Mad wrote:But I'd also say that reason provides a critical mechanism that allows us to veto those judgments -- else, how do you account for all those ostensibly good German's who did act in support of the Final Solution?

Quick clarification before I go on. You mean here that, in the instance of the "good Germans who acted in support of the Final Solution," it was reason that overrode what would have been an intuitive judgment of such acts?

Rationalization, yes. If that's a function of reason, then an even more specific yes to your question. There had to be some rationalization involved in inverting a moral scheme that you've practiced your entire life. Even if the rationalization was just, "Everybody else is doing it," there's still an implicit line of reasoning involved, and in more than a few people it was probably a very conscious (even if not schematic) act of reasoning. All you need to do is assume the right premises, and logical thought can take you to any conclusion, no matter how horrific.

I'm now half way through this essay having finally got my copy of Responsibility and Judgment imported from the USA. I just really enjoy reading Arendt as she is so lucid, humane and wise and wanted to quickly jump in with initial reactions. She opens this essay by with a nice quote: 'nothing is so entertaining as the discussion of a book nobody has read' to illustrate her bemusement at the debate generated by her Eichmann in Jerusalem, which obtained a life of its own from popular imagination around the nerves it struck, and I think her comments here on judgment and guilt have a relevance beyond her examples.

The first thing I really like in the essay is her comment about judgment which I interpret as a critique of the insidious function of cultural and moral relativism in stripping us of our right and ability to judge in matters of truth and ethics. Relativism is a dangerous postmodern trend, as it has the effect of making all conduct amoral except, ironically, judgment, which relativism condemns as a sin against the sole holy absolute of tolerance. Arendt implies that the postmodern worship of secular pluralism is more a problem of cultural elites than the mass of the population, but as she says of elites in the prologue "that they were small in number does not make them any less characteristic of the climate of the times". In this discussion she seems to share Heidegger's contempt for the public realm, as a domain of idle chatter, curiosity and ambiguity. There seems to be an underlying demand here for a new conceptualization of excellence as a high value.

The next issue is collective guilt. I like her comment that "every generation...is burdened with the sins of the fathers as it is blessed with the deeds of the ancestors." This has quite a resonance here in Australia, where guilt around imperial dispossession of Aboriginal people is a major political theme. Arendt presents a nuanced view on this by distinguishing political responsibility (yes) from personal responsibility (no) and condemning those who falsely claim personal guilt for a political problem for enabling the truly guilty to walk free. Her comment that every government and nation assumes political responsibility for the deeds and misdeeds of the past is spot on, but raises the issue of how to address this unexpiated guilt. Forgiveness, reconciliation, mercy, dissolving grace, truth, conscience, repentance, seem to me to be central Christian themes here. Linking back to the earlier theme of relativism, I don't think that we can assuage guilt by claiming a cultural and epistemic relativism in which traditional societies are seen as equal to modern western culture. The west, for all its faults, gathers up the accumulated progress of civilization which makes it so vastly more productive than isolated stone age tribes. And yet, there are values that emerge in isolated communities which have a lot to teach the monolithic juggernaut of empire. Reconciliation is a two way street.

Arrrggghhhh...I can't get this out in any kind of useful way. This is mostly all just thinking out loud, but I figured I'd post it rather than not. Robert, I had meant to respond to your post, but I'm having such a difficult time getting my own thoughts down, I'll have to postpone that for now. I'm sure someone will give you some food for thought, soon enough.

Mad wrote:All you need to do is assume the right premises, and logical thought can take you to any conclusion, no matter how horrific.

You know, for now, I think I'm going to play off this. It immediately informs where I was thinking of going next. Can the right premise, and the progression of logical thought, lead to horrific conclusions? I think the answer is clearly, yes. But for the purposes of this essay, the question Arendt seems to raise for me is will it, or, more so, must it inevitably? She references the argument heard at the Nuremberg and Eichmann trials: "every organization demands obedience to superiors as well as obedience to the laws of the land. Obedience is a political virtue of the first order, and without it no body politic could survive." A premise, which as we saw, did follow to its horrific conclusion. And Arendt admits the plausibility of such a legal defense for those trials, noting that the plausibility relies on Madison's statement that "all governments rest on consent." [Actually, I'm not sure why she invokes Madison here. It seems to me an idea that preceded Madison, and even when he did hit on it, it was in association with colleagues. In other words, I never thought this Madison's idea. And if I was going to hand the quote off to one of the Founding Fathers, I would think it would be Jefferson.] But Arendt clarifies that such plausibility relies on the fallacy that consent is equated with obedience. In the context of Nazi organization and implementation I can see where Arendt is going.

