Karen Tsdj, a member of the public, recently sent us a picture of her personal Arendt library. That image is displayed below:
Below is an excerpt from Karen's thought paper (inspired by Arendt) on Adolf Eichmann and George Zimmerman, which was written the summer the latter was acquitted for the killing of Trayvon Martin:
Arendt refused to call Eichmann a monster. She wanted him tried and found guilty based on his actions. Without needing to prove whether or not Eichmann was anti-Semitic, justice could be served by proving his culpability in the deaths of thousands of people beyond reasonable doubt. It does not matter that he was just “following the law” or "doing his job well”. He was guilty of taking part in the killings. That was enough to find him guilty.
Similarly, George Zimmerman was guilty of killing Trayvon Martin beyond reasonable doubt. Whether or not he was a racist, or “his heart was in the right place” (Juror B37), or he was standing his ground to defend himself, there was no doubt that he shot and killed Martin. If those factors could be proven, they might shape the sentence but not the verdict. And in this civilized society where we are all held accountable for our actions, Zimmerman should have been held accountable for Martin’s death. The “not guilty” verdict implied that he was not responsible for Martin’s death. Ridiculous? Yet it happened. How? Because Arendt’s warning was not heeded: to recognize and regulate evil even in its banality. We do not need people to be monsters, or anti-Semites, or racists, in order to hold them accountable for their actions. Referring to Taylor, an American lawyer and counsel at the Nuremberg Trials, Arendt stated that a criminal proceeding could be warranted in order to protect the community whose law has been violated. Is not the taking of a life the very basic law in a community that Zimmerman violated? That Eichmann arrogated?
Does it matter if George Zimmerman was no more a monster than Eichmann was? Whether Eichmann was anti-Semitic or not, we will never know. Whether Zimmerman was a racist or not, we will never really know. We can surmise, we can guess and deduce. But a court of law need not know the hearts of individuals to hold them responsible. Defendants are held accountable for what they did, not what they felt or thought. It is what they do about what they felt and thought that the court has jurisdiction to judge and sentence them.
On one hand, Eichmann was indicted for an atrocity much bigger than him. Much to Arendt’s dismay, the Jerusalem court in Eichmann’s trial wanted to use the trial to serve the Zionist agenda, and not just to hold Eichmann accountable for his action, but for the centuries of suffering that the Jewish people went through. By muddling the issue, Eichmann was ironically correct in stating that he was made the scapegoat for the anti-Semitism that resulted in the Holocaust. In effect, the victimization of the Jewish people was highlighted more than the horrendous acts themselves.
On the other hand, Zimmerman was acquitted on an atrocity much bigger than him. Although he already admitted to killing Martin, he was not willing to be accountable, as manifested by is “not guilty” plea, and he was not held accountable for his action. Judge Nelson rightly insisted that race would not be the issue in her court. Her court would not be the site where centuries of racial tension would be resolved. Yet the defense focused on the non-malicious/non-racist motive of Zimmerman while the prosecution focused on the victim, and the process of how the incident took place. By muddling the issue, the jury assumed it had to prove beyond reasonable doubt that Zimmerman had malice, instead of the fact that Zimmerman killed Martin. By focusing and casting doubts on Zimmerman’s motive instead of his culpability in Martin’s death, the defense was able to get Zimmerman acquitted. In effect, Zimmerman was not responsible for Martin’s death. Who was, then?
With Arendt, I weep.
Want to share pictures of your own Arendt library?
Please send them to David Bisson, our Media Coordinator, at firstname.lastname@example.org, and we might feature them on our blog!
For more Library photos, please click here.
Here is what Philip had to say about the image:
I’m studying history and politics at Martin-Luther-University Halle/Germany. The first time I’ve got in contact with Hannah Arendt was in politics, when we were discussing her theory of difference between power and violence. My interest in this topic was awakened and I started reading her regularly. My second big field of interest is German society in the Third Reich. Her book on the Eichmann-trail and of course "The Origins of Totalitarianism" helped me a lot to understand the mechanisms of totalitarian societies. Last semester I wrote a paper in my political-theory-class in which I focused on the Arab Spring by using the catalogue of successful revolutions Hannah Arendt developed in "On Revolution". In my opinion, her thoughts are still relevant and I’m expanding my mind every time I read Hannah Arendt.
