Arendt had an impressive collection of Aristotle’s works in her personal library. This is no surprise. After all, as Roger Berkowitz, Academic Director of the Hannah Arendt Center, wrote back in 2010, it was Aristotle who characterized humans as the only animal in possession of logos, or the ability to reason and participate in philosophical thinking. Not only that, but Aristotle also valued dramatic actions as public gestures out of which an actor’s character emerges. These two ideas — the significance of human beings’ ability to think and of public action — have since proven central to much of Hannah Arendt’s philosophy.
Hannah Arendt considered calling her magnum opus Amor Mundi: Love of the World. Instead, she settled upon The Human Condition. What is most difficult, Arendt writes, is to love the world as it is, with all the evil and suffering in it. And yet she came to do just that. Loving the world means neither uncritical acceptance nor contemptuous rejection. Above all it means the unwavering facing up to and comprehension of that which is.
Every Sunday, The Hannah Arendt Center Amor Mundi Weekly Newsletter will offer our favorite essays and blog posts from around the web. These essays will help you comprehend the world. And learn to love it.
Lewis Lapham offers a tour through the centuries of how the animal was seen as the educator of man. “Virgil’s keeping of bees on his country estate in 30 BC led him in book four of the Georgics to admire their work ethic.” “The eighteenth-century naturalists” turned to “the animal kingdom for signs of good government.” And Pliny the Elder thought animals so exceptional that “man by comparison “is the only animal that knows nothing and can learn nothing without being taught.” But animals, Lapham laments, have disappeared from our world, except in the form of domesticated pets. Along with them, we lose our teachers and models for the humble life “at ease within the great chain of being but also in concert with the tides and the season and the presence of death.”
In a paean to Beethoven, Daniel Barenboim writes: “although the focus of this essay will indeed be Beethoven’s music, it must be understood that one cannot explain the nature or the message of music through words. Music means different things to different people and sometimes even different things to the same person at different moments of his life. It might be poetic, philosophical, sensual, or mathematical, but in any case it must, in my view, have something to do with the soul of the human being. Hence it is metaphysical; but the means of expression is purely and exclusively physical: sound. I believe it is precisely this permanent coexistence of metaphysical message through physical means that is the strength of music. It is also the reason why when we try to describe music with words, all we can do is articulate our reactions to it, and not grasp music itself.”
Caroline Weber reports that the French Government has, 120 years after the fact, released the full dossier on Captain Alfred Dreyfus, a Jewish officer who was tried and sentenced to life imprisonment on a fabricated charge of treason. The Dreyfus affair was born of antisemitism; it awoke acculturated Jews like Theodor Herzl to the fact that Jews could not live safely in Europe and needed a homeland of their own, thus birthing the modern Zionist movement. The Affair also inspired Marcel Proust who saw in the outspoken reaction to an unjust persecution one of the first times when Jews-who previously had lived hidden and clandestine lives-rallied around their own. Weber looks at the Proustian jointure of Jewishness and homosexuality as a first flowering of minority consciousness-something Hannah Arendt explores with much darker overtones in The Origins of Totalitarianism. For Weber, the release of the Dreyfus dossier is an opportunity: “opponents of homophobia, anti-Semitism and all related strains of criminalizing bigotry can take the full measure of the mechanisms at work in the Dreyfus Affair, and can reaffirm the importance of “marginal” identities being allowed to come in from the cold.”
Adam Garfinkle talks to Alex Berezow about his new book Science Left Behind: Feel-Good Fallacies and the Rise of the Anti-Scientific Left. In their book Berezow, and co-author Hank Campbell, “challenge the idea that progressivism is the ‘pro-science’ ideology, or that the Democratic Party is pro-science,” and take on “many of their pet positions, from their opposition to nuclear power, to genetically modified foods.” In the interview, he focuses on the conflict between culture and politics on the one hand and science on the other, saying that “as someone who has training in science, I am a little offended by someone who was willing to twist the science to create political propaganda. Scientists don’t talk like that; we don’t sensationalize. We look at the pros and cons and make a reasonable decision from there.”
