’s involuntary memory: ‘By
Benjamin was not blind to the class differences with regard to the ‘collective’ dream. (As I have tried to demonstrate, the arcades were full of class contrast.) In his own recollections Benjamin quite frankly admitted that the Berlin which revealed itself to him was determined by his class origin: ‘I never slept on the street in Berlin. I saw sunset and dawn, but between the two I found myself a shelter. Only those for whom poverty or vice turns the city into a landscape in which they stray from dark till sunrise know it in a way denied to me. I always found quarters, even though sometimes tardy and also unknown ones that I did not revisit and where I was not alone. If I paused thus late in a doorway, my legs had become entangled in the ribbons of the street, and it was not the cleanest of hands that freed me.’footnote147 What Benjamin knew of manual labor as a child was limited to his aunt’s glass rhombus of a mine ‘in which little men pushed wheelbarrows, laboured with pickaxes. . . .’footnote148 He confessed his ‘stubborn refusal to form a united front, be it even with my own mother’;footnote149 and he considered solitude ‘the only fit state of man’.footnote150 Yet despite his upper-bourgeois class background, after his exile to Paris in 1933 Benjamin had to deal constantly with financial insecurity. His letters are full of references to it and to the anxiety it caused him, which affected his work. To supplement his stipend from the Institute which he feared (unnecessarily) would be discontinued, he produced for the market—for newspaper feuilletons and literary journals—in order to earn a livelihood. As a writer, then, Benjamin could count himself among those intellectuals about whom he commented: ‘Inevitably, one day many of its members had to become aware of the commodity nature of their labour power.’footnote151
For Benjamin’s present-day audience, historical images of the arcades as both Heaven and Hell would be perceived differentially: by the
Bourgeois dreams of material and sexual gratification had been democratized without being fulfilled. As illusions they held sway over all classes. One could indeed cite Marx: ‘Our motto must therefore be: Reform of consciousness not through dogmas, but through analysing the mystical consciousness, the consciousness which is unclear to itself. . . . Then it will transpire that the world has long been dreaming of something that it can acquire if only it becomes conscious of it. It will transpire that it is not a matter of drawing a great dividing line between past and future, but of carrying out the thoughts of the past. And finally, it will transpire that mankind begins no new work, but consciously accomplishes its old work.’footnote153 But if each age, in dreaming its successor, ‘compels it toward wakefulness,’footnote154 then what would awaken the oppressed classes was the fact that the dream of a humanized world was the nightmare reality of their own lives. The total dehumanization of workers and whores was required to create illusory dream-symbols for the bourgeoisie.
Class distinctions clearly remained in Benjamin’s concept of the collective dream. Nonetheless, his focus on the point of consumption rather than production did lead away from Marx, at least in terms of his definition of the revolutionary subject. Although Benjamin always referred to this subject as the ‘proletariat’, the terms of his analysis did not necessarily limit that category to factory workers. If dehumanization was defined, not simply in terms of alienated labor which produced surplus value, but of alienated subjectivity which produced symbolic value, then the class of the oppressed might be far broader. It might include the physically persecuted ethnic groups upon whom a negative symbolic value was imposed in order to enhance the illusory superiority of the rulers. And, significantly, it might include women, whose positive symbolic value as sexual objects was one with their devaluation as human beings. Degraded as commodities—increasingly, within the context of bourgeois sexual ‘liberation’ this applied to all women and not merely prostitutes—their desires for material security and sexual happiness placed them in a position of oppressive dependency, so long as sex was the key to their economic survival.