Thank you, Philip, for sharing your photograph and your love of Arendt with us!
Want to share pictures of your own Arendt library?
Please send them to David Bisson, our Media Coordinator, at email@example.com, and we might feature them on our blog!
For more Library photos, please click here.
We are pleased to share a photograph of a personal Arendt library we received this week from Isla Valle, one of our followers on Twitter.
Isla Valle, who lives in South America and whose native language is Spanish, owns a mix of different translations of Arendt's works.
At the bottom of the image, the books are, from left to right.:
- "Between Friends" The Correspondence of Hannah Arendt and Mary McCarthy, 1949-1975, Edited by Carol Brightman, 1995
- "Hannah Arendt, Existencia y Libertad" by Paolo Flores D'Arcais, Edited by Tecnos, 1996 (Original Title: "Hannah Arendt, Esistenza e Libertà")
- "Totalitarianism" Part 3 of "The Origins of Totalitarianism" by Hannah Arendt, Edited by Harvest Book
- "Imperialism" Part 2 of "The Origins of Totalitarianism"by Hannah Arendt, Edited by Harvest Book
- "Antisemitism" Part 1 of "The Origins of Totalitarianism"by Hannah Arendt, Edited by Harvest Book
- "Eichmann in Jerusalem" by Hannah Arendt, Edited by Penguin Books, 1994
- "El Genio Femenino 1. Hannah Arendt" by Julia Kristeva, Edited by Paidós, 2003 (Original Title: "Le génie féminin. La vie, la folie, les mots. Tome premier: Hannah Arendt")
- "Hannah and Martin" by Kate Fodor, Edited by Dramatists Play Service Inc., NY, NY.
- "Conferencias sobre la Filosofía Política de Kant", by Hannah Arendt, Edited by Paidós, 2003 (Original Title: "Lectures on Kant's Political Philosophy")
In the center of the picture, from left to right:
- "Correspondencia Hannah Arendt-Martin Heidegger (1925-1975) Edited by Ursula Ludz, Herder Editorial, 2000. (Original Title: HANNAH ARENDT/MARTIN HEIDEGGER, Briefe 1925 bis 1975 und andere Zeugnise)
- "Hannah Arendt-Martin Heidegger" by Elzbieta Ettinger, Edited by Yale University Press, 1995
- "Love and Saint Augustine", by Hannah Arendt, Edited by The University of Chicago Press, 1996
Want to share pictures of your own Arendt library? Please send them to David Bisson, our Media Coordinator, at firstname.lastname@example.org, and we might feature them on our blog!
For more Library photos, please click here.
By Jennie Han
**This article was originally published on April 1, 2013.**
"Critical thinking is possible only where the standpoints of all others are open to inspection. Hence, critical thinking, while still a solitary business, does not cut itself off from ‘all others.’ To be sure, it still goes on in isolation, but by the force of imagination it makes the others present and thus moves in a space that is potentially public, open to all sides; in other words, it adopts the position of Kant’s world citizen. To think with an enlarged mentality means that one trains one’s imagination to go visiting."
-- Hannah Arendt, Lectures on Kant's Political Philosophy
Arendt’s appeal to the “enlargement of the mind” of Kantian judgment is well known and is often discussed in relation to Eichmann’s failure to think and recognize the world’s plurality. To the extent that we find lessons in these discussions, a prominent one is that we might all be vulnerable to such failures of judgment.
**This post was originally published on November 15, 2013**
It is now more than 50 years since Hannah Arendt published Eichmann in Jerusalem. It is neither her best nor her most important book, yet it does contain essential and important insights. Above all, it offers us the example of a man who, as Arendt saw and understood him, moved fairly seamlessly from being an anti-Semite to a genocidal murderer. Arendt asked: How is it that Eichmann and others like him morphed so easily from an anti-Semite to a mass murderer?
Thanks to @sarohdez for tweeting us this photo.
SPECTRA Special Issue
Call for Submissions
Due: March 15, 2014
SPECTRA: Social, Political, Ethical, & Cultural Theory Archives.
