By Aaron Cotkin
“Action would be an unnecessary luxury, a capricious interference with general laws of behavior, if men were endlessly reproducible repetitions of the same model, whose nature or essence was the same for all and as predictable as the nature or essence of any other thing. Plurality is the condition of human action because we are all the same, that is, human, in such a way that nobody is ever the same as anyone else who ever lived, lives, or will live.”
-- Hannah Arendt, The Human Condition
Central to Arendt’s call for us to “think what we are doing” is for us to think about politics as occurring under the condition of plurality. But we often lack a language appropriate to think in these terms. It may be appropriate for those who study the realm of the social (economics, culture, or society writ large) to speak of human behavior, of the nature of Man, as predictable because individual people, navigating the realm of necessity may seem like repetitions of each other. But Arendt believes that applying such logic to the study of politics, to study politics as characterized by behavior rather than by action, is inappropriate.
Here is what Christo had to say about his image:
"I’ve organized my Arendt library into two parts. On the upper shelf, you’ll find secondary literature on Arendt sorted into sections that are arranged in chronological order. (Each section is separated from the other by a bookmark.) I realized after having sorted all studies I’ve collected so far on Arendt, both in English and French, that during the ’80’s and ’90’s, the number of books written on Arendt was still modest, but then from the 2000’s and especially since 2010 (the two later sections), the number of books has expanded considerably, which is material evidence of the rising interest in Arendt’s thinking since the turn of the 21st century.
On the intermediate shelf, and on the first section of the third shelf, I’ve put Arendt’s books starting with her correspondence and then followed by sections centered around her key works, including Jewish Writings, Origins, The Human Condition, On Revolution, Life of the Mind, and others. In the remaining part of the third shelf, you can find authors having some affinity with Arendt, many of them being as she was herself “children of Heidegger” (Jonas, Marcuse, Anders) or thinkers with whom she shared interests (Raymond Aron, for instance).
It is no surprise that a library reflects the idiosyncrasies of its owner, so this partial view on my 20th century philosophy library might give you some indirect evidence of my interests in Arendt, her work, and who was influential to her and her writing. (Not shown in the picture are the works of Heidegger, Husserl, Jaspers, and Bultmann, as well as others like Leo Strauss.) Every thinker comes into connection with others; my library tries to reflect the way I understand those links, or as Arendt may have said, to capture something of the plurality of the philosophers in action."
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By Anabella Di Pego
“Terminologically speaking, the effort to recapture the lost spirit of revolution must, to a certain extent, consist in the attempt at thinking together and combining meaningfully what our present vocabulary presents to us in terms of opposition and contradiction. […] The political spirit of modernity was born when men were no longer satisfied that empires would rise and fall in sempiternal change; it is as though men wished to establish a world which could be trusted to last forever, precisely because they knew how novel everything was that their age attempted to do”.
-- Hannah Arendt, On Revolution
The applications of Arendt's writings in Argentina, now diverse since the fall of the Berlin Wall, date back to the years of democratic transition in the 1980s. It is no coincidence that Arendt’s reading in our region is associated originally with the transition rooted in “revolution” to the political vision of "democracy," as evident in the thinking of political scientist Norbert Lechner (1939-2004). Though he began living in Chile in the early 1970s, Lechner was born in Germany, and he maintained a continuous critical dialogue with classical German thought (from Kant to Marx) as well as with contemporary German thought (Luxemburg, Lukács, Bloch, Adorno, Arendt, Luhmann, and Habermas among others).
**This post was originally published on November 19, 2012**
By Louise Brinkerhoff
“In solitude a dialogue always arises, because even in solitude there are always two.”
-- Hannah Arendt, Denktagebuch
In the back of a volume of letters sent between Louise von Salome and Rainer Maria Rilke, Hannah Arendt wrote in pencil: “253, 256, Einsamkeit.” On the corresponding pages, she marked out two passages from a letter from Rilke to Salome from January 10th, 1912. The first:
Can I, despite everything, move on through all this? If people happen to be present they offer me the relief of being able to be more or less the person they take me for, without being too particular about my actual existence. How often do I step out of my room as, so to speak, some chaos, and outside, perceived by someone else’s mind, assume a composure that is actually his and in the next moment, to my astonishment, find myself expressing well-formed things, while just before everything in my entire consciousness was utterly amorphous.
(Featured Image Source: tsonline on DeviantArt)
By Anabella Di Pego
“Thought, finally--which we, following the pre-modern as well as the modern tradition, omitted from our reconsideration of the vita activa--is still possible, and no doubt actual, wherever men live under the conditions of political freedom. Unfortunately, and contrary to what is currently assumed about the proverbial ivory-tower independence of thinkers, no other human capacity is so vulnerable, and it is in fact far easier to act under conditions of tyranny than it is to think. As a living experience, thought has always been assumed, perhaps wrongly, to be known only to the few. It may not be presumptuous to believe that these few have not become fewer in our time. This may be irrelevant, or of restricted relevance, for the future of the world; it is not irrelevant for the future of man.”
