Hannah Arendt Center for Politics and Humanities
14Oct/131

On Facts (for Elisabeth Young-Bruehl)

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This "Quote of the week was originally published on December 19, 2011.

“Conceptually, we may call truth what we cannot change; metaphorically, it is the ground on which we stand and the sky that stretches above us.”

— Hannah Arendt, “Truth and Politics”

I spent December 2 in Greencastle, Indiana, talking about politics, political theory, and the life and work of Hannah Arendt at DePauw University.  Over dinner, I had sung the praises of Elisabeth Young-Bruehl’s biography of Arendt, For Love of the World—a book that needs no publicity from me, but which I’ve come to admire all the more as I’ve learned how much and what kind of effort it takes to recount even a slice of someone’s story, much less a whole life.  When I came back to my hotel room after dinner, I found, online, the news of Elisabeth’s death.  In this terrible retrospect, my comments about the biography felt inadequate.  I’d said something about the care she devoted to the facts of Arendt’s life, which, I worried, might have sounded trivializing, as if a biographer were just an assembler of details, and as if Elisabeth hadn’t also been an interpreter and a thinker in her own right. Not to mention that invoking the facts must have seemed quaint, or naïve: who talks that way anymore?

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Arendt, of course, talked that way, and it had always sounded a little jarring to my constructivist ear.  Maybe that’s why, like many other readers, I had usually remembered her essay “Truth and Politics” as a forceful attempt to emancipate politics from the category of philosophical truth, and neglected its other half: a defense of the political relevance of “factual truth,” which Arendt had no trouble characterizing as a matter of respect for the “brutally elementary data” of human events.  (Her preferred example: “On the night of August 4, 1914, German troops crossed the frontier of Belgium.”)  But I had recently had occasion to come back to “Truth and Politics” and to Arendt’s invocation of factual truth, and—I now realized—the line of thought that had emerged from that reading wasn’t unrelated to my deepening appreciation of For Love of the World.

The real reason Arendt’s appeal to brute facts was so jarring, I think, is that we’re used to hearing such appeals as table-thumping attempts to end a conversation, to put doubt to rest, to anchor a political judgment in something undeniable; and that sounds like the very strategy Arendt criticized in the case of appeals to rational or philosophical truth, which are supposed to have enough “compelling force” to cut through the tangle of competing and conflicting opinions.

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But this wasn’t Arendt’s point.  She conceded that claims to factual truth, like all truth-claims, assert a kind of peremptoriness, and therefore strike us as “despotic” in their “infuriating stubbornness.”  At the same time, though, she insisted on the weakness and fragility of factual truth, not only in the sense that facts are vulnerable to manipulation at the hands of political actors, but also in the sense that the “mere telling of facts,” on its own, “leads to no action whatever.”  The bruteness of facts is extraordinarily limited in its reach: that it was the German army and not the Belgian that crossed the frontier in 1914 may be one of those givens that we “cannot change,” but nothing further follows from the fact itself.

Why, then, are these “brutally elementary data” politically relevant?  Because in an era of “organized lying,” in which political actors and ideologists do not simply deny or falsify particular facts, but struggle to represent factual truth in general as a tightly ordered, internally consistent system, the recounting of inconvenient facts can disrupt such efforts to give factual truth a compulsive power that, Arendt thought, reality itself lacks. In this context, an appeal to the bruteness of facts needn’t obscure plurality or bypass the need for judgment: on the contrary, it can disclose that need, showing an audience its situation in sufficient factual richness that nothing will seem to follow from that situation automatically.  (“The question was never to get away from facts but to get closer to them,” Bruno Latour once wrote; perhaps he and Arendt are not so far apart after all.)

Elisabeth Young-Bruehl had a brilliant sense for this Arendtian chemistry of facts, for their paradoxical power to serve, precisely in their bruteness, as a kind of leaven, opening up rather than shutting down occasions and spaces for judgment.  Maybe all great biographers do.  Yes, she did much more than recount the facts of Arendt’s life; she was also an interpreter, who transformed the “raw material of sheer happenings” into a meaningful story, one that was informed by her own interest in and knowledge of matters for which her teacher and subject had little patience, like psychoanalysis.

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But For Love of the World is not and does not feel tendentious in its treatment of the facts of Arendt’s life. It is too generous for that, it tells us too much more than it would need to if the facts were only there to prove a point, and, in the disinterested care with which it treats those many factual matters that are not cruxes in her own interpretation—and most of them are not—it invites and enables its readers to tell the story differently.  It is not the authoritativeness of Elisabeth’s account of why Arendt matters, but the firmness of her grasp of small details, and the lightness with which she deploys them, that make her book, for so many readers of Arendt of so many different theoretical persuasions, an indispensible part of “the ground on which we stand, and the sky that stretches above us."

-Patchen Markell

7Oct/130

Irony as an Antidote to Thoughtlessness

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People blame [übel nehmen] me for one thing—and I can understand that to some extent, outwardly—namely that I can still laugh [about it], right? And I was really of the opinion that Eichmann was a clown [ein Hanswurst], and I tell you, I read this police interrogation, 3600 pages, very carefully, and I don’t know how often I laughed, but loudly. Now, this reaction is what people blame me for. I can’t do anything against that. But I know one thing. I would probably still laugh three minutes before [certain death]. And that, you say, is the tone. The tone is widely ironic, of course. That is completely true. That is exactly, the tone is in this case really the human being. When people [reproach] me, then, in this story that I supposedly accused the Jewish people, that is a malicious propaganda lie, and nothing more. The tone, however, is an objection against me as a person; I can’t do anything against that.

Interview with Günter Gaus, October 28, 1964, trans. mine.

The reproach addressed by Arendt in this quote had been expressed, most importantly, by Gershom Scholem in an open letter to Arendt a year earlier, in which he wrote:

So why does your book then leave behind such a feeling of bitterness and shame, and not with respect to that which is reported, but with respect to the reporter? Why does your report cover over to such a large extent that which is brought forward in that book, which you rightly wanted to recommend for reflection? The answer, insofar as I have one, and which I cannot suppress, precisely because I esteem you so highly, (…) [is] what stands between us in this matter [Sache]. It is the heartless, often even derisive [hämische] tone in which this matter that concerns us in the real center of our life is dealt with by you. There is in the Jewish language something that can in no way be defined and is entirely concrete, which the Jews call Ahabath Israel, love for the Jews. Of that, dear Hannah, nothing is noticeable, like with so many intellectuals who have emerged from the German left. (…) I don’t have sympathy for the style of lightheartedness, I mean the English “flippancy,” which you muster all too often (…) in your book. It is unimaginably unbefitting for the matter of which you speak. [Es ist auf unvorstellbare Weise der Sache, über die Sie sprechen, unangemessen]. Was there really no place, at such an occasion, for what one might name with the modest German word Herzenstakt? [“tact of heart”] (June 23, 1963)

Arendt had responded to Scholem’s letter in a letter of her own, dated July 24, 1963. In this letter, Arendt suggests that Scholem failed to get the irony in her writing: “I never made Eichmann out to be a ‘Zionist.’ If you missed the irony of the sentence—which was plainly in oratio obliqua, reporting Eichmann’s own words—I really can’t help it.” But if Scholem may have missed the irony in this particular instance, Scholem’s objection, as Arendt implicitly recognizes in her interview with Günther Gaus one year later, is that it is precisely her ironic tone that is “unimaginably unbefitting.” The interpretation that I want to explore briefly in this blog post is that Arendt’s irony might be precisely the most “befitting” response to the Sache or subject matter, which Arendt analyzes as Eichmann’s “thoughtlessness.”

A free translation of what Arendt lacks, according to Scholem, Herzenstakt, could be “thoughtfulness.” Arendt’s choice of the word “thoughtlessness” was already contested by Mary McCarthy, because Arendt clearly does not mean that Eichmann was not thoughtful (McCarthy’s alternative suggestion, “inability to think,” is not quite right either, because Arendt does not argue that Eichmann could not think but that he did not think). What is at stake for Arendt is thinking.

