Dayenu in Reverse: The Passover Canon of Arendt’s Critics

One of the more recent criticisms I’ve read of Eichmann in Jerusalem—in Bettina Stangneth’s and Deborah Lipstadt’s books—is that far from seeing, or seeing through, Eichmann, Arendt was taken in by his performance on the witness stand. Eichamnn the liar, Eichmann the con man, got the better of Arendt the dupe.

For the sake of his defense, the argument goes, Eichmann pretended to be a certain type of Nazi—not a Jew hater but a dutiful if luckless soldier, who wound up, almost by happenstance, shipping millions of Jews to their death.

Arendt heard this defense, and though she never accepted the notion that Eichmann was an obedient soldier (she thought he was a great deal worse than that), she did conclude that Eichmann had “an inability to think, namely, to think from the standpoint of somebody else.” Eichmann was hermetically sealed off from the world, from the perspective of people who weren’t Nazis. Because the “more decisive flaw in Eichmann’s character was his almost total inability ever to look at anything from the other fellow’s point of view,” he “never realized what he was doing.” He knew he was sending Jews to their death; he just didn’t grasp the moral significance of that act, wherein its evil lay, how others, including his victims and their families, might see it.

According to evidence presented by Stangneth and Lipstadt, Eichmann the thoughtless schlemiel was indeed a performance on Eichmann’s part. The truth is that he was a rabid anti-Semite who took initiative and on occasion defied the directives of his superiors in order to make sure even more Jews went to their death; at one point, Lipstadt reports, he even personally challenged Hitler’s order to allow some 40,000 Hungarian Jews to be released for emigration to Palestine via Switzerland.

At every stage of his career, Eichmann knew what he was doing. In power, he did it with zeal; out of power, in the dock, he tried to pretend that he hadn’t, or that if he had, that he had no choice.

Arendt’s vision of the banality of evil, her critics claim, rests upon a failure to see this, the real Eichmann. Eichmann the trickster, Eichmann the con man, rather than Eichmann the thoughtless schlemiel.

As I’ve written before, I think there’s something to this argument about Arendt’s failure to apprehend Eichmann’s performance as a performance. Arendt sometimes, though not nearly as often as her critics claim, did take Eichmann at his word, and it never seems to have occurred to her that he would have had the cunning—and necessary self-awareness—to fashion an image of himself that might prove more palatable to the court.

But if Eichmann was indeed a liar, that, it seems to me, argues in favor of Arendt’s overall thesis of the banality of evil, not against it. Once you work through the implications of Eichmann the liar—as opposed to Eichmann the thoughtless schlemiel—it becomes clear that it is Arendt’s critics, rather than Arendt, who have not only failed to come to terms with his evil, but who also may have, albeit inadvertently, minimized what he actually did.

So let’s work this one through.

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To repeat: At the heart of Eichmann’s evil, Arendt believes, was a certain kind of cluelessness about what it was that he did, which was rooted in his inability to see how his actions and statements might appear to another person, particularly someone who had been the victim of his acts. Eichmann might admit, as he did on the stand, that the Holocaust was “one of the greatest crimes in the history of Humanity,” but those were just words. He simply did not grasp the meaning of what he did. Or said.

Arendt offers plentiful evidence for this claim, some of which cannot be construed as lies on Eichmann’s part. After she writes that Eichmann “never realized what he was doing,” for example, she says:

It was precisely this lack of imagination which enabled him to sit for months on end facing a German Jew who was conducting the police interrogation, pouring out his heart to the man and explaining again and again how it was that he reached only the rank of lieutenant colonel in the S.S. and that it had not been his fault that he was not promoted.

That Eichmann thought he had found a sympathetic audience for his sob story of slights and snubs at the hands of the SS in the form of a German Jew—whose father, Lipstadt informs us, Eichmann knew to have been killed at Auschwitz; perhaps Eichmann even thought his interrogator might identify with him as a fellow victim of the SS—was an indication, Arendt believed, of his inability to think from “the other fellow’s point of view,” an inability that outlasted his time in the sun with the Nazis.

But it was when he was on the witness stand that Eichmann truly proved himself a thoughtless man. For when Eichmann presented himself in what he clearly thought was an exculpatory light he only wound up indicting himself even further. This, for Arendt, was the horror—and comedy—of the man.