SPECTRA invites submissions by STUDENTS for a special issue on “Hannah Arendt: Fifty Years after Eichmann in Jerusalem.”
Hannah Arendt’s Eichmann in Jerusalem stirred controversy when originally published in 1963. The recent biographical film Hannah Arendt (2013) attempts to portray her efforts to chronicle the trial of Nazi administrator Adolf Eichmann, and to theorize the legal prosecution of crimes never before tried in a court of law. Now, fifty years after the trial in Jerusalem and the publication of Arendt’s analysis we aim to further the conversation in a special issue. Potential topics may include, but are by no means limited to the following:
- Have contemporary societies come to terms with the concerns Arendt originally raised?
- What challenges, if anything, does Arendt’s analysis of “the banality of evil” pose for discourse on present-day global issues?
- What do the peripheral production details of the film (e.g. timing, funding, cast, distribution, etc.) tell us about the desires of those involved in its development?
- Does the film faithfully portray the role of personal experiences and motivations in guiding the scholar’s work?
- How does Arendt’s work engage with contemporary feminist scholarship and activism?
- What can we make of both the omissions and emphases in the film?
We invite submissions on the topic and, in particular, encourage the following:
- Essays-in-brief: critical essays and reflections at approximately 2,000 — 2,500 words,
- Film reviews and commentaries: responses to specific aspects of the film and/or the overall film (2,000 — 2,500 words)
- Critical provocations: poetry, art, multimedia, and/or unconventional text projects intended to provoke discourse on the theme (we recommend contacting the issue editor to discuss these ideas in advance of submitting your work)
- Full-length research essays (4,000 – 5,000 words) are also welcome.
Submissions undergo a double-anonymous review process, and all work must include appropriate citations formatted according to the Chicago Manual of Style 16th Edition.
Please review the complete submission guidelines available at: http://spectrajournal.org/submission-guidelines/
This post was originally published on December 2, 2011.
Eight years ago this week, Michael Ignatieff accepted the Hannah Arendt Prize in Bremen. Ignatieff's acceptance speech spoke of Hannah Arendt as an example, as an intellectual whose work and persona had inspired and guided him on his own course. As is appropriate, he praises Arendt and also challenges her, finding in his disagreements an intense respect for the provocation and courage of her thinking. Arendt inspires, Ignatieff concludes, because she is skeptical, dispassionate, and free. His speech is one of the best accounts of what makes Arendt so compelling as a thinker. I recommend it to you as this week’s Weekend read.
What most strikes Ignatieff about Arendt is her intellectual authority. He writes:
She was an example, first, because she created her own authority. She arrived in New York as a penniless refugee and by her death was widely respected as a public intellectual. She achieved authority by the power of thought. By authority, I mean that she was listened to, respected and widely regarded as a wise woman. I also mean that her influence has survived her and that the argument about her work continues a generation after her death.
Arendt's authority flows from commitment to ideas, to, in Ignatieff's words, an "intellectual life, that was free of any alliance with power, ideology, religion or coercive force." Neither a liberal nor a conservative, Arendt sought simply to think, and rethink, what we are doing. Again, Ignatieff characterizes her beautifully:
She defended a life of the mind connected to the idea of persuasion: the free changing of a mind in interaction with a logical argument or a claim about the world grounded in evident or falsifiable facts. She was attentive to facts, understood the discipline they impose on thought, appreciated the moral code of empirical scholarship, the proposition that if the theory does not fit the facts, the theory must be changed. This is a moral idea simply because it requires people to admit that they are wrong, and since nobody likes to, everyone can find a morally dubious way to avoid doing so. Facts are stubborn things, and intellectual life has no essential morality unless it submits arguments to the discipline of such facts as we can discover about ourselves and the world we live in.
Arendt's insistence on facts beyond ideology and politics made her old-fashioned to some. While everyone has a right to their opinion, she insisted that facts are sacrosanct, and no one has a right to change facts. Fidelity to facts meant for her a fidelity to living in a world with others, a shared world, one in which our disagreements cannot include disagreements over the unquestionable factual truths that make up our common world.
It is on the question of one such fact, however, that Ignatieff disagrees with Arendt. In her book Eichmann in Jerusalem, Arendt brought attention to the complicity of Jewish leaders who, during WWII, supplied Nazi leaders with lists of Jews and organized their fellow Jews for transport to concentration and death camps. A few resigned. Fewer committed suicide or resisted. But the majority collaborated.