Amos Elon suggests in his introduction to the Penguin edition of Eichmann in Jerusalem that Arendt’s sarcasm was “often self-defeating.” According to Elon, “Arendt’s biographer Elisabeth Young-Bruehl has wisely written that Arendt posed the true moral issue but obscured it with needless irony. With chutzpah too, perhaps.” The question, however, is whether Arendt’s posing of the “true moral issue” can be separated from her irony, that is, whether the irony merely adds (possibly counterproductive) flourish to her “posing” of an “issue.” Is her rhetoric nothing but an ornament that obscures the “content,” or a vehicle that fails to deliver the “message”?

(It should be noted that towards the beginning of her discussion of the controversy over Eichmann in Jerusalem, Young-Bruehl mentions a citation from Bertolt Brecht that Arendt’s husband found years after the trial that “gave him and Hannah Arendt the courage of their convictions.” The beginning of the citation reads: “The great political criminals must be exposed and exposed especially to laughter.”)

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In her response to Scholem, Arendt makes two frequently cited claims. First, Arendt writes: “(…) in this sense I do not ‘love’ the Jews, nor do I ‘believe’ in them; I merely belong to them as a matter of course, beyond dispute or argument.” Second, Arendt states: “What unsettles [verstört] you is that my arguments and my approach are different from what you are used to; in other words, what is irritating [das Ärgerliche] is that I am independent. By this I mean, on the one hand, that I do not belong to any organization and always speak only for myself, and on the other hand, that I have great confidence in Lessing’s Selbstdenken, for which, I think, no ideology, no public opinion, and no ‘convictions’ can ever be a substitute.” It might seem from these two claims that Arendt is opposing the thinking of an independent self to the feelings (love, sympathy, Herzenstakt) of the collective. Irony could then be seen as the means by which the independent individual distances herself from the collective. However, it is important to remember that for Arendt, thinking never happens in isolation. Therefore, a better reading of Arendt’s tone might be that Arendt attempts to position herself, through irony, as a person in public or in a public. If Eichmann’s thoughtlessness reduces language to rationalization and calculation devoid of any orientation towards publicness, Herzenstakt is not going to remedy this problem. Arendt’s irony, on the other hand, might call into being a public, opening up space for publicness where thinking might become possible again.

According to this reading of Arendt’s tone, the idea that Arendt was right about Eichmann but should have communicated her “message” differently for it to be “effective” misses the point. Instead, what is called for is an attunement to Arendt’s writing that does not separate “content” from rhetoric, a responsiveness in the interest of a publicness that does not require tact, sympathy, or agreement, but thinking.

Irony in Eichmann in Jerusalem has recently become a central topic in Arendt scholarship. For further reading, I particularly recommend the chapters on Eichmann in Jerusalem in Lyndsey Stonebridge’s The Judicial Imagination (2011) and in Judith Butler’s Parting Ways (2013).

-Michiel Bot

2May/130

Why Arendt Matters

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Thanks to Stephen Trombley for sending this image along.

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18Feb/131

Hannah Arendt and Yiddish

“German Jewry, like Western European Jewry in general, never understood that the simple person is the true center of politics in all democratically governed countries.

And this is also the reason why German Jews often do not understand the just national aspirations of the Jewish people [folk]. Most do not know at all what a people [folk] really is and what it wants. The most beautiful Hebrew in the world will not teach them that. Let the German Jews learn to respect simple person [poshete mentshn], in general, and the simple Jew [yiddishe folks-mentsh], in particular – and then you will be able to speak to them about Jewish politics in all the languages of the world.”

These are the closing words of an op-ed written by Hannah Arendt in November 1942 for the New York Yiddish daily Morgen Zshurnal. The short piece is a response to an account of recent conflicts between German and Hebrew speakers in the Jewish settlement in Palestine (the Yishuv) written by Aaron Zeitlin, a Yiddish author and regular contributor to the newspaper.

Children in the Yishuv, 1941

It is, by all evidence, Arendt’s only Yiddish-language publication. (A year earlier, in December 1941, the News Bulletin of the “Emergency Committee for Zionist Affairs” published a Yiddish translation of Arendt’s first Aufbau op-ed, “The Jewish Army – The Beginning of Jewish Politics?” But the Morgen Zshurnal piece seems to be the only one that Arendt published exclusively in Yiddish.) Arendt’s Yiddish voice is both familiar and surprising, and, as I shall sketch very briefly here, her exchange with Zeitlin fascinatingly prefigures significant moments in Arendt’s thinking and her dialogue with others later in life, for example her exchange with Gershom Scholem about Eichmann in Jerusalem.

In the fall of 1942, tensions between immigrants from Nazi Germany and the veteran Zionist community of the Yishuv had reached a violent peak with the bombing of a press in Jerusalem, which had been printing a German-language newspaper. Zeitlin bases his account of the event, and of the political atmosphere that led up to it, on a report by Menachem Ben Eliezer, which appeared in October in the Hebrew newspaper Hadoar, published in New York by the Hebrew Federation of America. The Hebrew reporter and the Yiddish commentator both blame the German Jews, known as “Yekkes,” for failing to assimilate into the society of the Yishuv and, especially, for obstinately refusing to learn Hebrew. In Zeitlin’s words, the German Jews are not patriotic because they lack a love of Israel (“ahavat Israel” or, in Yiddish, “ahaves Yisroel”).

Arendt, described in the byline as “a well-known German-Jewish writer and Zionist activist” who, “in 1935, visited the Land of Israel, where she spent three months and had the opportunity to get to know the Yishuv and the new immigration (Aliyah),” responds to the accusations ambivalently. Outraged by the violent act of the Hebrew purists of the Yishuv, she nevertheless concedes that the failure of German Jews to understand the simple Jews of Eastern Europe and their justified national aspirations is a problem.

The brief op-ed piece thus reveals a fascinating moment in the development of Arendt’s identity and her political affinities. Having recently arrived as a refugee from Europe, Arendt was writing for the German-language Aufbau and would soon start publishing in English-language publications such as Partisan Review and Nation. But her attention was evidently also devoted to publications such as Morgen Zshurnal and their Yiddish-speaking readership. As Thomas Wild has recently argued on this website, Arendt’s career would continue to move productively between German and English, for example when she substantially revised the English The Human Condition to produce the German Vita Activa.

And even after this brief stint, the Yiddish language did not disappear from her writing entirely, as I briefly mention below. She would also find opportunities to reflect publicly on issues of language choice, for example in her 1948 dedication of the German book Sechs Essays to her friend and mentor Karl Jaspers, where she explains the difficulty and the necessity of writing and publishing in her native language. But this Yiddish op-ed – written in a language that she had studied as an adult and that was rapidly moving aside to make space for English, not only in her mind but also in the American-Jewish public sphere – is probably the only statement that Arendt made about Jewish language politics.

Interestingly, at this juncture in her own linguistic affiliations, Arendt insists that the battle over languages is a political red herring. “Unlike Herr Zeitlin,” she writes, “I am of the opinion that the entire education and psychology of the world could not successfully separate people from their mother tongue […]. It is a process of a generation or two, and in America we have the best proof of that.” Instead of focusing on the struggle between the languages, Arendt points her readers in two different directions. The piece opens, in a familiarly sarcastic tone, with an expression of Arendt’s interest in Jewish militancy as a form of political response to the current crisis (an interest that was expressed in her contemporary writing for Aufbau): “I am of the opinion that it would be better for the Yishuv to boycott German merchandise rather than the German language, and that the hotheads would do better to save the bombs for Rommel’s soldiers rather than to use them against the Jews for their German language.” But it ends on a different note, with a vision of a post-Babelian politics that grows out of solidarity with the simple people. If the German Jews only understood what a true Jewish “folks-mentsh” is, the conversation could transcend linguistic divisions and one would be “able to speak to them about Jewish politics in all the languages of the world.”