Eichmann thought he was offering himself up (whether sincerely or not) to the court as a more palatable specimen, not realizing: first, that given what he did (and admitted to having done), there was nothing he could do or say that would redeem him; and, second, that the exculpatory examples he offered were only further confirmation of his evil.

Arendt writes, for example:

None of the various “language rules,” [the Nazis’ various euphemisms for their murderous deeds, what Eichmann called “winged words”] carefully contrived to deceive and to camouflage, had a more decisive effect on the mentality of the killers than this first war decree of Hitler, in which the word for “murder” was replaced by the phrase “to grant a mercy death.” Eichmann, asked by the police examiner if the directive to avoid “unnecessary hardships” was not a bit ironic, in view of the fact that the destination of these people was certain death anyhow, did not even understand the question, so firmly was it still anchored in his mind that the unforgivable sin was not to kill people but to cause unnecessary pain. During the trial, he showed unmistakable signs of sincere outrage when witnesses told of cruelties and atrocities committed by S.S. men—though the court and much of the audience failed to see these signs, because his single-minded effort to keep his self-control had misled them into believing that the was “unmovable” and indifferent—and it was not the accusation of having sent millions of death to their death that ever caused him real agitation but only the accusation (dismissed by the court) of one witness that he had once beaten a Jewish boy to death.

This is the sort of passage that makes critics of Arendt think, ah, there she goes again, giving Eichmann the benefit of the doubt, taking him at his word, assuming he’s more humane than he in fact was.

Let’s assume for the sake of the argument, however, that Arendt’s critics are wrong, that she was not taken in by Eichmann and that she had him, at least here, pegged right. Any reader of this passage can see that her point is not that Eichmann was humane but that he was morally and politically—and ultimately intellectually (though not psychologically)—deranged. That he could willingly participate in a plan to exterminate millions—something he admitted to on the stand, Arendt reminds us—but think that his crimes were mitigated by the fact that he neither caused people unnecessary pain nor ever laid a hand on a poor Jewish boy and in fact was genuinely outraged by any sign of cruelty by the SS: that for Arendt was a sign of his failure to recognize the enormity of his crime, to truly understand what he had done.

Now let’s assume for the sake of the argument that Arendt’s critics are right, that she was in fact taken in by him and that this was all a big lie for the witness stand. It doesn’t change her point at all; in fact, it only strengthens it. That Eichmann could willingly participate in a plan to exterminate millions but nevertheless think that the court would somehow conclude he wasn’t so bad because he didn’t cause people unnecessary pain nor ever lay a hand on a poor Jewish boy—and then, on the basis of that lunatic assumption, deceive the court in the hope that it might get him off or get him a lighter sentence: that too should be taken as a sign of his failure to recognize the enormity of his crime, to truly understand what he had done. For who but Eichmann could possibly believe that that mitigated his crime in any way?

Whether Eichmann believed what he said or was lying to save his ass, his failure to think—the banality of his evil—is demonstrated by the fact that he assumed there might be something he could do or say that would get him off the hook. Even at the moment when he was facing his own death, he couldn’t imagine the enormity of his crimes, how they would appear to others.

At the heart of Arendt’s assessment, then, is the idea that once Eichmann set down the path of mass murder of the Jews, nothing he did or didn’t do, nothing he said or didn’t say, could change, alter, soften, or otherwise mitigate that fact. It was that enormous. To think otherwise was not to understand the enormity of the crime.

One can cite other examples from Eichmann in Jerusalem. Like this one:

Bragging was the vice that was Eichmann’s undoing. It was sheer rodomontade when he told his men during the last days of the war: “I will jump into my grave laughing, because the fact that I have the death of five million Jews…on my conscience gives me extraordinary satisfaction.” He did not jump, and if he had anything on his conscience, it was not murder but, as it turned out that, that he had once slapped the face of Dr. Josef Löwenherz, head of the Vienna Jewish community, who later became one of his favorite Jews. (He had apologized in front of his staff at the time, but this incident kept bothering him.)

Again, the point is clear: if Eichmann is sincere, he’s a fool who punishes himself with the thought that he once slapped a Jew’s face but sleeps peacefully over the fact that he shipped millions of Jews to their death; if he’s lying, he’s also a fool who thinks that his performance of remorse over slapping a Jew would somehow weigh against, in the judgment of the court, his shipment of millions of Jews to their death. In either case, he hasn’t grappled with the enormity of his crime.

Arendt did not believe that this kind of cluelessness was peculiar to Eichmann; it was rife throughout the Nazi high command.