A few weeks ago, newly minted Noble Laureate Mo Yan gave a wide-ranging interview to Der Spiegel. In it, Mo complicates recent criticism that claims that he is a state writer and therefore, as Ai Weiwei put it, “detached from reality” and incapable of representing “current China.” Mo Yan said: “Aren’t many artists in mainland China state artists? What about those who are professors at the universities? What about those who write for state newspapers? And then, which intellectual can claim to represent China? I certainly do not claim that. Can Ai Weiwei? ”
An Ongoing Series of discussions moderated by Roger Berkowitz and Walter Russell Mead.
April 9, 2013 at Bard Graduate Center
David Frum, blogger for The Daily Beast & The Huffington Post.
This week on the blog, Jeff Jurgens covered the complicated history and current controversy over Berlin’s East Side Gallery. Nikita Nelin considered the implications of the Brain Activity Map initiative. Tracy Strong discussed the role of wonder in Arendt’s thinking. Finally, last weekend Roger Berkowitz and Walter Russell Mead had a public conversation with General Stanley McChrystal. You can read Roger’s thoughts on McChrystal’s new book My Share of the Task here.
“Heidegger is wrong: man is not “thrown” “in the world;” if we are thrown, then – no differently from animals – onto the earth. Man is precisely guided, not thrown, precisely for that reason his continuity arises and the way he belongs appears. Poor us, if we are thrown into the world!”
“Heidegger hat unrecht: “in die Welt” ist der Mensch nicht “geworfen;” wenn wir geworfen sind, so – nicht anders als die Tiere – auf die Erde. In die Welt gerade wird der Mensch geleitet, nicht geworfen, da gerade stellt sich seine Kontinuität her und offenbart seine Zugehörigkeit. Wehe uns, wenn wir in die Welt geworfen werden!”
-Hannah Arendt, Denktagebuch, Notebook 21, Section 68, August, 1955
Hannah Arendt follows her teacher Martin Heidegger in casting the classical philosophical question of the relation of the one and the many as the relationship between the individual and the world. Like the early Heidegger, she emphasizes the future, but she more frequently combines conceptual and narrative explication. For Arendt, freedom is at stake, the freedom of plural humanity that can call on, but cannot be reduced to, guiding ideas of tradition or authority. Yet while she consistently defends freedom through action that cannot be tied to the logic of the past or an assumed goal in the future, her thinking has both a moment of freedom and concern with connection to the past.
In Being and Time, Heidegger’s idea of “thrownness” (Geworfenheit) offers a conceptual hinge between a limitation and expansion of freedom. On the one hand, the thrown “Dasein” cannot choose to come into the world, much less into a particular world. On the other hand, once situated in a field of relations, possibilities open that allow Dasein to fashion a sense of the future and self-knowledge.
Arendt can be seen to ask how exactly we are to recognize the original condition of being thrown in such a way that new possibilities open up. Her objection to Heidegger in the passage above takes a subtle linguistic path that shows how her method of reading inflects her philosophical ideas. Rather than holding exclusively to the conceptual development of “thrownness,” she offers a terminological challenge. She says that man is only thrown into the natural “earth,” not the humanly-made “world.” In inserting this distinction between the earth and the world, she reads “geworfen” not abstractly as “thrown,” but concretely, implying that she has in mind a second use of the German verb “werfen:” to refer to animals giving birth.
Arendt wants to leave the merely animal behind. The German verb “leiten” that I have translated here as “guided” could also mean to direct, to conduct, to lead, to govern. Thinking ahead to Arendt’s writing on education, I hear a connection to “begleiten,” which means to accompany. The guiding that one receives gives a sense of continuing and belonging to a greater world. Heidegger insists that Dasein does not choose to be thrown into a specific world, we are born without our choice or input. For Arendt, this is our earthliness and she emphasizes the difference between the human world and the given earth. With respect to the world, she highlights the connection to others from the start. Since others exist before the entrance of the newcomer, we also assume responsibility for their entry to the world. One must be educated into the world, which is not simply the earth, but the humanly constructed edifice that includes history and memory and the polis.