As Elizabeth Young-Bruehl describes in her biography and as evidenced also in the early correspondence with Heinrich Blücher, Arendt had studied Yiddish with her friend Chanan Klenbort in Paris. But in the absence of further information about the composition process – was the piece written in German and translated into Yiddish? Or did a native speaker aid Arendt, in the way that friends such as Randall Jarrell and Alfred Kazin later helped her with her English? – one can only speculate about the significance of the highly Germanic style of the Yiddish in which the piece is written or of word choices such as “folks-mentsh” and “posheter mentsh.” Reading Arendt in Yiddish can feel like a glimpse through a door to an alternative history. What would have been the circumstances – in Arendt’s own intellectual development, in the history of the Jews – that would have compelled her to keep writing in Yiddish? Would the Yiddish version of The Human Condition have placed the “posheter mentsh” at the center of politics? In other words, the Yiddish op-ed focuses our view on Arendt’s preoccupations and her transformation during her early years in the United States. It also sharpens questions that have already been raised in relation to her writing for Aufbau: Does the writing of this period prepare the ground for her later philosophical and political work? And if it does, how should we describe this ground? Or does the shift of her positions on Zionism rather constitute a break in her thinking?

It is easy to see the continuity between the criticism Arendt expresses here and her sharp critique of German Jewry in her book Eichmann in Jerusalem. But there are other, far more uncanny, linguistic continuities, not only in Arendt’s own writing but also in her dialogues and polemics with others. In his famous response to the Eichmann book, Gershom Scholem echoes Zeitlin – most probably unwittingly – when he laments Arendt’s lack of “Ahabath Israel” (as Scholem rather Germanically transcribes the Hebrew expression). Arendt seems to hear that echo when she inserts in her reply to Scholem’s letter a parenthetical inquiry about the history of the term: “I would, by the way, be very thankful if you could tell me since when this concept plays a role in the Hebrew language and scripture, when it first appears, etc.” Indeed, the echo seems to conjure up in Arendt elements of her original response to Zeitlin, and so she returns to the same simple person she had once hoped that German Jewry could listen to, in Yiddish or in “all the languages of the world.” Thus, when she attempts to defend her (to many readers indefensible) position on Jewish collaboration with the Nazis, she explains to Scholem: “There was no possibility of resistance, but there was a possibility of doing nothing. And in order to do nothing, one need not have been a saint, but rather one needed simply to say: I am a simple Jew (ein poscheter Jude) and I do not want to be more than that.”

The Yiddish was excised from the German version that was published by the Neue Zürcher Zeitung in October 1963 (where it was replaced by “einfacher Jude”) and from the English translation published in Encounter in December 1964 (which refers to “a Simple Jew”). The act of self-censorship is probably as revealing as Arendt’s use of the term itself.

Arendt’s brief foray into Yiddish journalism also has a fascinating postscript on the pages of the Morgen Zshurnal (or rather its continuation Der Tog Morgen Zshurnal). As Richard I. Cohen has described, in 1965 the newspaper carried Aaron Zeitlin’s raging response to Arendt’s Eichmann book, a response in which he described her as the agent of the devil. Zeitlin does not explicitly mention his previous disagreement with Arendt, indeed, he conspicuously avoids mentioning her by name. But, in its emphasis on Arendt’s misnaming of Eichmann when she describes him as a “grey, simple (posheter) average person,” his vitriolic attack can be read as a response to Arendt’s polemic twenty-three years earlier

-Na’ama Rokem

Based on research and translation conducted in collaboration with Sunny Yudkoff. Many thanks to Barbara Hahn and Thomas Wild, who uncovered the Yiddish piece in the Hannah Arendt archive. 

NOTE: This Saturday, February 23, 2013 marks the launch of the Hananh Arendt Center three part series, "Music in the Holocaust: Jewish Identity and Cosmopolitanism". The series is made possible through the generosity of grant from the Bertha Effron Fund of the Community Foundation of the Hudson Valley. Learn more here.

February 23

COERCION, COLLUSION & CREATIVITY - Music of the Terezin Ghetto & the Central European Experience

April 20

NATIONALISM, CONTINUITY & SYNTHESIS - Music of Warsaw, Lodz, & other Eastern ghettos

April 27

KURT WEILL & THE MODERNIST MIGRATION - Music of Weill & Other Émigrés

 

8Oct/120

Refugee Writers and Inner Emigrants

‘They must remember that they are constantly on the run, and that the world’s reality is actually expressed by their escape.’

 -Hannah Arendt, ‘On Humanity in Dark Times: Thoughts about Lessing’

Hannah Arendt never forgot that she was on the run from totalitarianism. Neither did she cease to express its reality in her work. She is the late twentieth-century’s most politically articulate refugee writer: an escapologist who taught us about the real nature of our chains. But the ‘they’ who must remember that they are ‘on the run’ in this quotation are not refugees from persecution. They are fugitives of the mind, the ‘inner emigrants’ who retreated from totalitarianism in their heads.

Two of Arendt’s most elegant and characteristic ironic gestures are present in this sentence. First, addressing the inner emigrant using language that more properly belongs to the refugee (running, escaping) performs the intimate and uneasy relation between existential homelessness and political and historical homelessness that is at the heart of her work. Don’t think all your lofty freethinking somehow allows you to rise out of the world’s darkness; don’t forget that your contemplation is as much a symptom of your political times as it is an escape from them. The inner emigrant must learn her lessons from the refugee, from the one, indeed, who is never allowed to forget she is on the run. 

The imperative for the inner emigrant to listen to the refugee is what also makes the irony of this sentence situational. The occasion is Arendt’s acceptance of the Lessing prize in Hamburg in 1959. Her theme, ‘thinking in dark times’, would have held few initial surprises for her audience who would have anticipated the reference to Lessing’s famous Selbstdenken, self-thinking as the perquisite of freedom. But Arendt offers scant comfort to those thinkers in her audience who might have counted themselves as inner emigrants under the Reich. Thinking in Lessing doesn’t mean retreating into self-absorption, she reminds them, but anticipating what we say with others. No point in being one’s own angry comedian. There is little to be gained by muttering alone in the dark. The real scandal of totalitarianism is that it condemns the humanity that comes from this kind of exchange to worldlessness. Running directly parallel to ‘the invisibility of thinking and feeling’ into which inner emigrants escape, therefore, is the invisibility of totalitarianism’s superfluous people, the refugees, the inmates of work and death camps, who take refuge together, she says, quietly, in the weird companionability of the ‘closely packed human beings.’

Few in Arendt’s Hamburg audience would have missed the fetid historical referent behind those ‘closely packed human beings’. The point she was making was not that the experiences were comparable (compassionate empathy for Arendt was always besides the political point), but rather that under Nazi totalitarianism there was no more place for the thinking mind than there was for the Jew. And this is the reality that the inner emigrant must keep in mind: the irreality to which so many were condemned. With characteristic understatement and rhetorical control, Arendt uses the historical occasion of her lecture to demonstrate her argument: the Jewish refugee comes out of the darkness into the very public space of the Free City of Hamburg to think about what happens when thoughts and persons are expelled from humanity. She then expresses the reality of her journey in the ironic dialogism of her prose. The full quote reads:

Flight from the world in dark times of impotence can always be justified as long as reality is not ignored, but is constantly acknowledged as the thing that must be escaped. When people chose this alternative, private life too can retain a by no means significant reality, even thought it remains impotent. Only it is essential for them to realize that the realness of this reality consists not in its deeply personal note, any more than it springs from privacy as such, but inheres in the world from which they have escaped. They must remember that they are constantly on the run, and that the world’s reality is actually expressed by their escape. Thus, too, the true force of escapism springs from persecution, and the personal strength of the fugitives increases as the persecution and danger increase.

As much as the distinctions between different kinds of emigration, it is the movement of flight, and everything that can be expressed in it, that Arendt is conveying here. In his translation of Rilke’s Die Tauben, which he dedicated to Arendt, Robert Lowell, re-casts homesickness as a feeling for ‘flight’s lost moment of fluttering terror.’  Fluttering between registers and contexts, between the mind and what it must remember, between inner and outer emigrants, Arendt’s writing keeps that terror in worldly view.