Himmler’s order in the fall of 1944 to halt the extermination and to dismantle the installations at the death factories sprang from his absurd but sincere conviction that the Allied powers would know how to appreciate this obliging gesture; he told a rather incredulous Eichmann that on the strength of it he would be able to negotiate a Hubertusburger-Frieden—an allusion to the Peace Treaty of Hubertusburg that concluded the Seven Years’ War of Frederick II of Prussia in 1763 and enabled Prussia to retain Silesia, although she had lost the war.

And far from seeing this thoughtlessness as a sign of the petty bourgeois origins of Eichmann, Arendt found it at the highest rungs of society. She could barely contain her disbelief at the aristocratic conspirators of 1944 who tried to kill Hitler but thought, like Himmler, that they could negotiate a “just peace” with the Allies that would allow Germany to keep Austria and the Sudetenland (the fruits of Hitler’s earliest crimes of aggression) and a “’leading position for Germany on the Continent.’”

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Once we realize how little of Arendt’s banality thesis hinges upon whether Eichmann was a liar or a believer of his own bullshit, we begin to see that there is something peculiar about the claim that Arendt was taken in by Eichmann.

As a simple empirical observation, the claim is perfectly plausible and unobjectionable, and indeed, as I’ve already said, can shed some interesting light on Arendt’s other ideas about performance and lying.

But Arendt’s critics want to use Eichmann the liar as a cudgel: not against Arendt in error (most philosophers make errors) or even against Arendt the dupe. No, they want to make Arendt into, if not an abettor of or apologist for evil, than at least an evader or minimizer of evil, who denies the wickedness of the Holocaust by insisting on the banality of one of its perpetrators.

Richard Wolin makes the point simply and directly:

It is at this point that the ultimate stakes of the debate over Eichmann’s “banality” emerge most clearly. For if Eichmann was “banal,” then the Holocaust itself was banal. There is no avoiding the fact that these two claims are inextricably intertwined.

And should the implication not be clear, he makes it plain:

What should have been clear then and should certainly be clear now is that if the Holocaust was banal, then it was not evil.

It’s not clear how any of this follows logically (if Jefferson was a benevolent slaveholder, does slavery become benevolent?), but Arendt’s point was just the opposite: the Holocaust was evil, Eichmann was banal, and the terrifying puzzle at the heart of it all—she called it “fearsome, word-and-thought-defying”—was how could such a smallness be a source, if not the source, of such a terrible largeness?

Lipstadt is more balanced and circumspect in her final judgment of Arendt, but she too ventures into some strange territory.

Lipstadt begins with a claim about Arendt and Eichmann in Jerusalem that, on its own terms, is straightforward enough:

Her work, even as it tried to explain critical aspects of the most extensive genocide in human history, submerged the most fundamental and indispensable elements of this event. She ignored the bedrock of the Holocaust: the long, tortured (torturing) history of anti-Semitism.

Nor, however, can one dismiss the way in which she so seamlessly elided the ideology that was at the heart of this genocide. She related a version of the Holocaust in which anti-Semitism played a decidedly minor role.

Unlike some of her defenders, I think Arendt does underplay Eichmann’s anti-Semitism. (Oddly enough, a similar charge could be leveled at her Origins of Totalitarianism, a book that has never aroused the kind of wrath and rage that Eichmann has.) Unlike her critics, however, I don’t see Arendt’s treatment of Eichmann’s anti-Semitism as the moral failure on her part that they apparently see it as. I simply think she was wrong, and while her error is symptomatic of certain blinders she had, those are not the sort of blinders that should turn Eichmann or its author into an occasion for an exorcism.

But for Lipstadt and other critics, they are. For Arendt’s refusal to see Eichmann’s anti-Semitism is part and parcel of her fraternization with, even indulgence of, the anti-Semitism of her friends and lovers.

Hannah Arendt spoke with many voices. One modulated itself for the likes of Mary McCarthy and her set, many of whom delighted in and felt liberated by a Jew’s severe critique of Ben-Gurion, Israel, and her fellow Jews. Her comments freed them from having to self-censor when they spoke of Jewish matters….This Arendt may also have been subliminally writing for her teacher and former lover, the revered philosopher Martin Heidegger, who joined the Nazi Party in 1933, ejected Jewish professors from the university where he severed as rector, affirmed Nazi ideals, and never recanted his wartime actions.

