“If this practice [of totalitarianism] is compared with […] [the desert] of tyranny, it seems as if a way had been found to set the desert itself in motion, to let loose a sand storm that could cover all parts of the inhabited earth.
The conditions under which we exist today in the field of politics are indeed threatened by these devastating sand storms.”
Hannah Arendt, The Origins of Totalitarianism
In the concluding chapter to The Origins of Totalitarianism, Hannah Arendt argues that totalitarianism must be understood as a new “form of government” in its own right, rather than as a transitory or haphazard series of external catastrophes afflicting classical forms like democracy or monarchy. Essentially different from the extralegal form of tyranny as well, totalitarianism’s emergence marks a terrifying new horizon for human political experience, one that will surely survive the passing of Hitler and Stalin. Arendt’s point is that the totalitarian form is still with us because the all too protean origins of totalitarianism are still with us: loneliness as the normal register of social life, the frenzied lawfulness of ideological certitude, mass poverty and mass homelessness, the routine use of terror as a political instrument, and the ever growing speeds and scales of media, economics, and warfare.
The sand storm is Arendt’s metaphor for this volatile and shifting space that throws together the totalitarian form, the enduring civilizational crises that produced it, and the public realms that are precariously pitched against it. The ambiguities and subtleties of Arendt’s striking metaphor are worth pausing over. Her image of the sand storm can tell us a lot about the nature and environs of the totalitarian form – and the kinds of politics that might withstand it.
Arendt’s judgments about totalitarianism in the book’s conclusion are carefully measured and quietly demur from the Cold War bombast with which she is now so often associated. Although Arendt argues that totalitarianism will most certainly recur after Hitler and Stalin, she insists that this new form is too self-destructive to last for very long in any given time and place. Totalitarianism’s suicidal rage for conquest and violence renders it unable to secure anything like a permanent world order. (She notes in the second edition’s 1966 preface that it has undoubtedly thawed into tyranny in the Soviet Union.) Critics and admirers of Arendt’s theory alike often overlook both the fast burn of totalitarianism’s death-drive and the wider geopolitical amorphousness that ignites it. Totalitarianisms emerge for a time, then disappear suddenly, only to have some of their elements migrate, shape-shift, and re-emerge elsewhere, accomplishing fantastical destruction in the course of their coming-to-be and passing-away. There is, then, paradoxically, a kind of fluidity, turbulence, and even formlessness that attends this new political form, which is partly what Arendt’s sand storm metaphor tries to convey.
What in the world could cause the desert of tyranny to be thrown into the air and perambulate the earth? One might guess that the cause is something like absolute lawlessness. And, indeed, the extraordinary criminality of totalitarianism makes it tempting to think of it as a mere modern tyranny, but Arendt’s desert-in-motion metaphor argues against this commonplace. She likens tyranny to a desert because it is a political space that is evacuated of laws, institutions, and traditions. What remains under tyranny, however, is the open space of plurality, where human beings can still confront one another within a cohering field of action and power. Totalitarianism radically eliminates the space of plurality through the mobilizations of mass terror, collapsing the spaces between us that make us human. Such mobilizations are not simply lawless. Although contemptuous of positive law, totalitarianism is lawfully obedient to its own images of Nature and History. More than this, the totalitarian form seeks to embody the laws of Nature and History. Because it imagines that these laws can be directly enacted by politics, the totalitarian movement tries vainly to form their more-than-human movements. Ideology helps to put the desert into motion too, but again not mainly through the lawlessness of unreason. Rather, Arendt argues that totalitarian ideology is distinguished by its logical lawfulness. Totalitarian logicality at once divorces thought from worldly common sense and attaches it to arbitrary and fleeting first principles. The resulting conclusions are half-believed, inchoate certitudes that cling feverishly to a tight deductive form. Thanks to this a priori sandblasting of common sense, the desert of tyranny is no longer a setting for the creative solace of solitude, exile, or contemplation. It can only become the whirlwind of ideological reason in concert with the supra-human laws of everyday terror.
The most important force that throws the desert into motion is loneliness, which Arendt distinguishes from isolation. Isolation, the old game of divide and conquer, belongs to the desert of tyranny. Isolated women and men lack an organized public realm in which to create freedom with others. Yet they nonetheless retain a private realm that roots them in the world through home, family, work, and labor. To be lonely is to be deprived of both the public and the private realms and therefore to feel utterly abandoned by other human beings, to finally lose one’s place in the world completely. The mass production of loneliness is closely linked to the experiences of “uprootedness” and “superfluousness” that have unevenly afflicted peoples across the earth since the industrial revolution and European imperialism. Pervasive loneliness as a modern way of life therefore amorphously anticipates the emergence of the totalitarian form, but it also serves to structure and vivify its psychic violence once underway. Loneliness perversely tends to intensify when felt in the presence of others, that is, when one is not strictly speaking alone. The genius of mass terror is that it is able to sustain precisely this kind of loneliness among many millions of people together simultaneously. This is in part, Arendt argues, because totalitarian ideology seems to promise an escape from loneliness, that is, to offer form to what was before felt as superfluous and uprooted. It is also because there is something in the psychology of loneliness that makes it singularly susceptible to the ideological calculus of despair and fatalism, to “deducing […] always the worst possible conclusions,” as Arendt puts it.
Arendt herself does not pursue the worst possible conclusions in the final chapter to The Origins of Totalitarianism. She does, however, entertain the dark possibility that the “true predicaments” of our times have yet “to assume their authentic form,” a form that she does not expect to be totalitarian. Given her sand storm metaphor, this remark might be understood as a double warning about the emergence of still newer political forms and the persistent dangers of political formlessness. While it may be difficult to imagine worse forms than totalitarianism, Arendt’s story is also about the generative origins of totalitarianism. She concludes her book by arguing that these origins are still very much in the wind. The protean creativity of these airborne elements makes political life a much more precarious and circumscribed affair than it might otherwise appear, especially in the wake of Nazi defeat and Stalinism’s thaw. That said, there exist other protean forces that are more congenial to the power of the public realm. Against the sand storm, Arendt wagers on the formless forces of natality, the new beginnings that attend every human being for the sheer fact of having been born into the world as a distinct someone, different from all who have lived or will live. The stubborn facts of natality do not yield reliably to loneliness or ideology or terror precisely because of their radical novelty, their inevitable disruptions of whatever preceded them, but also because of their inherent worldliness. Natality’s stubborn facts will always push – sometimes weakly, sometimes irresistibly – toward plurality, action, power, and the public realm. It is for this reason, if for no other, that totalitarianism’s origins will never be the only origins given to us.