These Jewish leaders often defended their actions as a lesser evil, keeping order where otherwise disorder might have reigned. But Arendt noted that they also kept themselves and their families off the transport lists. These were facts. While many Jews thought these facts should be hidden, Arendt insisted on telling the whole truth. Arendt argued that it is always right to tell the truth, no matter the consequences.
What is more, Arendt had the temerity to judge the Jewish leaders for their complicity. The Jewish leaders, she wrote, had defended their actions by the argument of the "lesser evil"— that their cooperation allowed them to save some Jews (themselves included) and was therefore a lesser evil; if they had simply handed the responsibility for selecting and organizing the Jews to the Nazis, that would have been worse.
For Arendt, this argument of the lesser evil was in form, although not in significance or import, the very same argument Eichmann employed. It was even closer to the actions of normal, average, everyday Germans who chose to work within the Nazi bureaucracy and legal system, justifying their actions by saying that if they resigned, others, even more heartless, would take their places. What unites the German civil servants and the Jewish leaders in Arendt’s telling is their willingness to justify morally suspect actions in the name of doing an unethical job as ethically as possible.
It is important to recall that Arendt did not advocate punishing the Jewish leaders. Hers was not a legal judgment. But she did insist that they should bear moral responsibility for their actions. In short, they had put their own safety and the safety of their friends and families above their obligations to those other Jews who were under their care. In short, they had valued the lives of some over others and cooperated in the selection of some for extermination.
Arendt's argument of the formal similarity between the complicity of the Jewish leader and German bureaucrats was, Ignatieff argues, a mistake. It is worth hearing his argument at length. He writes:
Arendt had assumed that the choices that Jewish leaders made under Nazi occupation ought to be judged by the same standards of accountability to be applied to the perpetrators. She quoted her friend Mary McCarthy as saying, “If somebody points a gun at you and says, “Kill your friend or I will kill you”, he is tempting you, that is all.”
Arendt maintained that while it might not be possible to resist direct coercion, it was possible to resist temptation. This standard applied equally to perpetrators and accomplices. Without holding on to such a distinction, Arendt claimed, personal responsibility would be lost altogether.
Yet while it is a temptation for the perpetrator to say: “Kill your friend or I will kill you”, the victim so compelled is under a very direct form of coercion. Arendt has elided two very different experiences: the German perpetrator who could disobey orders that entailed telling others to kill and a Jewish collaborator who knew that the choices were between everyone dying and some dying, between dying then or dying later.
“I was told, “Arendt later said angrily, “that judging itself was wrong: no one can judge who had not been there.” But it was one thing to insist on the right to judge Eichmann and his kind, another thing to claim the equivalent right to judge—and condemn—the conduct of Jewish collaborators. The second case required a different kind of judgment, one that does not confuse understanding and forgiveness, but which does insist on empathy as a prelude to judgment. Empathy is not the same as sympathy. Empathy here means the capacity to enter into the moral world of those faced with intolerable choices and understand how these choices could be made. Empathy implies a capacity to discriminate between the condemnation appropriate to a perpetrator and that of his Jewish accomplice. The accusation here is fundamental: that in making ethical judgment the central function of intellectual life, and its chief claim of authority, Arendt had lacked the one essential feature of judgment: compassion.
There are a few things to say about Ignatieff's critique. First, he assumes that for the Jewish collaborators the choice was between "everyone dying and some dying, between dying then or dying later." Arendt disputes that fact. She denies that Jewish collaboration saved more lives than non-collaboration would have. Indeed, she argues that if the Jews had refused to collaborate, many fewer Jews would have been killed. The ensuing chaos would have afforded many Jews the chance to escape and would have inspired others to resist. Further, the complicity of Jewish leaders eased the Nazi's job and provided labor and legitimacy that expedited the efficiency of the final solution. It is simply wrong, Arendt insists, to see the choice as one of dying now or dying later. One cannot know the results of action, which always begins anew and is unpredictable in its consequences. Jewish resistance in place of collaboration, she argues, might have saved lives. It would have required courage, however, that the leaders risk their own lives.