At one point, Lipstadt even compares Arendt to Eichmann:

She was guilty of precisely the same wrong she derisively ascribed to Adolf Eichmann. She—the great political philosopher who claimed that careful thought and precise expression were of supreme value—did not “think.” She wanted to provoke her readers to re-evaluate their assumptions, but she either did not care or did not fully consider how her caustic comments might be heard by them.

(It never seems to have occurred to Lipstadt that the only reason we (and she) are still talking about Eichmann in Jerusalem a half-century after its publication is that, for all of its caustic comments, the book has managed, like all great works of political theory, to consistently provoke its readers to reevaluate their assumptions.)

Hovering around the edges of these statements is the suggestion that Eichmann in Jerusalem enabled a genteel anti-Semitism—liberating the long suppressed feelings of Arendt’s goyish friends—and trafficked in its far more malignant forms, channeling the spirit of the Nazi Heidegger and mirroring the thoughtlessness of the Nazi Eichmann. In other words, sleeping with the enemy.

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There’s no question that Arendt herself believed that the Nazis had committed a crime of massive proportion and that Eichmann had a major, if overstated, hand in that crime. And unlike Gershom Scholem, Martin Buber, and a great many others in Israel and elsewhere, Arendt had no doubt that Eichmann ought to hang for his deeds (even Ben-Gurion, Lipstadt claims, had momentary doubts about that). Even if Arendt underplayed Eichmann’s anti-Semitism, even if she got his banality wrong, she was absolutely clear that he had helped perpetrate one of the greatest mass murders in history, that he was a moral catastrophe of the highest order, and that he should hang for his crimes. None of these final judgments of hers was dependent on her assessment of his anti-Semitism or banality. For Arendt, it was enough that he was a mass murderer and an ethical catastrophe that he should hang.

So why all the high dudgeon of her critics? Why this operatic suggestion from them that by minimizing his anti-Semitism and insisting on his banality Arendt was somehow letting Eichmann off the hook? It’s almost as if, to these critics, sending millions of Jews to their death, and being a moral catastrophe, is not in fact enough. Certainly not enough for Eichmann to hang.

The reaction of Arendt’s critics makes me wonder whether Eichmann the liar might not have had a point, whether there might not have been a method to his madness on the stand. His gamble on the stand was that if the court could see how little he enjoyed his work, how little taste for blood he actually had, how upright he was in the execution of his duties, they’d let him off the hook.

Whether this was a strategy or the truth wouldn’t have made a difference to Arendt. In either case, she would have concluded, he was guilty of mass murder; in either case he was a moral catastrophe; in either case, he was banal; in either case he should hang; in either case he was evil. But maybe what her critics are saying is: if he was a mass murderer and banal, if he was a mass murder and not anti-Semitic, then somehow his crimes really would be less. As Wolin says, no banality, no evil.

At Passover, we sing a song called Dayenu. Dayenu means “it would have been enough,” it would have been sufficient, it would have sufficed. We sing it in honor of all the things God did for us, as Jews, in the Exodus and after that. After we cite each one of these things God did for us, we say, Dayenu, it would have been enough. The cumulative force of the song is that just one of these things would have been enough, but God did so much more. Had God only led us out of Egypt, it would have been enough. But God also led us across the Red Sea. And had God only led us across the Red Sea, it would have been enough. But God also drowned our enemies there. And had God not only drowned our enemies there…you get the picture.

It seems as if, for Arendt’s critics, there’s a kind of reverse Dayenu at work. Their Passover canon goes like this: Had Eichmann only been a mass murderer, it would not have been enough. Had Eichmann only been a mass murderer who was also an ethical catastrophe, it would not have been enough. Had Eichmann only been a mass murderer who was also an ethical catastrophe and would have been hanged for his deeds, it would not have been…you get the picture.


  1. gstally October 26, 2014 at 4:18 am | #

    One of the very few people who I could call a friend in high school was jewish.
    But regardless of the crime I have no problem sending books to those in jail and I never will.

  2. Roquentin October 26, 2014 at 4:25 am | #

    You bring up a really good point. There is a foolish sentimentality to these criticisms of Arendt. My favorite war movie, one of my favorite movies of all time period, is Apocalypse Now. It captures so many fundamental truths not only about war, but the American character and the utter senselessness of how organizations are run in our society. Anyhow, the scene I’m thinking of is when they pull over a boat containing a Vietnamese family, panic, and shoot them all when the daughter goes to grab her dog. She is the only one to survive, and the start talking about trying to take her somewhere and save her. Martin Sheen’s character just pulls out a gun and shoots her execution style, replying with simply “I told you not to stop.” Why is that scene so perfect? Because it doesn’t let people off the hook with sentimental bullshit, as if they carted that poor woman off while she bled out it would have somehow redeemed them. Of course it wouldn’t, and it’s a rare thing to see a film which won’t let the audience have it.

