He who cannot take sides should keep silent.
(Walter Benjamin, One-Way Street)
It’s so easy to hang Benjamin with his own rope that it’s not even fair. The guy’s whole career was one long bout of coquettish indecision. A Marxist who didn’t bother to read Marx, a fellow traveller who never got around to joining the communist party, a Zionist who stayed the hell out of Israel: Benjamin was committed to nothing but his own refusal to commit. And that’s okay. I can sympathize. For a writer living amid the convulsions of the Weimar republic, a certain political aloofness was no doubt the price of intellectual purity. Alright. No problem. But will the academic Pharisees please stop pretending that Benjamin was anything other than a slippery philosophical customer? Sure, he was a terribly brilliant thinker, but his brilliance was clouded by what is politely called “opacity”. Less politely, a sceptical reader might suggest that his portentous obscurity is merely a diversionary feint in a sophisticated game of three-card Monte, a game played at the highest theoretical levels, to be sure, but still a bit of a rip-off in the end. Even Gershom Scholem accused him of “ambiguity, adventurism and acrobatics”, and he was a close friend (he was also quite possibly Benjamin’s intellectual equal, and therefore in a position to call him on his high-grade bullshit.) The Viennese satirist Karl Kraus (no mental midget himself) was mystified by the long essay Benjamin wrote about him: “Maybe it’s psychoanalysis,” he conceded with a shrug. (Benjamin scholars, by the way, tend to quote this as an example of Kraus’s wilful obtuseness, but if Kraus was obtuse, then the rest of us are drooling imbeciles).
But you know what? Despite all my reservations, I still encourage you—no, I double-dog dare you to read Benjamin. The occasional, forehead-slapping insights he provides are worth all the squirming and impatience and muttered f-bombs he’ll cost you. Half the time I honestly have no idea what he’s talking about, and half the time I think he’s plain wrong. But the other half (don’t knock my fractions: I’m an English major) I bow down before his beautifully convoluted mind.