To talk about Arendt as a refugee writer, then, is not just to acknowledge her biographical circumstance or her major importance as one of the first theorists of modern statelessness. ‘Refugeeness’ cuts straight through her work like, she might have said, a thin red thread. She does not so much think from the position of a refugee, as think through the experience of exile to the extent that it becomes the paradigm rather than the exception. Thinking itself, indeed, becomes a refugee art in her later work. In this, perhaps, she offers a model for how we might approach the often hybrid and hard-to-place writing of some of her contemporaries in exile. In fact, we might even say, Arendt teaches us to look at the reality of totalitarianism from the only perspective that can truly matter, from one remove from that reality.  

The late Elisabeth Young-Bruehl was one of the first to grasp the significance of Arendt’s refugee method.  Her still unsurpassed biography is bisected by the chapter, ‘Stateless Persons’, which describes Arendt’s flight from Europe and the origins, biographical, political and historical, of her work on totalitarianism. When Young-Bruehl next came to write the life of the psychoanalyst Anna Freud, she repeated the gesture: the chapter ‘On Losing and Being Lost’ describes the self-analysis Freud underwent after her escape to England. Mourning both her father (Sigmund Freud died in exile in 1938) and her lost home (‘How strange it is to carry a past within oneself which can no longer be built upon’), the experience of emigration shifts not only the thinker, but also the ground on which she thinks. For Freud, as for Arendt too, the new threat is about a reality in which it is possible to totally disappear; of retreating into the mind to the extent that one becomes as lost as the object, person, past, or country, one mourns. In a world shadowed by the dark, writes Freud in ‘About Losing and Being Lost’, the temptation is ‘to follow the lost object into death.’

Arendt would have been uncomfortable, to say the least, with keeping intellectual company with a psychoanalyst (she might have been wryly amused to know that her work was the subject of discussion at a conference on ‘Psychoanalysis and Totalitarianism’ in London in September). Psychoanalysis is precisely where the inner emigrant might forget the reality she is fleeing and vanish into a hole of private self-absorption. Read both Arendt and Freud as refugee writers, however, and they arrive in a very similar place: for both the task of the mind after totalitarianism is to become reconciled to a ‘seemingly unendurable reality’ (in Arendt’s words); a reality in which oblivion is an ever-present threat. ‘The best that can be achieved’ after Nazi totalitarianism, Arendt tells her Hamburg audience in 1959 ‘is to know precisely what it was, and to endure this knowledge, and then to wait and see what comes of knowing and enduring.’ ‘What is true for today can become nonsense in no time at all’, echoes Freud in a line quoted by Young-Bruehl: ‘So one lives just in the present and must get used to it.’ These are not the statements of women who have found a new home in the world, but rather of two thinkers who understand how emigration has transformed not only the earth, but the ways in which the mind inhabits it.

-Lyndsey Stonebridge

28Jun/120

Arendt on Vacation

Arendt on the beach in California.

Photo submitted by Margarita Federova.

23May/120

A Re-cap of Elisabeth Young Bruehl’s Childism

Elisabeth Young-Bruehl's final work, Childism, was published soon after her untimely passing in December of 2011. In the book, Young-Bruehl, a long time psychoanalyst and child advocate, focuses on the pervasive prejudice she feels overshadows many children in our society. Be it abuse, or the modern day phenomenon of helicopter-parenting, she felt these injustices served to demarcate children, marking them as less worthy than adults. The resulting consequences result in unhealthy and damaging parent-children relationships.

Arendt Center internAnastasia Blank, has been reading Childism and providing us with a chapter by chapter review, highlighting some of the most interesting and compelling insights and arguments. Her previous posts about the book can be read hereToday, she shares her final thoughts and impressions about the book. We hope you have been inspired to read along. You can purchase the book here. 

My past four posts on Elizabeth Young-Bruehl’s Childism have emphasized the role of prejudice in the mistreatment of children. Young-Bruehl has laid a foundation for her reader to both see how childism manifests itself through abuse, prejudice, and neglect and to question where the motivations for such action comes from. In the fifth chapter of her book, Young-Bruehl turns our attention elsewhere, to the researchers, investigators, and theorists who work within the fields of Child Abuse and Neglect (CAN) and Child Protective Services (CPS). Her claim is that progress helping abused children has been stunted by the disjointed views of those working to help them.

One example of the challenges facing those who would protect children is the widespread panic that occurred between the 1980’s and early twenty-first century surrounding satanic ritual abuse (SRA).  In 1983 reports around the country began to spring up about how young children were being forced by workers at their daycare centers or preschools into sexual acts and disturbing sacrificial ceremonies.

Workers responsible for the protection of children proved ill equipped to handle this new phenomenon of abuse. Social workers had commitments that rendered them unable to acknowledge the occurrence as a conspiracy theory. Prejudiced by suggestive interviews and Recovered Memory Therapy (RMT), many social workers insisted on finding guilty parties. Others pushed for more family involvement in childcare; and a few select others were trying to use the responses to this mass hysteria as a means for self-reflection on the flaws currently plaguing the field.

From out of the Satanic Ritual Abuse phenomenon rose another issue, False Accusation Syndrome or FAS. Suddenly, the very field that was in place to protect children was wielding them as weapons against their abusers. Worse, the children being used were being victimized in a whole new way:

The problem of false accusations was not a syndrome and was not a condition of child victims….FAS was misnamed; it was made into a child’s problem when it was in fact an adult’s problem: convinced they were helping children, adults projected their images of children as liars [onto them]… FAS was yet another manifestation of childism.

In FAS, the child is doubted solely because of their age. Even the workers charged with protecting children are susceptible to what Young-Bruehl calls the childism prejudice.

Young-Bruehl writes that, in seeking answers and solutions for the abuse and harm being inflicted on children, those within the field began to add to the damage by blaming children. Childism, she writes, occurs when an adult sees problems with a child that actually originates from the adult’s own projections. A person is prejudiced towards a child or children when they place blame, feel resentful towards, or doubt the capabilities of a child.

A progressive shift was made in the early 2000’s when Child Abuse and Neglect (CAN) practitioners began to acknowledge the flaws the field had demonstrated over the past two decades, “Personnel in social work, child services agencies, and Child Protective Services departments… acknowledged that their own field, CAN, was a contributor to [the] crisis”.  The major issue within the CAN field was that practitioners and researchers alike were often classifying children into one category of maltreatment. A child was either a victim of physical abuse, sexual abuse, emotional abuse, or neglect. In reality, however, only 5 percent of abused children suffer only one type of abuse.

The problem is that children are sorted and said to suffer one particular type of abuse, but the entirety of their abuse and its effects are not being recognized. When a child is taken from their home because someone in the home was sexually abusing them, this does not address the other factors that were likely involved. The child may have also been neglected, which is why the abuse was allowed to go on. The child may have been verbally abused, which is why they were afraid to speak out about the sexual misconduct. When only one factor in the abuse is given focus, then all of the other issues take the back burner. This means that they are still percolating and affecting the child, but are not being addressed.

Young-Bruehl sees the field of CAN’s tendency to consider the four types of abuse separately as a form of childism, ignoring the children for the adult's “ease of discussion.”  Sadly, this leads to misleading conclusions about what type of abuse is taking place and how to treat affected children. Worse, the conclusions drawn from studying abuse in this type of way will not be producing accurate conclusions, because traumatized children will be classified and treated as a child of a specific type of abuse.

What arose in the CAN field around the satanic ritual abuse uproar was a turn away from hearing the actual experience of a victim towards a classification of their abuse. By sectioning off victims under an awning of a certain type of abuse, the field has turned a blind eye to the needs of the victim. The issue within the CAN field surrounding the cases of SRA were those where practitioners were scrambling to understand what this new type of abuse could be. It was something they had never encountered, and so they needed to make-up for their lack of knowledge by herding the children under a new title. The children were victims of multiple abusers, but what does this actually tell us about the abuse and its effects?