    ” We cut ’em in half with a machine gun and give ’em a Band-Aid”

    In my college years, when what little religious faith I had left was quickly evaporating, one of the stories I kept coming back to was that of Pol Pot. The Khmer Rouge slaughtered 1/7th of the Cambodian population, often beating people to death with garden tools because they couldn’t even be bothered to waste bullets. The raw horror of that is bad enough, but the fact that Pol Pot never had to answer for his crimes and died a normal death in bed of a heart attack was almost too much to handle. To anyone who says all things happen for a reason, that there is some kind of sentient father figure guiding things I sure as hell don’t see it.

  3. Stephen Zielinski October 26, 2014 at 5:25 am | #

    Another banal evil: The thoughtless complicity we Americans have with our empire, along with its enormous crimes, lies, and the many benefits we commoners enjoy because the United States is an empire.

  4. Gerald October 26, 2014 at 8:10 am | #

    Arendt apparently came to regret her use of the word “banal,” and she was right. She had equated banality with thoughtlessness. But anyone who commits a crime, indeed anyone who hurts anyone else, is by Arendt’s Kantian definition “thoughtless.” They have violated the Categorical Imperative, failing to treat others as ends in themselves, thus failing to see things from the standpoint of another. Thoughtlessness as a category however does not distinguish among types or magnitudes of evil. Perhaps Arendt came to understand that many readers took the word banal not in her idiosyncratic meaning but in its ordinary sense as “commonplace”, “tediously unoriginal”, as the Oxford dictionary puts it. Genocidal anti-Semitism may be “thoughtless,” but it is not, by any common understanding of the word, “banal.” She would have lost nothing but shock value if she had given her book a different title; her philosophical argument would have been unimpaired, and indeed clearer. But perhaps shock was her purpose.

    • Stephen Zielinski October 26, 2014 at 9:06 am | #

      But the evil specific to the Third Reich was banal in the commonsense use of the word and in the sense found in Kantian moral theory. Germans then were not in the habit of treating Jews (and others) as ends in themselves. They were not legal subjects; they were, instead, barbarians, animals of a peculiar sort, and thus non-members of the Volk.

  5. s. wallerstein October 26, 2014 at 8:59 am | #

    I suspect that both Arendt and her critics err in trying to construct a more consistent version of Eichmann than was the case.

    Of course, I’ve never met Eichmann or studied his case in detail, but in my experience with people who lead “wrong” lives, they generally are terribly inconsistent and confused, full of denials of what they are doing, rationalizations, justifications of their wrong actions that they don’t really believe, but want to believe. They lie to themselves a lot.

    I’m thinking of a friend who is a Wall St. trader, who was very leftwing in their university days, read Marx and even absorbed a bit of Marxism into their bloodstream and out of weaknesss of character and greed, ended up on Wall St., screwing the public and making a lot of money, knowing that they are screwing society, yet full of evasive denials that they are doing what they know that they are doing, thinking of themselves as a “good” person and yet knowing on another level that the life they live is wrong. I know a couple of people like that and I suspect that someone like Eichmann was equally inconsistent and confused.

    So in a sense Arendt is right that people who think don’t or generally don’t do evil. Confused people often do.

    • Roquentin October 26, 2014 at 10:33 am | #

      Every last one of us in America participates the crass exploitation of last capitalism. No one’s hands are clean. I doubt there is an object in your home or mine that wasn’t produced by people getting paid next to nothing in factories halfway around the globe. We can talk about this, but for all our supposed awareness we still make sure our little corner of the system. I’ve been a low level corporate stooge for the cable companies for 7 years. In the grand scheme of things, I suppose it’s a relatively harmless industry to be involved in, but make no mistake about I’m not innocent. Neither is academia. The skyrocketing cost of tuition and student loans is a wealth extraction scheme par excellence. How else is one to live? There are a hundred things that are in place to make sure this economic configuration functions smoothly from one day to the next. So much of what passes as politics are basically empty discussion of “vote for x over y,” but that’s the real legwork of it. What are the things that keep all of us making this society work from one day to the next.