I think it odd, though, that Arendt offers one of the founding aspects of the Declaration of Independence, while noting that consent can be misconstrued to mean obedience. Now note, I'm not taking offense here

I want to add one quick thing to the above. With regard to the consent of the governed, the Founding Fathers were trying to devise a system of government that supported the notion that all free men are equal. Under that ideal, no equal man could reasonably rule over another equal. Thus the government derived its just power from the consent of the governed. Now the structure of Arendt's following sentence leads to a bit of confusion:

"Its plausibility rests on the truth that 'all governments,' in the words of Madison, even the most autocratic ones, even tyrannies, 'rest on consent'..."

I assume the words quoted in the text belong to Madison. I'm not sure, however, if it's explicit whether the parenthetical phrase "even the most autocratic ones, even tyrannies" refers also to Madison. But I think, no, that Arendt is making this claim herself. I can't say that I necessarily refute that consent of the governed, essentially, dictates all forms of government. As Arendt notes on the next page, one can only imagine how tyrannies and dictatorships would cease to function "if enough people would act 'irresponsibly' and refuse support, even without active resistance and rebellion..." But I think any discussion with regard to consent of the governed as applied to dictatorships, as applied specifically to the discussion of German involvement with the Nazi machine, is inherently different than a discussion of the consent of the governed with regard to republics.

Robert Tulip wrote:The first thing I really like in the essay is her comment about judgment which I interpret as a critique of the insidious function of cultural and moral relativism in stripping us of our right and ability to judge in matters of truth and ethics.

Certainly a lot of her comments can be read in that light, but I don't think she herself has done much to bring relativism into the topic. I could be wrong on that, of course, but to say that she's offering a critique of moral relativism would seem to imply that she's dealing with the results of a largely philosophical shift. As Richard Rorty has noted, moral relativism has mostly entered public thought as critique -- the philosophers who have offered the observation that moral schemes are relative to context never seem to get noticed by layperson's until someone has something to say against moral relativism. So far as I can tell, the closest Arendt comes to broaching the issue is in her references to Nietzsche, who is often interpreted as a moral relativist, when a closer reading would, I think, entail the recognition that he neither described moral relativism as a fact of modern culture (rather, he diagnosed modern Europe as having contracted a gradually spreading case of nihilism) nor prescribed it as a remedy.

Rather, it seems to me that Arendt sees in the events of the 20th century a kind of bewildering effect. We are incapable of judging them not because we've bought into any notion of moral relativism, but simply because they're so astonishing, so unprecedented, so big. For a time, people tried to judge them according to the standards they had judged other events, and only through the attempt to do so did they recognize that the old standards were only incompletely applicable.

Arendt implies that the postmodern worship of secular pluralism is more a problem of cultural elites than the mass of the population, but as she says of elites in the prologue "that they were small in number does not make them any less characteristic of the climate of the times".

Ah, I think you see what you're getting at. Throughout the book, Arendt does continually repeat that the German collaborators had abandoned their old moral norms as though morality were, as its etymology would imply, merely a set of customs that could be abandoned at will. But I don't think she intends that to be taken as evidence of motive. Rather than the thought of this relativity preceding the act, I think she takes it as a conclusion that people have been inclined to draw from the ease with which entire populations during the 20th century traded in their previously firm moral convictions.

Rose wrote:Can the right premise, and the progression of logical thought, lead to horrific conclusions? I think the answer is clearly, yes.

The generally held conviction is that, if you've chosen your premises well, and if you're scrupulous in your logic, your conclusion will be, at the very least, true. It might still be horrific, but to get a conclusion that his horrific because false -- ie. to have arrived through logical consideration at the conclusion that it is morally justified to support the Nazi regime -- would require that your reasoning is in error at some point in the process -- either in its premises, or because of some logical fallacy.