Second, Ignatieff argues that Arendt was wrong to judge the collaborators and that in doing so she denied them the empathy and compassion that are essential features of judgment. Here Ignatieff and Arendt have a real difference of opinion, and it is one worth thinking about.
Ignatieff insists that judgment requires compassion. We should get to know the person being judged, empathize with his plight, and make allowance for his wrongs based on the circumstances. Against this view, Arendt insists that compassion—which is an essential and praiseworthy trait in the personal realm—must be kept out of the political realm and divorced from questions of judgment.
Compassion with another requires an engagement with another in their singularity. Indeed, it is just such a lack of compassion with those Jews under their care that was absent on the part of the Jewish leaders and that allowed them to act such as they did. Instead of compassion, the Jewish leaders treated their fellow Jews with pity. The leaders eased the plight of their subjects by treating them pitifully and softly as they sent them off to die, but they were able to do so only by avoiding the true empathy of compassion that would have made such action impossible. If the Jewish leaders really had compassion, they could never have handed them over to the Nazis to be killed. In fact, it is this willingness to subordinate their compassion and singular relation to those they were responsible for, to the political logic of means-ends rationality that bothered Arendt.
What most bothered Arendt, however, was that the Jewish leaders judged it better to do wrong by sending others off to die than to suffer wrong themselves. This putting of their own self-interest above the moral requirement not to do wrong was, she argued, a violation of the fundamental moral law first announced by Socrates; that it is better to suffer wrong than to do wrong. It is for their poor moral judgment that Arendt judges them.
While the leaders should have showed compassion for those in their care, Arendt insists that a judge should not. Judgment requires distance. It is from her distant perch as a conscious pariah—an outsider who refuses to let compassion enter her judgments—that Arendt found the moral authority with which to judge the Jewish leaders. On the need for such judgment, she and Ignatieff simply disagree.
Enjoy Ignatieff's speech. It is a shining example of how to accept an award with gratitude—appropriate for a post-Thanksgiving read. And let us know what you think.
“There exists in our society widespread fear of judging…[B]ehind the unwillingness to judge lurks the suspicion that no one is a free agent, and hence doubt that anyone is responsible or could be expected to answer for what he has done…Who has ever maintained that by judging a wrong I presuppose that I myself would be incapable of committing it?”
-Hannah Arendt, "Personal Responsibility Under Dictatorship"
It’s difficult to know where to begin to counter the errors, misreadings, and plain obfuscations of Arendt’s point of view in this essay by Richard Brody that appeared a few days ago in The New Yorker online. But perhaps the most glaring mistake Brody makes is to confuse what Arendt wrote about “thinking” with some form of “intellectualism.” To begin with, when, in her interview with Gunther Gaus, she makes the point that it was the betrayal by “friends” that she found most shocking this is not because she thought only intellectuals could think or were the only ones to have “ideas” but that they “believed”—without thinking!—the very “ideas” they had fabricated, without considering where these “ideas” might take them. They were “trapped” in their ideas, which is why Arendt, in the same interview, refused to call herself a philosopher, cut off from the world, and insisted she was a political theorist.
Thinking depends on letting the imagination go visiting, and Arendt argued it was Eichmann’s inability to think from the standpoint of anyone else that made him “thoughtless” and hence become unable to distinguish right from wrong. But the same could be said, for different reasons, of the “intellectuals” Arendt referred to and said she’d found so grotesque in the interview with Gaus. And, whether you like where it took her or not, thinking from the standpoint of others was exactly what she practiced in the case of her judgment of the leaders of the Jewish Councils. She imagined they might not have cooperated. Yes, they faced “fear and despair,” as Brody notes, but Arendt imagined it was still possible not to comply even in the face of significant threats and consequences. And the historical evidence indicates this to be the case: not everyone complied.
Yet nowhere does Arendt claim the ability to judge a situation means I myself (or she) necessarily would have done anything differently. The most chilling conclusion she reached from her reflections on the trial is that there are no guarantees “when the chips are down” that I will know the right thing to do, and just do it. And it was her confrontation with Eichmann’s banality—not what he did, but who he showed he was, and “how many were like him” during this time—that led Arendt to warn near the end of the book that once such crimes had entered the human experience it is entirely possible that “similar crimes may be committed in the future.”