CAN needs to be asking children and adult survivors of abuse about their own experiences. By considering specific cases of victims, CAN will be forced to shed their restrictive abuse-act typology, because most children fall under an umbrella of multiple abuses. Each type of abuse harms the child in different ways, and each needs to be addressed (as well as how the abuses acted together). People who are prejudiced towards children, those who find them burdensome and bad and want to ‘eliminate’ them (both theoretically, by destroying their sense of self, and actually, through means of starvation and physical abuse), can use any one or all of the different types of abuse as a way to harm the body and psyche of a child. As Young-Bruehl puts it, “The acts are weapons in a war between the generations.”  However, what we see is that a “silencing” of children has been occurring within the field that is supposed to advocate for the voice of the child.

Children who are attempting to speak out against their abuse are viewed as incapable of doing so. If CAN workers believed in their ability to identify their trauma, then they would let the victims experience determine the help they need. Instead, they tack a title of abuse onto a child, which often does not address the experience(s) of trauma as a whole.

These harmful acts of abuse and neglect go on to shape how the child sees themselves and the world. This view permeates their psyche through adolescence into adulthood. In order to prevent and treat the traumatic events children experience and the prejudices against them, the focus needs to be turned to why adults can view children so negatively that their thoughts evolve into harm,   and also how this harm manifests itself in the mind of a victim. In order to understand the mind of the victim, the field needs to start listening better, even if the story being told does not fit perfectly into a box with a specific title.

3May/120

Childism, Chapter 4 – Elisabeth Young-Bruehl

Elisabeth Young-Bruehl's final work, Childism, was published soon after her untimely passing in December of 2011. In the book, Young-Bruehl, a long time psychoanalyst and child advocate, focuses on the pervasive prejudice she feels overshadows many children in our society. Be it abuse, or the modern day phenomenon of helicopter-parenting, she felt these injustices served to demarcate children, marking them as less worthy than adults. The resulting consequences result in unhealthy and damaging parent-children relationships.

Arendt Center internAnastasia Blank, is reading Childism and providing us with a chapter by chapter review, highlighting some of the most interesting and compelling insights and arguments. Her previous posts about the book can be read hereToday, she shares her thoughts and impressions of Chapter 4. We hope you are inspired to read along. You can purchase the book here. 

Is it fair to harm or neglect a child because of a parent's own anxieties? Many parents struggle with the responsibility of parenting and fear for the type of human being they are raising. These feelings are present in the adult; the child does not implant them there while their parents are sleeping.  We can neither deny these feelings nor blame children for them. What, then, is to be done?

In Chapter Four of Childism, Elizabeth Young-Bruehl describes the way that parents and children often want very different things, a difference that yields a conflict of generations. She writes, “[The] conflict of generations is a conflict over the child's identity. Parents often want, narcissistically, to impose an identity on their children; children want to claim their own identities. The conflict embraces those identities, those the young wanted to assert and those adults wanted to erase.”

Young-Bruehl argues that parenting should be about raising a child who is able to integrate into society. Too often, however, parents resent the way the child is developing and often imagine the child as a rebuke to themselves. Images of children as being rebellious and ungrateful have permeated the thinking of many adults. Such stereotypes play upon a fear of adolescence and a worry that as children reach the brink of adulthood, they inherit power to disobey and reject their parents. The parent challenges rebellious youth, often viewed as possessing a disregard for authority and anti-traditional attitudes.

So how does childism shape one’s thinking in dealing with this fear? Here we must distinguish between adults who are prey to childist thinking and those who are not.  Childist adults fear development, so they attempt to stifle it through neglect and abuse. They fear a child’s growth because they expect their children to serve their own needs or conform to their own views, to admire them, to abide by them. This expectation often hits a brick wall come adolescence. Children begin to form their own opinions and put their wants before the approval of their parents. This does not indicate immaturity; this designates a transition into an autonomous self.

Children can simultaneously serve their own needs while abiding to the rules set by adults. However, it is near impossible to have one’s needs fulfilled (be it through one’s self or one’s parent(s)), if they are being repeatedly physically or sexually abused or neglected. This is harmful to a child because it confuses their identity. This confusion is one of the aims of childism. When an adult asserts their power through abuse and/or neglect, the child loses their sense of self because they feel helpless. The child becomes a subject on whom the needs of the adult are projected.

This chapter of Young-Bruehl’s book made a distinction that the previous chapters had been leading up to: childism indicates an immaturity within the adult. A Childist wants to assert his or her ownership over a child. However, there is something fundamentally wrong with a human being owning another human being. Thinking of this sort is terribly skewed and probably results from a lack of incomplete thinking or underdeveloped perspective. Those who believe that they can or should harm a child to fulfill their own wants and needs have obviously not considered the deconstructive implications this will have on a child’s self-image and capability to be a happy and functional adult. Further, Young-Bruehl hopes to clarify that abuse is not limited to physical harm, which she demonstrates with cases of verbal abuse and emotional neglect:

[The abuse] consistently serves one purpose: eliminating or eradicating the child irritant, the source of headaches, the child needing and expecting love, the child viewed as draining away limited material and emotional resources and as refusing to parent the neglector.

In the realm of the family, parents fear the position of their patriarchal or matriarchal  “rights.” The child threatens the power of the parent; suddenly one’s self-needs are challenged by the needs of another. In the political realm, those who currently possess power often fear the counter-cultures of the youth and a new wave of opinions that will threaten the current structure.

It is rash to “eliminate the threat.”  Children grow up, this fact is inevitable. In whatever way a person yields to childism, be it physical or emotional abuse or neglect, the child subject to prejudice will still grow up. It is the adults’ responsibility to nurture growth, not stunt it. The greatest gift a child can receive is hope. Hope for the future, hope that they will figure out who they want to be, hope that they will be happy. Sure, an adult can eliminate this hope and belittle the child’s selfhood, but this merely breeds confusion. It is not a child’s goal to “take down” their parents, as often as children may interrogate their parent’s motives. Children are growing, learning, testing, and questioning; this is not to be confused with revolt. By “eliminating” the child, adults are just reproducing the shame and insecurity manifest in themselves. Neither the older nor younger generation should fear one another; childism is sadly another reason why they do.

26Apr/121

Childism, Chapter 3 – Elisabeth Young-Bruehl

Elisabeth Young-Bruehl's final work, Childism, was published soon after her untimely passing in December of 2011. In the book, Young-Bruehl, a long time psychoanalyst and child advocate, focuses on the pervasive prejudice she feels overshadows many children in our society. Be it abuse, or the modern day phenomenon of helicopter-parenting, she felt these injustices served to demarcate children, marking them as less worthy than adults. The resulting consequences result in unhealthy and damaging parent-children relationships.

Arendt Center internAnastasia Blank, is reading Childism and providing us with a chapter by chapter review, highlighting some of the most interesting and compelling insights and arguments. Her previous posts about the book can be read here. Today, she shares her thoughts and impressions of Chapter 3. We hope you are inspired to read along. You can purchase the book here. 

Chapter 3 of Elizabeth Young-Bruehl's Childism argues that something went terribly wrong in the early 1960’s, the initial period when forms of child abuse and neglect were being identified. Young-Bruehl explains that the emergent field of Child Abuse and Neglect [CAN] “did not understand adult motivation and childism, [so that] childism was built into the field and its legal policy and advocacy.”

So why does Young-Bruehl take issue with the advocates and academics hoping to protect children? She explains that one of the pioneers of the field, Dr Henry C. Kempe, “Construed the children’s injuries… as a disease of the child. Not a disease of the abuser that is manifested on the child.” This turns the issue of abuse into something that can be solved by removing the child from the harmful environment, implying that there is a single cure for the child’s problem.

What Young-Bruehl wants us to see is that abuse and neglect are not issues with children, they are problems that stem from the abuser.

So how could a person, a family, a government, go about dealing with this problem?  Young-Bruehl describes a mother who had four children, but beat only one. Through therapy the mother determined that she identified her son with her own brother. Her brother had been favored by their parents, while they had neglected her throughout her childhood. Her relationship with this specific son was directly affected by the resentment she harbored from her own childhood. In a way she was afraid of her son, because  she associated him with negative experiences of her youth. This in turn caused her to use abuse as a means to keep him down and demonstrate her power and importance. Here we can see how abuse manifests itself explicitly within a relationship between child and parent. There is no single cure for abuse, because each case is different. What should be clear is that the solution lies in a multi-faceted approach. Human relationships are notoriously complicated, and one so vital as that between a child and their parent need not be doomed just because there is a problem (albeit it a very grave one).