      There are degrees of participation, to be sure, but I get tried of everyone trying to minimize his or her own personal involvement.

      • s. wallerstein October 26, 2014 at 11:43 am | #

        First of all, minor point. I come from Chile, not the United States.

        Anyway, ethics are a question of degree, as you say. Few of us are saints, but let’s compare a lawyer friend (who lives in the U.S.) who has never in her entire professional life (she’s over 60) defended anyone who could pay (she worked as a public defender and for various non-profit organizations) with a lawyer who works for a huge corporation seeking loopholes in environmental, labor or tax legislation. I find the first lawyer to have a more ethically worthy life even those both may have computers made in China by exploited workers.

      • Roquentin October 26, 2014 at 4:04 pm | #

        Sorry for assuming you were from the US. I agree that you can try to do good things, I was more speaking to attempts to keep one’s hands clean. Those aren’t really the same thing. Still everyone has to make a living somehow, and this inevitably leads to being corrupted, if one could even call it that, by the system to a degree.

      • s. wallerstein October 26, 2014 at 4:51 pm | #

        Someone with a online name like Roquenton must have read Sartre’s play Dirty Hands.

        I tend to side with Hoederer in the debate between Hoederer and Hugo about getting one’s hands dirty, but there is something to be said for Hugo’s position.

      • Roquentin October 26, 2014 at 4:57 pm | #

        Heh, it’s like you read my mind. That play was in the back of my mind while writing that response. It was years ago that I read it, but I tend to side with the core theme of it. That keeping ones hands clean is a bourgeois concept. In fact, it’s often a luxury only afforded to those from privileged backgrounds. To take your lawyer example, no matter how much good one does as a lawyer having that occupation is still a form of privilege. Maybe keeping one’s hands clean shouldn’t be the primary concern.

        All of this, in spite of the fact that the decision to kill in that play is ultimate shown to be senseless and futile because the political alliances shit and it was no longer necessary.

      • s. wallerstein October 26, 2014 at 5:23 pm | #

        So we have a person with privilege, a lawyer, who uses their privilege (and talents and energy) to assure that people without privilege have a right to a decent legal defense, without paying. Surely, that is better, ethically superior, not only to using their privilege to defend the privileged but also to feeling so guilty about being privileged that they throw their law degree in the garbage, drop out and dedicate their life to selling homegrown organic beets as a street vendor (which would be “purer”, which would involve “cleaner hands”).

  6. jonnybutter October 26, 2014 at 10:42 am | #

    I think we all know what Arendt’s ‘crime’ is: being a real philosopher.

    Fascinating series of posts.

  7. Generalfeldmarschall von Hindenburg October 26, 2014 at 11:38 am | #

    Something to consider about Eichmann specifically is the strong possibility that he was a sociopath in a clinical sense. Incapable of feeling any empathy and driven by impulses to dominate. People like this are found all over. Possibly even amongst Amazonian tribes and others not stained by the problems of technological civilizations. This has a bearing on any discussion of “evil”, banal or otherwise.

  8. M. McL October 26, 2014 at 1:09 pm | #

    Some good points are made here. Critics of Arendt want Eichmann’s anti-Semitism to explain everything about the Holocaust. They are in no mood to discuss the psychology of hatred, which is far more interesting than they are willing to admit. Arendt herself was trying to figure out the source of his anti-Semitism and she became convinced the intensity of it could not be attributed to modern European history of Anti-Semitism.

    Ultimately, I think some (though only some) of the blowback against Arendt can attributed to the fact that her thesis is really a critique of Anglo liberalism. Eichmann’s crime is that he is motivated by petty bourgeois values–the desire to get ahead and be respected. If this requires that he is more bloodthirsty and anti-Semitic than Hitler himself, then so be it. His zeal in fact is calculating. His crime is that he exemplifies the bourgeois mediocrity that so many nineteenth century thinkers of all political stripes complained of. He is simply economic man. Recall the great insight of modern political theory is that successful political structures can be founded upon low motives of materialism and petty vanity. Capitalism requires only that we consult our narrow, short-term interests. Madisonian democracy primarily relies on “ambition counteracting ambition” to prevent tyranny (I am aware that he does demand a floor of virtue and once states that republics presuppose more virtue than any other political system. This isn’t worked out and isn’t consistent with what is written elsewhere in The Federalist.) In brief, the point is that if you follow motives of narrow short term self-interest and ambition in Nazi Germany, then you will be goose-stepping and spouting anti-Semitic comments–and yell these louder if you really want to get ahead. Arendt is really arguing that while we marvel at the productive capacity of capitalism and narrow short term selfishness, it can be quite dangerous. We need a politics that is built off something else than mere economic motives.