Dana Villa and Peg Birmingham suggest that Arendt replaces Heidegger’s “geworfen” with “geboren” (“thrown” with “born”). The passage from the Thought Diary above shows the complexity of this substitution and that it only works by changing the context to the world rather than earth. However, while the quote shows that Arendt relegates Heidegger’s thrownness to the realm of the earth and body, her own idea of “natality” brings the body back to her thinking of freedom. Being born is very important for Arendt, but not in Heidegger’s sense. If “werfen” can refer to animals giving birth, Arendt works out a specific way in which humans are born, one that emphasizes a liberating break from the earth. Humans, as Arendt will say in The Human Condition, are born with the ability to start something completely new.
I think Arendt would say that we are always guided in a certain way. This leads us to ask if today we are making a choice as a society to abdicate explicit reflection and responsibility regarding the terms of guidance, either by “outsourcing” these decisions to experts or assuming that individuals can still make rational choices in the face of corporations and institutions that carefully take advantage of cognitive limitations. In other words: In what ways are people guided into the world that we do not think about, and how could reflection help us here?
On the other hand, the note ends with an existential lament that reminds us of the Romantic poet Friedrich Holderlin’s “weh mir” (“poor me”). After noting how she thinks Heidegger is wrong to see us thrown into the world, Arendt returns us to his despair; but the despair she imagines arises insofar as we are thrown into the world—which would mean that we lose the world as a humanly built home.
Lemm’s project is part of the now widespread attack on the traditional distinction between humans and animals. While the animality of humans has been a basic axiom of philosophical thinking at least since Aristotle characterized the human being as the animal having logos, the Aristotelian-Kantian elevation of the human as the animal who reasons is under revision. In part, the dissent results from our changing views of animals. But, as Berkowitz writes:
A more important challenge to human distinction originates from the discourse of human rights. One core demand of human rights—that men and women have a right to live and not be killed—brought about a shift in the idea of humanity from logos to life. The rise of biopolitics—the political demand that governments limit freedoms and regulate populations in order to protect and facilitate their citizens’ ability to live in comfort—has pushed the animality, the “life,” of human beings to the center of political and ethical activity. In embracing a politics of life over a politics of the reasoned life, biopolitics rejects the distinctive dignity of human rationality and works to reduce humanity to its animality.
Lemm’s book brings Nietzsche to the aid of those who would oppose the traditional elevation of human over animal. She argues that the seat of freedom and creativity is with animals, not with humans. Berkowitz dissents.
Such an optimistic reading of the rise of the animal is, to my mind, one-sided. Affirming otherness and multiplicity risks forgetting that, as Hannah Arendt has argued, “Human distinctness is not the same as otherness.” While animal life can be multiple, “only man can express this distinction and distinguish himself, and only he can communicate himself and not merely something—thirst or hunger, affection or hostility or fear.”3 Far from outdated, Arendt’s version of human distinction is an effort to remind us that it is the human capacities to act and think, not to reason, that makes us uniquely human. Plurality, Arendt reminds us, is only possible because humans can initiate action.
The great tension of our times is that between a humanism that builds a world, a civilization, and an animalism that rebels against the limits that world represents. Nietzsche’s greatness was to see through the inhumanism of enlightenment humanism and to identify the perversion of human civilization into a rational world that plans, calculates, and orders the world dehumanizes humanity. To respond to the degradation of humanist civilization by abandoning humanity to its animality, however, risks pursuing a false path to liberation. The animal freedom and plurality that Lemm’s account of Nietzsche offers is, in Heidegger’s words, the “absence of boundaries and limits, the absence of objects not thought as a lack, but as the originary totality of the actual in which the creature is immediately admitted and thus set free.”4 The freedom of Rilke’s animal, in its rebellion against the rationalism of metaphysics, is the freedom of the “open sea,” a vast, undifferentiated, and yawning freedom of infinite possibility. What such a freedom forgets is that humans live in a world. It is one thing to bring into question the rational foundations of that world. It is another to question the world itself.