What happened in the field of child abuse and neglect was that a problem was identified without ever being fully understood. Young-Bruehl traces years of legislation beginning in the early 1960’s to show that abuse is not the only concern we need to be addressing, but also how we as a country have responded to instances of abuse. In her discussion of the 1974 Child Abuse Prevention and Treatment Act she notes that it implied that,

All physically abusing parents are impulsive, hysterical, aggressive, and untreatable, so that removing children from their homes into foster homes is necessary. In effect, it looked like an argument for increasing reliance on foster care, not for establishing treatment programs for children or parents.

Research on reported instances of child abuse has shown that only about ten percent of abusers are psychotic and untreatable. So why should the other ninety percent be marginalized as being doomed to failed parenthood? Young-Bruehl wants us to look beyond the instances of abuse and to try to recognize the underlying motivations. Once abuse is reported, the next step is to ask why it happened? And then how can it be prevented? When we fail to ask why, we fail to give families a chance. She believes that solutions can be found to help the abusers, and subsequently help the abused. While protective service agencies remove children from harm, this process is a scary and disruptive event that leaves children without their parents. If we can identify resolutions that treat the issues apparent in the abusers we may be able to leave the family intact.

-Anastasia Blank

16Apr/120

Childism, Chapter 2 – Elisabeth Young-Bruehl

Elisabeth Young-Bruehl's final work, Childism, was published soon after her untimely passing in December of 2011. In the book, Young-Bruehl, a long time psychoanalyst and child advocate, focuses on the pervasive prejudice she feels overshadows many children in our society. Be it abuse, or the modern day phenomenon of helicopter-parenting, she felt these injustices served to demarcate children, marking them as less worthy than adults. The resulting consequences result in unhealthy and damaging parent-children relationships.

Arendt Center internAnastasia Blank, is reading Childism and providing us with a chapter by chapter review, highlighting some of the most interesting and compelling insights and arguments. Her first post  provided us with an overview of the book and its themes, and her second post last week, looked at the first chapter. Today, she shares her thoughts and impressions of Chapter 2. We hope you are inspired to read along. You can purchase the book here.

In the second chapter of Childism we are introduced to one of Young-Bruehl’s own patients, “Anna”, a victim of severe abuse throughout her childhood and adolescence. While at first this chapter appears as a gruesome telling of years of neglect and abuse—at points difficult to read—it raises two major questions.

First, how could this happen to a child?

Second, why did this happen to a child?

After reading this chapter I realized that I was not just reading Anna’s story, I was reading the reality that thousands of children are facing every day. So, I suggest, when you read this story, remember it is not just a retelling of one person’s life. It is a testimony for the developmental destruction that is taking place in the lives’ of too many children each day.

The haunting aspect of this chapter is not only the negativity and hurt that is inflicted upon Anna, but the normal appearance of the family that is presented. To any onlooker, Anna’s life would seem perfectly normal. She is a good student, her father is a doctor, and she is surrounded by siblings. What reason does one have to believe that Anna is not the child of a loving family? It appears that there was no such reason to believe anything to the contrary. If the image the family portrayed was so standard, then why was the reality so brutal?

Young-Bruehl argues that the perpetrators of childism in Anna's house are in a pursuit of lasting domination. One example is Anna’s father who refused to acknowledge the sexual abuse her stepbrother was inflicting on Anna. According to Young-Bruehl's account, this is because he wanted Anna to play the role of the “whore” he could control.  "When he rescued Anna with support for her education, for example, his unconscious design was for her not to grow up, she would have to remain under his direction." Anna’s father was certainly privy to her being abused, but he would not interfere, because doing so could mean he would lose her as an exploitable object. In allowing the abuse to go on, Anna would always need to be rescued. While he provided her with a home and a stellar education, he never helped her in the way she needed most; he reaped the benefit of her abuse.

This chapter provides an inside view into a home of abuse, and also reveals the inner-workings of a therapy that aims to heal the effects of the harm Anna suffered during her development. It is harrowing and yet fascinating to read about Anna’s father, mother, stepbrother, and stepmother and the individual motivations of each character that contributed to their childist tendencies. It is also thrilling to follow Young-Bruehl's efforts to find answers to what underlies and perpetuates such abuse.

When Anna meets Young-Bruehl, she is an adult, however her persona is much like that of a child. Anna is insecure, anxious, resentful, and speculative of those who show her affection. By telling Anna’s story as an adolescent, it becomes clear that many of the destructive themes throughout her childhood have stunted her development into a happy and confident adult. I would like to return to a question asked at the beginning of this post, “Why did this happen to a child?” and now ask, “Why is this happening to an adult?” The lack of conscience in the grown-ups in Anna’s life resulted in a hideous upbringing that Anna has never been able to shed. Here we begin to see what consequences childism breeds.

I wonder what type of parent Anna will become, or would have become had she not sought treatment. Can Anna be expected to love her children when she does not know what this love looks like? It seems tricky to expect warmth and care from an adult who lacked such experiences during development and continues to struggle to manifest such relationships as an adult. Anna embodies both the victim and a  perpetrator, for she endured abuse and is unable to move forward. Childism does not end when the child grows up, it persists.

What Young-Bruehl shows us is that children need love and support, but simply wanting to provide these things is not the same as actually demonstrating them. I do not doubt that most parents love their children, but many adults have disturbing matters in their life that need to be counterbalanced. A person needs to feel greater affection than abhorrence towards themselves and the world before they can take proper care of a child. Otherwise, the child’s life will be filled with more fear than love and that is not the proper balance.

Please feel free to respond to the questions asked in this post and join me for a reading of chapter three in the upcoming week.

-Anastasia Blank

 

11Apr/121

Childism, Chapter 1 – Elisabeth Young-Bruehl

Elisabeth Young-Bruehl's final work, Childism, was published soon after her untimely passing in December of 2011. In the book, Young-Bruehl, a long time psychoanalyst and child advocate, focuses on the pervasive prejudice she feels overshadows many children in our society. Be it abuse, or the modern day phenomenon of helicopter-parenting, she felt these injustices served to demarcate children, marking them as less worthy than adults. The resulting consequences result in unhealthy and damaging parent-children relationships.

Arendt Center intern, Anastasia Blank, is reading Childism and providing us with a chapter by chapter review, highlighting some of the most interesting and compelling insights and arguments. Her first post last week, provided us with an overview of the book and its themes. Today, she shares her thoughts and impressions of Chapter 1. We hope you are inspired to read along. You can purchase the book here.

Chapter One of Childism argues that prejudice emerges from a “we” against “them” mentality. This way of thinking not only separates a target group, but also defines the group as distinctly other from oneself. When this separation appears between children and adults, it is easy for the adult mind to think of children as immature and helpless. The child is projected as a feeble creature, produced by the adult, and thus owned by the adult; this is where the childism prejudice arises. By viewing children as a group incapable of independence, children come to be seen as needing adults to look after them, to rule them.

Young-Bruehl reminds us that children are in a stage of development where they are developing independence and maturity. The turning of children into objects to be governed only stunts this development process and breeds further division between children and adults. Young-Bruehl iterates the pervasive belief that, “Children are ‘childish’, which is a negative adjective marking something an adult should not be. Being a grown-up is imagined as separating from what is childish by denigrating it and calling it shameful”.  Many adults tend to intentionally separate their child and grown-up identities, which makes difficult the recognition that children are constantly forming who they will become as an adult. The separation between youth and maturity is not an abyss one leaps over on their eighteenth birthday, it is a bridge we build through our years of development. If one is lucky, this bridge will never be torn down; for those who are prejudiced towards children, it seems such a tearing down or suppression of their own youth is what makes them a “real” adult. This is where the fissure in the understanding of what children need arises.