    Arendt’s approach finds a similar counterpart in Sartrean existentialism. He too thought his fellow Frenchmen were too unthinking and exhibited a moral flabbiness that came in the form of bad faith. They couldn’t take a moral stand. Their moral motives were too ordinary; they were too bourgeois.

    Conversely, consider the Anglo response to the Nazis as exemplified by Berlin but found in many other writers. Berlin blames Rousseau and Kant (though he never seems to criticize Kant, at least by name). In direct contradiction to Arendt he holds that it is our ability to construct a moral personality that is the enemy. Our higher selves, Berlin argues, can be used to oppress our lower selves. Those speaking in the name of our potential selves can be used to oppress our actual selves. We see this reflected in much of the WW II era treatment of Rousseau, i.e., that he is a totalitarian. Bertrand Russell bluntly makes this point: “Hitler is an outcome of Rousseau.”

    So, what do we get in the End? The French and German scholars blaming Smith and Madison while the English and American scholars blaming Rousseau.

    Anyways, my two cents–and I should point out that while I teach Arendt, I claim no scholarly expertise.

    • M. McL October 26, 2014 at 4:29 pm | #

      At the end of the first paragraph, I meant to say the source of his behavior, not the source of his anti-Semitism. Sorry about the mix-up.

  9. David Green October 26, 2014 at 9:34 pm | #

    Lipstadt has made a good if dishonorable living for years policing the boundaries of holocaust discourse in a blatantly politicized context. As an apologist for Israel, I’m not sure why she’s taken seriously. It’s clear that her agenda is to defame anyone who is not a true believer in holocaust uniqueness and conscious, conspiratorial intentionality. It’s clear that she only thrives in a context in which another holocaust for the Jews is understood to be imminent.

    • GerardO October 28, 2014 at 6:32 am | #

      Excellent comment, David Green! Lipstadt is a Jewish chauvinist, while Arendt was a Universalist; it’s little wonder that she is incapable of grasping the true meaning of Hannah’s words.

  10. Jason Schulman (@PartyOfANewType) October 27, 2014 at 3:09 pm | #
    • M. McL October 27, 2014 at 4:55 pm | #

      Thanks–I enjoyed reading it. Fifty years later, the debate seems to inspire the same intensity, which I guess I find off-putting. I am open to the fact that Arendt may be wrong, but I have trouble with the stridency of her opponents. Eichmann has to be a monster, she has to be a dupe and disingenuous one at that, etc. The tenor is, how could anyone be so stupid to make such an argument?

      The thesis has been applied elsewhere, such as to the Serbrians by Slavenka Drakulic (whatever one may think of her). Did her They Would Never Hurt a Fly book inspire so much hostility?

  11. Marek Janicki January 14, 2015 at 2:18 pm | #

    “That Eichmann could willingly participate in a plan to exterminate millions but nevertheless think that the court would somehow conclude he wasn’t so bad because he didn’t cause people unnecessary pain nor ever lay a hand on a poor Jewish boy—and then, on the basis of that lunatic assumption, deceive the court in the hope that it might get him off or get him a lighter sentence: that too should be taken as a sign of his failure to recognize the enormity of his crime, to truly understand what he had done. For who but Eichmann could possibly believe that that mitigated his crime in any way?”

    Honestly, it makes sense to me that it would mitigate his crime. Personally I have no ability to really comprehend the magnitude of the evil at play. It is so far outside of my lived experience that I am forced to treat it intellectually and use hyperbolic terms that I have no visceral response to. Whereas beating a child is comprehensible and viscerally reprehensible. So a failure to do so triggers an empathic response and engage thought pathways that are more well traveled. In some sense it is precisely because of the enormity of the crime that it can be mitigated by small mercies. It is so large that it can only be approached intellectually, and this is a much drier less immediate mode of existence than the empathic level on which small mercies live. It is banking on the phenomenon described here:

    I don’t know that this affects your larger point, and certainly the fact that it could be effective does not mean that was or wasn’t some sort of calculated position. But it seems to me to be true that one can’t so immediately dismiss the position as absurd.

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