She references the argument heard at the Nuremberg and Eichmann trials: "every organization demands obedience to superiors as well as obedience to the laws of the land. Obedience is a political virtue of the first order, and without it no body politic could survive." A premise, which as we saw, did follow to its horrific conclusion.

From the point of view I offered above, a critical approach would begin with the question of whether or not the premise of that argument -- that obedience is a political virtue -- is true, or even plausible. Arendt seems to argue that obedience is not, in fact, a political virtue. On analogy with Mary McCarthy's example of the person with the gun held to their head, obedience is never fully the motivation of the citizen who acts in accord with the dictates of state. State orders are merely the temptation to act as the citizen would.

Another argument could be raised against that offered by the Nazi sympathizers. Rousseau argued in "The Social Contract" that obedience is due only to legitimate powers, and his argument has been broadly influential in the political philosophy of the last several hundred years. If that principle is granted, then an objection could be raised on the grounds that the Nazi government was not a legitimate authority, and that obedience was therefor not due it. That's not a line of inquiry that Arendt takes up, but it's there for consideration.

But I think the use of such intuition, within both those judging acts, resides in the realm of judging with regard to personal responsibility.

I think that's a substantially correct interpretation of what Arendt meant. Ultimately, she's only talking about what a person decides to do of their own power, not how they judge the actions of others.

So does Arendt mean to offer that subscription to a set of premises , to "standards and rules," inhibits that human capacity to judge intuitively to the point that it leads to conclusions like the Nazi Final Solution? It seems that Arendt gives a nod to reason, but it also seems that reason is maligned as that which leads to such horrific conclusions.

Well, this isn't going to be a popular suggestion around these parts, but I would say that Arendt is party to that suspicion of reason which developed in the 20th century mostly as a reaction to just the sort of event she's examining here. She certainly doesn't develop the theme of the dangers of total reason to the same extent as, say, Max Horkheimer or George Steiner, but it does seem to me that she wants to forward this intuitive form of judgment as a preserve, a kind of fall back position, against the sometimes menacing development of rational systems that can result in a horrific situation like the Holocaust. I wouldn't say that she rejects logical systemization altogether, but she is critical of any temptation to rely so heavily on such systems that we fail to employ our faculty for judgment.

As I've pointed out to Garicker in another context, there is actually a fairly long tradition of finding in systematic reason the means and methods to arriving at some of the worst atrocities in human history -- a tradition that winds its way through Neitzsche, Dadaism, surrealism, Camus, Satre, free jazz, and so on.

Thus the government derived its just power from the consent of the governed. Now the structure of Arendt's following sentence leads to a bit of confusion:

"Its plausibility rests on the truth that 'all governments,' in the words of Madison, even the most autocratic ones, even tyrannies, 'rest on consent'..."

Here, too, I would say, is the influence of Rousseau. Rousseau argued that the basis for all political authority rested with covenants. (Incidentally, if anyone is interested, a more modern author, Guglielmo Ferrar, developed that notion in very interesting ways.) The specific term "consent" probably entered the general premise because it is more nebulous and thus more difficult to critique. Arendt is probably deriving her inclusion of autocratic, tyrannical governments in part from Rousseau and in part on analogy to her reference to Mary McCarthy.

But I think any discussion with regard to consent of the governed as applied to dictatorships, as applied specifically to the discussion of German involvement with the Nazi machine, is inherently different than a discussion of the consent of the governed with regard to republics.

Can you be more specific as to how? I think it's an interesting assertion, but I'm not sure straight off how the distinction would apply.

I had intended to clarify the above, but still needed to figure out why I thought that way. Also, keep in mind that I said "I think," I didn't mean the above as an assertion so much as a suggestion or even an inquiry.

But it seems to me that the motivations and the structure of a republic are by definition different than any kind of autocracy. An autocracy is a form of government that invokes the rule of one. A republic is a form of government that invokes the rule of many. The power of government of an autocracy belongs to the one, individual ruler. The power of a republic belongs to the government itself, as represented by its people. To a certain degree, power and responsibility should be compatible. The person who holds the power, also holds the responsibility. So it seems to me that in a republic the matter of power and responsibility is a continual consideration for the people. Thus consent, and by implication assent, becomes so much more a part of the everyday dialogue within a republic than it ever would for an autocracy, where the question of power and responsibility belong to the single dictator.