This first chapter of Childism provides a sweeping review of the field of prejudice studies looking as far back to Aristotle’s assumptions about children as possessions, and culminating in the present day. Young-Bruehl offers a definition of prejudice:

Prejudice corrupts understanding through a combination of partiality and defensiveness by setting up a hierarchical binary ‘on the grounds of X.’ A prejudgment that one class of beings is privileged over another extends to the idea that the class is superior, and fit to rule or dominate over another.

Prejudice blinds one from a view of equality and replaces it, in the case of childism, with the idea that an adult’s needs should be honored before a child's. Someone who thinks this way ignores the fact that we all exist among one another as like beings, together in the search for happiness and well-being. We all desire respect and wish for our needs to be appreciated, so it does not seem to follow that one person’s needs should be superior to those of children, simply because they are older.

Such biased thinking, however, is exactly how a prejudiced person thinks. A childist adult believes their needs are privileged over the needs of the youth and this arises through neglect, abuse, and the hunt for subservience, which in turn creates a suppression of healthy development.  Young-Bruehl takes care to point out that, “a prejudice is a belief system, not a knowledge system about the group”; prejudices are beliefs, they are not facts.

One reason for this prejudice is the projection of unwanted aspects of oneself onto the child.  According to Young-Bruehl, people project onto children features of themselves that they wish to get rid of. We deem children immature, but this may be because we fantasize about remaining children ourselves. We call children burdensome, but this may be because we cannot handle the burden of our own lives, our adult lives. It is possible that much of childism arises from a jealousy of something we can never return to. Or maybe the belief that we can never return to this time is a result of that prejudice. Either way, a disconnection has developed between adults and children that has caused us to view ‘childish’ as bad and ‘adult’ as good. I think we would be well served to reevaluate this created value system.

-Anastasia Blank

3Apr/122

Childism by Elisabeth Young-Bruehl

Elisabeth Young-Bruehl was Hannah Arendt's student and biographer. She also was a brilliant philosopher,  intellectual, and psychoanalyst. Her many books include Freedom and Karl Jasper's Philosophy, Hannah Arendt: For Love of the World,  Anna Freud: A Biography,  and The Anatomy of Prejudices, Subject to Biography: Psychoanalysis, Feminism, and Writing Women's Lives.  She had recently completed her last book, Childism, just before her untimely passing on December 1, 2011.

The Arendt Center asked one of our interns, Anastasia Blank, to read Childism and prepare a series of posts highlighting some of the most interesting and compelling insights and arguments. Over the coming weeks, she will provide a chapter-by-chapter look at Young-Bruehl's book. We hope you are inspired to read along. You can purchase the book here.

Elizabeth Young-Bruehl’s final book, Childism, offers stunning insight into the first few years of life that have long since been forgotten. Young-Bruehl, who was Hannah Arendt's biographer and who died late last year, practiced psychoanalysis for almost thirty years and possessed a strong interest and training in child studies. She was a child advocate and this work is an effort to highlight the persisting injustice that befalls the children of our society, an overarching prejudice that she names "childism." Motivating Young-Bruehl's work is the conviction that “Harming children cannot stay the norm, there is no rationalization for this behavior.” The harm of childism does not necessarily refer to physical abuse, but encompasses various acts against children, acts that demarcate them as different and less important that adults.

This is not a contemporary phenomenon, as prejudice against children reaches far back in historical societies. And yet Young-Bruehl does think contemporary American society has seen a rising prejudice against children.  Childism includes abuse, but it extends even to the well-remarked upon helicopter parenting of well-meaning parents who push their children to fulfill the parent's own desires and needs in developmentally inappropriate ways. Childism is based upon a widespread fallacy, that children are expected to serve the needs of the adults that care for them.

Young-Bruehl identifies the childism stereotype as a foundational fantasy, one that,

"can be defined as a belief system that constructs its target group, 'the child', as an immature being, produced and owned by adults who use it to serve their own needs and fantasies”.

While Childism might be thought to be concerned with child abuse, it is more broad in its scope. “Child Abuse and Neglect (CAN)” arose as a field of study in the early 1970’s, encompassing a body of clinicians, advocates, analysts, and researchers. Their aim was to protect children and to bring attention to the existing prejudice against children in social and political institutions. Young-Bruehl contends that in their narrow focus on protecting children from abuse, CAN proponents overlook the parental motivations and origins of the prejudice towards children. Her argument is that when the instigating factors behind "childism" are uncovered, there arises the potential to protect America’s children as a group, instead of the lucky few who come under the attention of child protective services or have access to therapy.

Childism explores the negative view our society has taken towards children; the children within our society are falling prey to the “projections” of their caretakers.  Young-Bruehl argues that too often parents' inner pain suffered when they themselves were children is now being taken out through violence or neglect on their own children.

She asks that we take a look at our own inner conflicts and try to understand the motivation for the type of action and beliefs one holds toward children.  The common belief in "the natural dependency of children," is, she writes,

one of the key reasons for the prejudice against them not to be recognized as such or its being so easily rationalized. Adults who argue that children do not and should not have rights, for example, base their arguments on children’s natural dependency, making assertions about their lack of agency or capacity for choice, expression of interest, or reason. But such arguments are prejudicial against children’s development; by declaring that children do not have these capacities, the arguments are really contributing to the difficulties children have in developing the capacities.

As an adult, a caretaker, or a caring person, it is our duty to offer guidance, support, and love during a child’s development. Believing that children are incapable and dependent, whether intentional or not, leads to projections of a specific dependencies for the child and accords to adults the role of guide and authoritarian ruler. It is this prejudgment about the adult-child relationship that Young-Bruehl asks that we consciously reevaluate.

I invite you to read through this book with me over the coming weeks and investigate the critical question, “Why do parents sometimes turn against their children?” This is not to say that many parents are innately evil or should not have children. It is instead an inquiry into the motivations behind their prejudiced behavior. The book asks: how can identifying significant prejudicial feelings lead to a change away from childism.

-Anastasia Blank

 

2Jan/120

Not Thinking-Tracy Strong

“[O]ur newest experiences and our most recent fears…[are] a matter of thought and thoughtlessness – the heedless recklessness or hopeless confusion or complacent repetition of ‘truths’ which have become trivial and empty – [This] seems to me among the outstanding characteristics of our time.”

-Hannah Arendt, The Human Condition

Not thinking was, for Arendt, the increasingly dominant quality of the world in which we live. Thoughtlessness is the negative mirror image of what she called for as the only form of thinking appropriate to period of crisis (indeed, in a strict sense, perhaps to any time) – thinking “without a banister.”

Inherent in this conception is that in ages and at times like our own, when one must think without support, many, perhaps most, will not think, or rather will avoid thinking.  They will thus be left without that voice of conscience – like Socrates' daimon who appears  at moments of judgment and keeps Socrates from justifying, or even engaging in acts that are evil. Importantly, that something is “true,” means  nothing by itself unless it is the subject of thinking.

One might consider here the thoughtlessness that reigned in the general reaction in the United States to the attacks of 9/11, 2001. The analogy was immediately drawn to Pearl Harbor.  From this analogy it followed that our response should be analogous to that after Pearl Harbor, despite the fact that Al-Qaeda, unlike Japan, was not a nation-state.  Furthermore this enemy was linked to an Axis of Evil against which one was to fight a “war on terror.” Osama Bin laden was Hitler or at least Tojo; Saddam Hussein another totalitarian, linked by an Axis of Evil to the other totalitarians.  Yet one cannot fight against terror, only against an enemy – Carl Schmitt had warned of forgetting this.

The result of not thinking about what one has done – whether as a policy maker or a member of the population -- has been a war that has now gone on for ten years with neither goal nor end in sight.  Thoughtlessness has consequences: people die as a result of thoughtlessness.

(I discovered similar thoughts in Elizabeth Young-Bruehl, Why Arendt Matters on pages 12-13 after writing this passage and modified my words, as hers are much better:   I join others in mourning her passing).

-Tracy Strong

19Dec/110

On Facts (For Elisabeth Young-Bruehl)-Patchen Markell

“Conceptually, we may call truth what we cannot change; metaphorically, it is the ground on which we stand and the sky that stretches above us.”

