‘The society of the spectacle’ is a phrase that has passed, in France, and I suppose elsewhere, into common parlance. The recent death of Guy Debord has had a share in giving to his work of 1967, and to the Situationist trend of the sixties, a reputation as invaluable points of reference; some researchers, who are particularly interested in the history of images and representation, have seen a parallel between the works of Walter Benjamin and Guy Debord, or have thought that they fit into a logical sequence. When a friend recently wrote to me along these lines, I was led to answer him in order to clarify issues which seem to arise from a theoretical misunderstanding. It is these personal reflections that I propose to make available here. footnote1
Technology and religion, mechanization and spirituality: these are, it seems, the ‘rational core’ of our century, the decisive issue—and not ‘communism or capitalism’, ‘totalitarianism or freedom’, as our dominant intelligentsia have insisted for fifty years. In this respect, Walter Benjamin, as early as the thirties, was ahead of his time. Thirty years later, Debord was still stirring up our philosophical past—the froth rather than the substance. As one might expect, his German precursor adopted a less rhetorical tone, soberly focusing his analysis on the present and on various real objects: photography and panoramas, arcades and tramways, the museums and squares of Paris, and Biedermeier furniture. By contrast, the spokesman of the French arrièregardes took up a prophetic tone as the herald of a new age. What was truly radical in Benjamin’s approach was its changing of viewpoints and methods of observation; in the case of Debord, it was rather a formal effect, the form of the ‘Manifesto’, a remake of the posture of the Young Hegelians—the time is here, let us give back to man his own truth, our criticism will carry the revolution to its term.
The Society of the Spectacle, first published in 1967, should really bear the date 1841, the year of the first edition of The Essence of Christianity. This is true of both its syntax and vocabulary. Feuerbach provides not only an epigraph for Debord, but a ready-made structure for his argument. Recognition of this plagiarism is a generational matter, and I quite under
The originality of The Society of the Spectacle was to bring together two banalities, overlaying the 1840s themes of alienation, absolutely unmodified, with 1960s objects—consumer society, culture, publicity. The encounter between the old stencil and the new artefact—or the shadow which it cast—doubtless produced the effect of reality, with existential resonances, but not an effect of real knowledge, bearing new insights. The plagiarism of the style, acknowledged in extremis—‘plagiarism is necessary’, says Debord in fragment 207—made it possible to hide from view the plagiarism of the thought, an old pharmaceutical technique.
What was it that The Essence of Christianity had to tell us? That the being of humanity had separated itself from its essence by projecting it onto God, the inverted mirror of actual humanity in which it venerates its own power turned against itself. Furthermore, that this generalized separation engendered religious illusion, an inverted profane content, a negation of the human wherein man affirms as other that which he denies in himself. But also that this illusion will come to an end once humanity, educated by criticism, rediscovers the truth inherent in its illusions, namely its own essence previously alienated in the fantastic form of God or ideology.