-- Hannah Arendt, The Human Condition
The closing paragraph of The Human Condition refers to the act of thinking, an idea which is crossed by a paradox. Thought “is still possible, and no doubt actual,” but at the same time it is always conceived as a living experience of a few. The problematic question is not if these few have or “have not become fewer in our time.” It is whether the conditions that make thought possible have eroded despite the fact that our chances to cope with certain hazards in the 20th century reside precisely with this faculty. “The future of man” is threatened by the uncertain future of thought, so this activity is shown in all its political implications. The decline of thinking could lead to the extinction of human life as we have specifically understood it until today. Therefore, Arendt’s book, which is dedicated to the vita activa, culminates with a call to thought--urgent but completely different from a call to arms—whose message is fundamental to the future of our common world. However, this return to thought in Arendt’s approach comes with a warning and a radical critique of the way in which thinking has been understood by the philosophical tradition.
By Jennie Han
**This article was originally published on April 1, 2013.**
"Critical thinking is possible only where the standpoints of all others are open to inspection. Hence, critical thinking, while still a solitary business, does not cut itself off from ‘all others.’ To be sure, it still goes on in isolation, but by the force of imagination it makes the others present and thus moves in a space that is potentially public, open to all sides; in other words, it adopts the position of Kant’s world citizen. To think with an enlarged mentality means that one trains one’s imagination to go visiting."
-- Hannah Arendt, Lectures on Kant's Political Philosophy
Arendt’s appeal to the “enlargement of the mind” of Kantian judgment is well known and is often discussed in relation to Eichmann’s failure to think and recognize the world’s plurality. To the extent that we find lessons in these discussions, a prominent one is that we might all be vulnerable to such failures of judgment.
By Johannes Lang
“Whatever the passions and the emotions may be, and whatever their true connection with thought and reason, they certainly are located in the human heart. And not only is the human heart a place of darkness which, with certainty, no human eye can penetrate; the qualities of the heart need darkness and protection against the light of the public to grow and to remain what they are meant to be, innermost motives which are not for public display.”
–Hannah Arendt, On Revolution (1963)
Since September 11, 2001, historians and social scientists have rediscovered the political relevance of emotion. In the current climate of war and terror, public discussion is suffused with references to fear, hatred, and patriotism. But what are the moral and political consequences when such passions enter the public sphere? One of the most famous political thinkers of the twentieth century, Hannah Arendt, worried about the entry of emotion into politics. She scolded the French revolutionaries for having been carried away by their compassion for the poor and praised the American Founding Fathers for their aloof commitment to universal ideals and for their detached attitude to the suffering masses. Emotions may be important as subjective motives for individual action, Arendt granted, but they should neither be aired in public nor be made the basis for collective action. Emotions disfigure politics; political movements should be based on rational argument, not passion. Yet, as Volker Heins has pointed out, there was one thing Arendt feared more than the intrusion of emotions into politics: a politics completely devoid of emotion. The “ice-cold reasoning” and bureaucratic rationality she discerned behind the Holocaust was infinitely more terrifying than any other political pathology known to man. Arendt’s deep ambivalence toward emotions confronts us with a fundamental question: What is the proper place of emotion in politics?
By Etienne Tassin
“To substitute violence for power can bring victory, but the price is very high; for it is not only paid by the vanquished, it is also paid by the victor in terms of his own power.”
-- Hannah Arendt, “On Violence,” in Crises of the Republic
Hannah Arendt warns us against two confusions that have the potential to ruin our understanding of politics: the confusion of power and violence, and the confusion of (political) success and (military / armed) victory.
During the weekend of January 10-11, 2015, millions of people gathered in France and across the entire world to demonstrate their rejection of terrorist violence. In their rallies, they were responding to the assassination of cartoonists and journalists of a French satirical newspaper, Charlie Hebdo, an iconoclastic weekly that had published caricatures of the Prophet Mohammed. These demonstrators were also responding to the assassination of the hostages taken in a kosher grocery store by another terrorist claiming his affiliation with militant Islamic jihad. Firmly opposed to the use of armed violence by terrorists, the people of the world united together in silent and nonviolent reflection. On one side, Kalashnikovs; on the other, pencils, paper, and the supportive responses of cartoonists from around the world. On one side, corpses; on the other, a swirling mass united by their rejection of violence.
** This article was originally published on our blog on Monday, August 13, 2012. **
“Plurality of languages: [...] It is crucial 1. that there are many languages and that they differ not only in vocabulary, but also in grammar, and so in mode of thought and 2. that all languages are learnable.”
-- Hannah Arendt, Denktagebuch, i.e. Thinking Diary, p. 42f
Hannah Arendt learned English quickly. In the year after her arrival to the USA in 1941, her work was already being printed by American magazines and publishers. In November 1950, as she wrote the above sentences on the “plurality of languages,” she refined her groundbreaking book The Origins of Totalitarianism (1951) and readied it for publication. Contemporaneously with the publication of her first book in English and shortly before her “naturalization” as an American citizen, Arendt began her Denktagebuch. The book—a diary of reflections, of sorts—was written in several languages and often, like the entry above, in German.