In an interview with Roger Errera, from which Brody also quotes, Arendt remarked that her intention was in writing about Eichmann as she did was to “destroy the legend of the greatness of evil. As she was thinking about this issue she said she’d “found in Brecht the following remark: ‘The great political criminals must be exposed and exposed especially to laughter.’ " And her “tone” in Eichmann in Jerusalem was an attempt to do just that: expose the criminals to derision.
It was the banality of the criminals—not the crimes they committed—that gave Arendt such a shock she responded with laughter. And it’s a shame Brody doesn’t understand what this signifies: the humanization of perpetrators actually serves to humanize victims as well. She did not equate the responsibility of “persecutors and persecuted” for crimes committed by the Nazi state, as Brody claims. But not to allow victims and perpetrators to occupy the same moral universe is to traffic in the dangerous idea that guilt and innocence are not the result of human behavior but exist somehow independent of what people do.
Let me close with an excerpt from my new book, Diving for Pearls: A Thinking Journey with Hannah Arendt:
Many people still find abhorrent Arendt’s claim that Eichmann, the man, was no monster. Everyone knows murder is wrong; certainly, then, murdering millions without a guilty conscience must be the classic example of monstrous behavior. Or madness. Surely only a monster or a madman could commit such heinous deeds. And that’s an understandable reaction. Most of us hold fast to a well-guarded belief that rules and standards used to tell right from wrong, rules we assume to be universal, cannot be easily discarded. Not I, we believers in our own inherent goodness insist; I would never comply with such an order. But Arendt wouldn’t let anyone rest on such a convenient way to avoid having to think for herself.
“The trouble with Eichmann,” she wrote, “was precisely so many were like him, and that the many were neither perverted nor sadistic, they were, and still are, terribly and terrifyingly normal. From the viewpoint of our legal institutions and our moral standards of judgment, this normality was much more terrifying than all the atrocities put together, for it implied...that this new type of criminal...commits his crimes under circumstances that make it well-nigh impossible for him to know or to feel that he is doing wrong.
The idea that “an average, ‘normal’ person, neither feeble-minded nor indoctrinated nor cynical, could be perfectly incapable of telling right from wrong” defies any ordinary understanding of good and evil. And yet, Arendt observed, “without much notice, all [these rules governing right and wrong] collapsed almost overnight...What happened? Did we finally awake from a dream?” How had it become so easy for so many to behave like Eichmann and participate in carrying out these atrocities?
Arendt explained it this way: the Nazi state had generated a “totality of...moral collapse...in respectable European society—not only in Germany but in almost all countries, not only among the persecutors but also among the victims.” And at that sentence, many people throw her book across the room in disgust, perhaps missing the other point she made: not everyone complied with the system.
But Arendt’s writing has made me wonder why we need to believe a solid wall separates the performers of horrible acts from the rest of us? And what holds that wall in place?
“When I think back to the last two decades since the end of the last war,” she wrote in the mid-1960s, “I have the feeling that this moral issue has lain dormant because it was concealed by something about which it is indeed much more difficult to speak and with which it is almost impossible to come to terms—the horror itself in its naked monstrosity.” Trying to think the unthinkable—the horror of state-ordered, socially coordinated manufacturing of corpses in the twentieth century, or of other genocides in previous centuries and in this one—can take one’s breath away. Not even time’s healing power seems to bring relief.
[T]his past has grown worse as the years have gone by so that we are sometimes tempted to think, this will never be over as long as we are not all dead...This past has turned out to be ‘unmastered’ by everybody, not only the German nation.
Yet Arendt insisted on confronting those concealed moral issues even though they looked like “side issues...compared with the horror.” She pushed past the speechless horror to grapple with the moral implications of the “ubiquitous complicity” surrounding the Holocaust. Because not grappling with those implications would allow Eichmann to gain what the monk Thomas Merton, deeply influenced by reading Eichmann in Jerusalem, would have considered a “posthumous long life,” making us all, like it or not, as Karl Plank observed in his essay about Merton, “vulnerable to complicity in deeds of destruction.”
-Kathleen B. Jones