And I don't really presume that this changes much with regard to personal responsibility and consent. But, in a real context, I think it's difficult to assume that a person living in an autocracy will as readily consider consent, and whether or not they possess the ability to offer or withhold it, as a person living in a republic. And again, to clarify, these aren't assertions so much as musings.

irishrose wrote:Also, keep in mind that I said "I think," I didn't mean the above as an assertion so much as a suggestion or even an inquiry.

Touch cheeky, are we?

An autocracy is a form of government that invokes the rule of one. A republic is a form of government that invokes the rule of many.

In theory, yes, but a pretty crucial question is that of how either form of government implements that rule. If they tend to arrive at governance by the a similar set of institutions, then it's plausible that they'd have the same relationship to the principle of consent. In other words, the consent of the governed is more express in a republic -- in large part because the mechanism of sufferage functions as a symbol of that consent -- but an autocracy still requires the voluntary participation of the people in order to make it operable. As Arendt has pointed out earlier in the essay, National Socialism ultimately functioned as an autocracy wherein the Fuhrer's will was law, but it could not have functioned at all without the consent of the people. The important distinction, I would say, is that between express and implicit consent. That's a distinction with real consequences for the way in which a society functions, but it the implicit nature of consent in a autocratic government does not alter that consent plays a part.

The power of government of an autocracy belongs to the one, individual ruler. The power of a republic belongs to the government itself, as represented by its people.

"Belongs", or is granted?

Thus consent, and by implication assent, becomes so much more a part of the everyday dialogue within a republic than it ever would for an autocracy, where the question of power and responsibility belong to the single dictator.

In theory, I'd say that's true. But in practice, it looks to me as though the individual feels as though their consent counts for little and that it may actually count for some margin less. It most cases, it is little more than tacit consent. That consent is part of the dialogue does not, in itself, change the political weight of a single person's consent.

But, in a real context, I think it's difficult to assume that a person living in an autocracy will as readily consider consent, and whether or not they possess the ability to offer or withhold it, as a person living in a republic.

In most cases, I don't think they will. Part of how an autocracy functions is by shifting the individual's perspective so as to make their efficacy as an individual seem comparatively poor. But that doesn't mean their actual power is any less than that of a person living in a republic. The fact of differences in perception are probably the most crucial difference between the consenting in an autocracy and the consenting in a republic.

Mad wrote:Touch cheeky, are we?

Moi...? I didn't mean to be, I just don't want to get in the habit of trying to defend something which may have been a misconception to begin with. Thus far, I'm still on pretty shaky ground with Arendt and I'm still just working my ideas out

irishrose wrote:Moi...? I didn't mean to be, I just don't want to get in the habit of trying to defend something which may have been a misconception to begin with.

And here I thought you might be poking fun at me and DH for our debate over whether Arendt is asserting or suggesting a definition of morality.

But when it comes down to participation, I'm not convinced that the people who are subject to, or subject themselves to, that participation, within a dictatorship, recognize that it is voluntary. Whereas, in a republic, I think it is more explicit that the consent comes from the governed.

I see the distinction you're drawing. I'm just not sure how it operates in the discussion. Does it matter that the subjects of an autocracy might not realize that it exists only with their consent? So long as they're rendering that consent, I'm not sure it does.

But, correct me if I'm wrong, dictators can assume power without consent, i.e. without it being granted them.

They can claim power, but I'm not sure that they can assume it in any meaningful sense, at least, not by their own power.

And, though I've never lived in an autocracy, I'd imagine the matter of consent gets very little air time.

In a way, I think it might. In the Sudan case we were talking about in another thread, for example, it looks as though the protests calling for the death of the British teacher were, in part, staged to stir up public outcry. That reflects a concern over the people's support, and the very fact that people would protest in that case seems to indicate that they also think their input important.

Can we realistically expect citizens under an autocracy to withhold consent in the same way that we would expect citizens of a republic?

Let's assume that they can't. What prevents them from withholding their consent? The Nazi party came to power on a wave of national support, so we'll probably have to look to other autocracies for some indication of how the notion of consent fails.