— Hannah Arendt, “Truth and Politics”

I spent December 2 in Greencastle, Indiana, talking about politics, political theory, and the life and work of Hannah Arendt at DePauw University.  Over dinner, I had sung the praises of Elisabeth Young-Bruehl’s biography of Arendt, For Love of the World—a book that needs no publicity from me, but which I’ve come to admire all the more as I’ve learned how much and what kind of effort it takes to recount even a slice of someone’s story, much less a whole life.  When I came back to my hotel room after dinner, I found, online, the news of Elisabeth’s death.  In this terrible retrospect, my comments about the biography felt inadequate.  I’d said something about the care she devoted to the facts of Arendt’s life, which, I worried, might have sounded trivializing, as if a biographer were just an assembler of details, and as if Elisabeth hadn’t also been an interpreter and a thinker in her own right. Not to mention that invoking the facts must have seemed quaint, or naïve: who talks that way anymore?

Arendt, of course, talked that way, and it had always sounded a little jarring to my constructivist ear.  Maybe that’s why, like many other readers, I had usually remembered her essay “Truth and Politics” as a forceful attempt to emancipate politics from the category of philosophical truth, and neglected its other half: a defense of the political relevance of “factual truth,” which Arendt had no trouble characterizing as a matter of respect for the “brutally elementary data” of human events.  (Her preferred example: “On the night of August 4, 1914, German troops crossed the frontier of Belgium.”)  But I had recently had occasion to come back to “Truth and Politics” and to Arendt’s invocation of factual truth, and—I now realized—the line of thought that had emerged from that reading wasn’t unrelated to my deepening appreciation of For Love of the World.

The real reason Arendt’s appeal to brute facts was so jarring, I think, is that we’re used to hearing such appeals as table-thumping attempts to end a conversation, to put doubt to rest, to anchor a political judgment in something undeniable; and that sounds like the very strategy Arendt criticized in the case of appeals to rational or philosophical truth, which are supposed to have enough “compelling force” to cut through the tangle of competing and conflicting opinions.

But this wasn’t Arendt’s point.  She conceded that claims to factual truth, like all truth-claims, assert a kind of peremptoriness, and therefore strike us as “despotic” in their “infuriating stubbornness.”  At the same time, though, she insisted on the weakness and fragility of factual truth, not only in the sense that facts are vulnerable to manipulation at the hands of political actors, but also in the sense that the “mere telling of facts,” on its own, “leads to no action whatever.”  The bruteness of facts is extraordinarily limited in its reach: that it was the German army and not the Belgian that crossed the frontier in 1914 may be one of those givens that we “cannot change,” but nothing further follows from the fact itself.

Why, then, are these “brutally elementary data” politically relevant?  Because in an era of “organized lying,” in which political actors and ideologists do not simply deny or falsify particular facts, but struggle to represent factual truth in general as a tightly ordered, internally consistent system, the recounting of inconvenient facts can disrupt such efforts to give factual truth a compulsive power that, Arendt thought, reality itself lacks. In this context, an appeal to the bruteness of facts needn’t obscure plurality or bypass the need for judgment: on the contrary, it can disclose that need, showing an audience its situation in sufficient factual richness that nothing will seem to follow from that situation automatically.  (“The question was never to get away from facts but to get closer to them,” Bruno Latour once wrote; perhaps he and Arendt are not so far apart after all.)

Elisabeth Young-Bruehl had a brilliant sense for this Arendtian chemistry of facts, for their paradoxical power to serve, precisely in their bruteness, as a kind of leaven, opening up rather than shutting down occasions and spaces for judgment.  Maybe all great biographers do.  Yes, she did much more than recount the facts of Arendt’s life; she was also an interpreter, who transformed the “raw material of sheer happenings” into a meaningful story, one that was informed by her own interest in and knowledge of matters for which her teacher and subject had little patience, like psychoanalysis.

But For Love of the World is not and does not feel tendentious in its treatment of the facts of Arendt’s life. It is too generous for that, it tells us too much more than it would need to if the facts were only there to prove a point, and, in the disinterested care with which it treats those many factual matters that are not cruxes in her own interpretation—and most of them are not—it invites and enables its readers to tell the story differently.  It is not the authoritativeness of Elisabeth’s account of why Arendt matters, but the firmness of her grasp of small details, and the lightness with which she deploys them, that make her book, for so many readers of Arendt of so many different theoretical persuasions, an indispensible part of “the ground on which we stand, and the sky that stretches above us."

9Dec/110

Hannah Arendt’s Cosmopolitanism

In the year of Hannah Arendt's centennial, 2006, Elisabeth Young-Bruehl spoke at the Hannah Arendt Center at Bard College's inaugural conference: Thinking in Dark Times. Young-Bruehl was, along with Jerry Kohn, instrumental in establishing the Hannah Arendt Center at Bard, and she has been a good friend of the Center since its inception. It is with great sadness that we at the Arendt Center mourn her untimely passing. At such times it is important to recall the power of her thought and the beauty of her writing. One example of her thoughtful prose is the talk she gave at that inaugural conference, a talk that has since been published in the volume Thinking in Dark Times: Hannah Arendt on Ethics and Politics.

Titled "Hannah Arendt's Jewish Identity", Elisabeth Young-Bruehl's talk traced the roots of Arendt's cosmopolitanism to her Jewish identity, amongst other sources. It is not unimportant, Young-Bruehl begins, that Arendt's teacher, Karl Jaspers, identified the Jews of Palestine as one of the five Axial Age peoples:

The topic of Hannah Arendt’s Jewish identity can be approached from many directions. In this essay, I am going to consider Arendt in the context of the vision of world history articulated by her teacher and mentor Karl Jaspers, in which her people, the Jews of Palestine, were considered as one of the “Axial Age” peoples—the five great peoples who reached pinnacles in their development between 900-800 BC to 400-300 BC. Jaspers was the first thinker to see these great Axial civilizations as the origins of a worldly cosmopolitan civilization, one that attends to the world as it is, and one that could imagine  "a world made one by a worldwide war and by technological developments that had united all peoples, for better or for worse."

Arendt too, writes Young-Bruehl, had a connection to common cosmopolitan world.

It is Arendt’s Jewish identity—not just the identity she asserted in defending herself as a Jew when attacked as one, but more deeply her connection to the Axial Age prophetic tradition—that made her the cosmopolitan she was....

In her essay, Young-Bruehl identifies four common characteristics of cosmopolitan thinking that she finds in common between Karl Jaspers and Hannah Arendt. These four ingredients are:

1. The capacity for and exercise of “enlarged mentality.”  Arendt often invoked this capacity for thinking your way into the viewpoint, the position, the experience, of other people.

2. What Jaspers called “a sense of history.” For Arendt, this meant a sense for the un-predictability of human affairs. Since no one group can have a privileged view of history, the view encompasses the entire world.

3. What Arendt called a sense of the human condition. Arendt named six human conditions—earth, life, world, natality, mortality, plurality—that, although susceptible to change, are human, by which is meant "common to all mankind."

4. That people are shaped by their particular historical experiences—e.g. the way that Arendt was shaped by her experience as a Jew—but that they are also moved, usually unconsciously, by needs and experiences and conditions shared by all human beings.

This last characteristic of cosmopolitanism is most interesting, for Young-Bruehl here argues that Arendt, in spite of her well-known disdain for psychology, had a deep understanding of the unconscious motivations of the human condition.

'Figure at a Window', Salvador Dali

For example, Arendt's well-known recognition of the human need to act politically shows her understanding of unconscious and cosmopolitan human drives.  While particular historical experiences might make people look and behave and sound more different than they are, they share more than their differences would suggest. Young-Bruehl concludes:

"As an aphorism by Kant’s contemporary Georg Christoph Lichtenberg that Hannah Arendt once quoted to me conveys: “People do not think about the events of life as differently as they speak about them.”

Read the entirety of Elisabeth Young-Bruehl's essay here.

-RB

Click here to visit the Elisabeth Young-Bruehl Memorial Page.